Part 19
We slammed onto the hard tile floor. The lighter flew from Madison's hand, skidding across the room and sliding under the refrigerator, its flame snuffed out by the impact.
Madison shrieked with a terrifying, animalistic fury. Despite her weak leg, her upper body strength was immense, fueled by years of prison survival and a lifetime of unchecked rage. She clawed at my face, her sharp, dirty fingernails tearing into my cheek. I felt the hot sting of blood, but I didn't stop. I pinned her arms down, using my entire body weight to hold her.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, her voice cracking, saliva flying from her mouth. "You ruined my life! You took everything! I hate you! I hate you!"
"I didn't ruin your life, Madison!" I yelled back, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the blood on my cheek. "You chose this! You chose to be a monster, just like Dad! You could have stopped, you could have changed, but you loved the cruelty! Well, it ends tonight! You will never touch my family again!"
Behind us, Ethan groaned, shaking his head as he fought through the concussion. He dragged himself to his feet, using the counter for support. Seeing me wrestling with Madison, the fog in his brain cleared instantly. He lunged forward, grabbing Madison’s flailing wrists and pulling her off me, pinning her securely to the floor.
"I’ve got her, Emily! Go get Chloe! Get out of the house!" Ethan shouted, his voice rough and commanding.
I scrambled to my feet, my body aching, my mind racing. I didn't run upstairs immediately. First, I grabbed the heavy roll of industrial duct tape from the kitchen drawer. I threw it to Ethan, who quickly and efficiently bound Madison's wrists and ankles together, neutralizing her completely.
Madison lay on the floor, trussed up like a captured wild animal, panting heavily, her eyes still glaring at us with undiluted venom. She realized she had lost. The fire hadn't started, her weapon was gone, and she was helpless.
Suddenly, the front door burst open, and bright beams of light pierced the darkness of the living room.
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"Police! Nobody move!" a loud voice shouted.
Marcus had monitored the security system's silent panic alarm from his office and had guided the police directly to our house. Two officers rushed into the kitchen, their weapons drawn, taking in the scene—the smell of gasoline, the bound fugitive on the floor, and Ethan and me, battered and bleeding, but standing victorious.
