Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” he yelps as his fingers only find the sharp edge of the blade.
Nice to know I am not the only one bleeding. I surge forward and sink the point into his stomach. The noise he makes is so strange. Like I let the air out of him. His back arches and he rears back trying to escape my reach. Trying to protect his soft underbelly from me. When I lunge again, he’s backed up just enough to avoid the blade. But blood is making the floor so slippery. Not even those designer-brand tennis shoes can help him now.
He loses traction and tumbles to the ground. And I follow, landing on top of him. Humans really are creatures of habit. Because instead of trying to take the knife from me, he does his usual. Strong hands wrap tightly around my neck as he tries to squeeze the life out of me. The pain in my neck is excruciating and it only gets worse with each gasping breath I try to take. But I treat his big buff body like a pincushion and his hold weakens as I plunge the blade into him, over and over again. The handle is slippery with blood and gore. And a pool of blood surrounds us. Splatter covers the kitchen cabinets, reaching halfway up the wall.
His hands fall from me as his mouth opens slackly. Guess he’s going to go out like his mom, with those same bloody bubbles on his lips. Though I am going to enjoy watching him die far more than I did Dianne.
“See,” he says in a weak voice with a sloppy smile, “you are a killer.”
Hard to disagree with him, but I keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t get another word from me. And once this moment is finished, as soon he takes his last breath, I will do my best to never think about him again.
“You wait…I bet you’ve got a taste for it now,” he whispers. Then he’s as still as the body he left in the living room. His eyes staring up at me blankly.
The knife falls from my hand and clatters to the floor. I can’t quite believe it. After all these years he’s really dead. I am finally free of him.
“Baby,” utters Noah, from where he stands in the doorway. So much shock in his gaze.
And yeah…I don’t know what to say.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Noah gently wipes my face clean with a damp cloth. There’s nothing he can do about the state of my clothes. Killing Ryan was a messy experience in the extreme. My broken nose is a dull throbbing sensation buried in the background of all the various thoughts and feelings. This is a lot. But then it should be a lot.
We’re seated outside on the front steps. Getting out in the fresh air and away from the dead bodies and blood splatter seemed like a good idea. Auggie is much happier since we’ve been reunited. He doesn’t seem to mind being my emotional support animal at all. Because I am patting him like my life depends on it—such a good boy.
“You called her?” I ask for probably not the first time. It’s like my mind isn’t accepting any new information. Guess I am in shock. Finding a dead body in your house and butchering your ex deserves big feelings.
“Detective Hahn is on her way,” says Noah. “Give me your hands. Are you sure you don’t want me to go find some painkillers?”
“I am okay for now. Thanks.”
No one is paying us any attention. Not yet. The old couple across the street are working in their garden. And one of the college students at the share house reads a book on their front porch. What must it be like to live a quiet normal life? To have no part in murder and mayhem. One day I would sincerely like to know.
With painstaking care, Noah cleans Ryan’s blood from me.
“I really killed him,” I say with something close to wonder. Though guilt or horror might be more appropriate emotional responses. “I stabbed him so many times.”
“Good. He needed killing. You probably saved a lot of lives today.”
“Mm.” I pause. “You don’t have to be here…you don’t have to be a part of this if you don’t want to be.”
“I was wondering when that was coming,” he says with a small smile. “I’m not going anywhere. Now give me your other hand.”
“Do you think we should be saving this as evidence?”
“He escaped prison and came here intending to kill you. His death was clearly self-defense,” he says. “You’re not sitting there with his blood on your skin a moment longer than necessary. But they’re probably going to want what you’re wearing. You want to come inside and find some other clothes?”
“I am not sure I can go back in there just yet.”