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“Or me.” Matt promised.
That made me remember Director Fields.
I ripped back from Ben, nearly falling on my ass. He lifted me, and I shook my head, adamantly pointing to where I saw the director fall. “It was him! He tried to kill me. He’s a pedophile. Don’t let him get away.”
Matt moved so close to Ben’s side that his arm brushed my body, and the two of them rotated to stare at the man gasping for breath on the floor. The store filled with flashing blue and red lights, and the air filled with sirens and shouting people.
I pointed to the man on the ground, and Ben obliged, he and Matt moving like a unit to stand over him and glare.
“You stab him, sweetheart?” Ben asked.
“Yep.”
“Good fucking girl.”
Matty made a sound of agreement, reached out, and patted my head.
“You do this to my wife?” Ben growled. “You’re lucky the cops are here already because, if they weren’t, I’d yank them scissors out and watch you bleed.”
Director Fields said nothing. He didn’t even look at Ben or Matt. His eyes locked on me like he hated me so much I was literally all he saw.
His lips moved as he tried to speak, and I patted Ben’s arm to put me down. He did so reluctantly but kept both hands on me.
It was loud and chaotic. People were rushing in, and soon, this store would be filled with caution tape and cops.
“Kruger!” Ryan bellowed from somewhere outside.
“Jess!” Max echoed.
“Prism!” Jamie followed up.
Guess there would be trauma lattes too.
“Why wouldn’t you just die?” the director rasped. The effort it took to speak made blood spurt out around the blade impaled at the base of his neck.
I bent lower, strength and determination winning the war over fear. Pushing my face into the man’s, I stared directly into his eyes, matching his malice—no, raising it—and didn’t flinch at all.
“Final girls don’t die.”
EPILOGUE
Kruger
I was kinda nervous.
Okay, not kinda. Hella. I was hella nervous.
The dating life was not for me. Not that I really ever considered myself dating Jess. She was my fiancée. My wife. My final girl.
She was not my girlfriend. That was a pitiful fucking label, and I wasn’t having it. I forbade it.
I was tired of people saying shit like, You know you aren’t really engaged, or, You can’t call her your wife. You aren’t married.
So I was putting a ring on it. Not a fake one either. A real one. With diamonds. One fitting of a final girl.
You know, that was if she said yes.
She was totally gonna say yes, right? Who wouldn’t say yes to all this?
