A loud crash, as if the front door flew open and smashed the wall. Thunderous footsteps then barrel down the hall. I jump out of my chair just as Nick Lattimore comes tearing into the kitchen. He looks at me. Eyes Darby at the table. Then, before I can blink, he pulls his fist back and sends it flying toward my face. I dodge at the last second, so the blow only grazes my cheekbone, but there’s no dodging the accompanying jolt of pain. “What the fuck?” I demand, as Shane, Beckett, and Will run into the kitchen.
