I spin, dash toward the bedroom. Heavy footfalls right behind me. I reach the bed, drop to my knees, jam my hands beneath the mattress. My fingertips brush steel. Heavy hands slam down on my shoulders and yank me backward. The fabric of my flannel shirt tears. I lose my balance, fall onto my back, my head bouncing off the floor. Stars fly in front of my eyes.

“Drag her out here,” a male voice says.

“Get your hands off me!” I draw back and punch at his face. My fist grazes his temple. “Get off!”

A second hand grasps my right arm, yanks hard, dragging me down the hall and into the living room. I twist, get my knees under me, try to scramble to my feet. I see the silhouettes of two men. Snowsuits and ski masks. Then I’m yanked forward. My knees go out from under me and I’m being dragged on my stomach.

Again, I twist, get one knee beneath me. I try to jerk my arm from the man’s grip, but his hand is a vise, crushing bone and bruising flesh. Using my free arm, I drive my fist into his crotch. His gasp ends in a roar. His grip loosens. I jerk my hand away. In an instant I’m on my feet.

“Get out!” I scream. “Get out!”

Spinning, I sprint toward the bedroom for my weapon.

He tackles me midway down the hall. I fall hard on my stomach. My chin scrapes the carpet. My attacker comes down on top of me. I hear his laugh. Hear his partner running toward us. I twist, bring up both feet and mule kick him in the gut. He reels backward, crashes to the floor on his ass.

“Grab that bitch,” he pants.

I flip over, scrabble toward the bedroom. My brain chanting. Get the gun. Get the gun. I dive toward the bed. A hand comes down on the back of my head, shoves me down hard, slamming my face against the floor. My nose crunches. Pain zings up my sinuses. My arms collapse beneath me. I feel the warmth of blood coursing from my nose, taste copper at the back of my throat.

“Son of a bitch!” I try to turn over to kick him again, but both men are on me now, pressing me down.

“Got a mouth on her, don’t she?” one of the men hisses.

“Guess someone needs to teach her some manners.”

My head reels. I lie still, taking physical stock, trying to regain my senses. Roughly, they flip me onto my back. I look up at them, keenly aware that my gown has ridden up, exposing my bare legs and underwear. My heart sinks when one of the men removes a roll of duct tape from beneath his coat.

“Don’t do it,” I say.