Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

The scream that tears through the house is like a grenade to Luke’s heart.

“Sal!” he yells, rushing down the hall and launching himself down the stairs. When he slams into the kitchen, he stops dead in his tracks. His brain barely registers what he’s seeing.

Roy.

And Sal, her throat caught in his hands. She hangs boneless in his grip, her body pressed up against the wall. Her bare feet barely grazing the tile, her big green eyes rolled back towards her skull, her head drooping to one side.

“No!” Luke roars.

He rushes Roy, driving a fist into his back.

Roy yelps in pain and releases Sal.

She drops facedown on the cold floor, her limp body twisted unnaturally beneath her.

Time stops. His heart gives out. She doesn’t rise from the floor, and Luke can’t tell if she’s breathing or not. No. Oh God, no.

The sight of her, as broken as the guitar she lies by, sends Luke over the edge.

Rage—murderous and violent billows over him.

Tearing his eyes from Sal, Luke finally faces the ugly, monstrous fuck who took his wife. He grits his teeth, his hands curling at his side.

He knows one thing for certain—he will not let Roy take her again.

Luke doesn’t hesitate.

He launches himself at Roy, smashing fists to his face, his chest, his head.

Roy bellows. But he’s slow and shuffling, unable to dislodge Luke, even though he tries to deliver blow after blow to Luke’s side.

Finally, he lands one. Knocking the wind out of him. A rush of air from his lungs. And as Luke gets his bearings, so does Roy.

Roy charges Luke, smashing his shoulder into his chest.

Luke crashes to the floor. But he’s up fast, on his feet and snarling.

Roy tries to run. But before he can, Luke grips the back of his head and slams his face into the wall. Roy stumbles back, dazed, then collapses to the floor.

He doesn’t rise. Silence swallows the kitchen. Luke’s ragged breathing pierces the air.

Then—

The most beautiful sound in the world.

Soft coughing fills the kitchen. Sal gasping for air, breathing her life back into her.

Thank God, thank Christ, Luke thinks before hurtling to Sal, who’s trying to push herself up on her palms.

He lightly gathers Sal to his chest, helping her sit up. She collapses limply against him, her eyes glassy with pain. Her head lolls from side to side, her entire body spasming as she fights to live.

“Breathe,” Luke begs. “Breathe for me . . .”

Bracing her against his chest, he breathes with her, slowly, deeply, taking Sal’s pain as his own.

He brushes her hair aside, needing to examine her, to feel her precious heartbeat, to see for himself that she’s okay when—

Sal stiffens in his arms. Her eyes wide, lasered on a spot over his shoulder.

Luke turns. He barely noticed the shambling footsteps. The slow rise of Roy. His hateful eyes lifting to them.

A cry rasps from Sal. “Luke, watch out, he has a knife—”

Even as weak as she is, Sal tries to position her body in front of Luke.

The knife appears in Roy’s hand, slicing air as he charges them. Desperate to get at Sal. To kill.

Luke’s ready.

Whip-quick, he reaches for the neck of the broken guitar.

Only Sal’s there first.

She barely has the breath to breathe, and yet, in one swift motion, she grabs up the guitar stake. Staggering to her feet, her body blocking Luke, she meets Roy head-on.

And drives the jagged stake through Roy’s neck.

Luke’s up, beside her, helping her, giving her every last ounce of his strength for that final push into muscle and bone.

A stream of blood sprays across the room.

Roy sways, as if stunned, then his body tumbles to the floor with a final, sickening thud.

He’s down. For good.

Forever.

Slowly, Sal turns to face Luke.

“Sal,” he croaks, pressing a hand to his heart to show her it’s him, to show her she’s safe. She’s finally safe.

She doesn’t respond, and he sees she’s having that same realization. She’s safe. It’s written all over her face, in her ever-widening eyes, in her stunned expression. Relief, sheer relief.

Then Sal gasps. Her body’s had its limit, and as her adrenaline plummets, her legs give out. Luke’s instantly before her, catching her in his arms.

“Stay with me, Sal,” he begs, lowering her to the floor. Her pulse is thready, her breathing agonized, her face unnaturally white. Too white. “Please,” he whispers, voice breaking.

Sal’s hand, cold and trembling, finds Luke’s cheek.

For a second, her glassy eyes hold on his face, then a pained sigh escapes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut, her body goes limp.

And Sal sinks into unconsciousness once more.

Luke cradles her against his chest. Holding her heartbeat against his body. Holding his wife in his arms and praying that this time, he wasn’t too late.