The President Killed His Wife (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 1) by Richer Steve

Author:Richer, Steve [Richer, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2015-05-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

Slowly pushing down the sheet and freeing his legs, Rogan wondered what to do. He could stir Cass awake so she could help him face whatever new danger was lurking. The only problem with this was that he was afraid she would make a sound and therefore squander the only advantage they had against the intruder.

He decided to tackle this alone. Ever so gently, he put his feet on the ground and reached for his underwear. He pulled it on without making a sound, holding his breath so even the bed wouldn’t squeak.

He gritted his teeth about not having a weapon. He looked around through the darkness for something he could use. His first instinct was to grab the table lamp but it was ill-suited for warding off attackers; it was shaped like a vase. It was too heavy and unwieldy.

He would have to do this barehanded.

Wearing only boxer shorts, he padded across the room, keeping his eyes on the door opening for any sudden movements. The carpet was spongy under his feet and he actually prayed that it wouldn’t give off any significant sounds as to not reveal his location.

He could see light flickering in the living room from where they had left the TV on. The sound was barely audible. What if that’s what he’d heard? It would be silly to get scared about that but it was better than the alternative. Still, he couldn’t afford to not check it out.

He balled his hands into fists and slowly crept forward, ready for anything to jump at him. He told himself he might have to spring ahead into someone or throw himself to the ground if they started shooting. This narrow corridor was a death trap.

The mystery sound came again. This time louder.

Rogan took a deep breath and held it to slow his heartbeat. There really was someone in the house! If he hadn’t woken up they might have gotten the jump on them. He could’ve been dead by now.

He reached the den and performed a cursory scan of the area, something he couldn’t do thoroughly with the TV screen playing a commercial and changing the lighting conditions every half second. The room was filled with shadows and flashes of light, the colors switching persistently.

So he glanced down at the coffee table. The firearms were gone!

Oh shit, he thought. This was definitely real. For the first time the bad guys truly had the upper hand. He was about to be killed.

He lamely reached for his turtleneck on the couch but he didn’t put it on. Instead, he twisted it until it was akin to a tight rope and he wrapped the sleeves around his fists. It was the only weapon available to him.

He half crouched and continued walking through the apartment. Perhaps he could take the assassin by surprise after all. It was a pipe dream but the only hope he had left.

It wasn’t a large apartment, there weren’t many hiding places. The bathroom, the utility closet, the second bedroom, the kitchen.

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