My Alpha Mate is Fated to My Sister

Mari’s POV

I swing my knee upwards, hitting him squarely in his junk. He yells a profanity and releases my hair to grab his precious man jewels.

While he is bent over in pain, I take the opportunity to grab the pan sitting on the counter. Swinging it, I get him good in the back of his head. That sends him sprawling on the floor.

He isn’t out yet, but I have incapacitated him enough to give me a headshot to get away.

Grabbing my bag from the floor near the kitchen table, I step around his body and gun for the door. He tries to reach for my leg, but I’m too quick for him.

“I’ll kill you, stupid bitch!” He swears, trying to get his body up. “You can’t run away from me!”

I know that’s not an empty threat. I would likely be dead on the kitchen floor right now if I had never learned to defend myself from a young age. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I make a dash for the front door.

I open the door and hurry outside, then open my bag, searching for my car keys. Panic sets in when I can’t find them. I’m now standing by my car in the street outside the house, my attention split between looking for the key and checking that he doesn’t rush out of the door.

Panicking, I turn my bag inside out and pour everything onto the asphalt. A pair of heels, tampons, a purse, a scarf, a phone, and finally, a pair of keys, tumble out of the bag. I shove the rest of the items back into the bag and grab the keys. Just then, the front door to the house flies open.

I look up, my eyes widening in horror when he emerges, a gun in his hand.

“Get back here, you little bitch!” he roars, pointing the muzzle at me.

I swallow, my heart racing. He is not going to shoot me, is he? While it isn’t broad daylight, it's still evening, and anybody walking by wouldn’t miss this.

I look up and down the street.

Nobody is walking by at the moment, it appears.

But… Surely, our neighbours have heard the commotion? They are always nosy, where are they when I need them to be nosy?

Shouldering my bag and glaring at him defiantly, I move to the door. I stick the key in and twist.

“I said get back here!” he yells, now walking down the porch stairs.

If I go back, I'll be dead anyway.

So why not take the small chance I have of getting out of here alive?

Quickly, I pull the door open and dive into the car.

The first shot rings into the air with a loud bang.

My panic level shoots to a new high, but that doesn’t stop me. Inserting the key into the ignition, I start the car. The engine roars to life instantly, and I drive out of there like the devil himself is after me.

He is.

As I speed down the street, I catch sight of a few of my neighbours scrambling out of their front doors, drawn by the sound of the gunshot. Finally.

Not that they can be of any help anymore.

My usual 30-minute ride to work takes me a record 25 minutes today. I’m not hurrying because I’m late—which I am—but because I know he’s going to come after me. The only reason he wasn’t on my tail the moment I left is because he crashed his motorcycle two weeks ago, and it’s still at the mechanic’s. I can imagine he has already borrowed a ride from a friend at this point and is on his way here.