Page 118 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

‘How does this fit into your theories of fake feminism, Cort?’ I say.

He’s winded but, unfortunately for me, I seriously underestimated Cort’s strength and he manages to push me off. I fly backwards, the little paring knife scuttering across the floor.

He laughs as I land on my back with a thud. It’s cold and brittle.

‘When will you sluts learn your place?’ he says with a shake of his head. ‘Now I’m going to have to hurt you, aren’t I? I really didn’t wanna do that. I was going to get rid of the two of you quickly. But I’ve changed my mind after that little display.’

He lunges at me and suddenly his hands are around my throat. They feel rough and dry, which surprises me because I thought Cort would be the type of guy who takes care of his hands. I guess the brutal business of murder has roughed them up a bit.

He holds my eyes as he throttles me and I can see that he’s enjoying it. It’s always sexual for male killers, isn’t it? Perverts. I try to gasp for breath but he’s gripping me too tightly. I start seeing stars in my peripheral vision, but just as I’m preparing myself to black out I see Cort’s eyes glaze over and he slumps heavily on top of me.

‘What took you so long?’ I ask Antoinette as I wriggle out from underneath him. ‘I was on the verge of unconsciousness there.’

‘The knife went under one of the shelves, couldn’t reach it,’ she says as she inspects the knife, which is now covered in Cort’s blood. ‘What is this anyway? A vegetable peeler?’

I stand up and look down at Cort, who now has a puncture in the side of his neck that he’s bleeding out of.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ I say and Antoinette nods her agreement.

We stumble up the steps and into the main body of the cabin. I’m not sure how long I was knocked out for but the rooms are now bathed in a dim smoky light, which suggests it’s somewhere in the early hours of the morning.

‘We need to find what he’s done with Lauren and then—’ I don’t finish my sentence because I’ve spotted a bundle in the corner.

A bundle that looks very much like an injured person.

I edge closer towards them and can see a puddle of blood spreading out from what appears to be a stab wound in their abdomen.

I lean in closer.

It’s Travis.

Travis has been stabbed.

63

Cort’s abandoned cabin, Wonder Valley, California

‘Travis,’ I say rushing over to him and sinking down beside him. There’s blood everywhere. Antoinette follows me but I hold a hand up to stop her. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Stay there. You don’t need to see this.’

He’s clutching his side, a sticky red stain leaking over his fingers. ‘What happened?’

He looks at me and tries to smile but the pain turns it into a grimace.

‘Got sliced,’ he says, pulling his hand away from the wound and looking at the blood. He’s losing it fast.

‘What are you doing here?’ I say. ‘I don’t understand.’

He fixes me with those brown eyes. ‘I figured it out,’ he says and, despite the massive blood loss, there’s a hint of pride in his voice. ‘The IP address from Antoinette’s iPad.’ His voice is raspy, his breathing becoming increasingly shallow.

‘And you came all the way out here? Alone?’

‘I fucked up, Kitty,’ he says. ‘And I wanted to put it right. I wanted to find Antoinette for you.’

‘You’re an idiot,’ I say, but what I really mean is thank you. Thank you for trying to fix your mistake.

‘I couldn’t live with the thought of you hating me,’ he says as I reach for his hand. It’s cold but, somehow, still clammy.

I squeeze it.