Page 207 of Nyx

My feet are locked in place, the stretch of our two arms expanding as she urges me to leave.

I had always told myself that I would be strong if I ever faced him again, that I would get away, find a safe space. I was no longer the woman who would stand in fear, worried that my reaction to his violence would cause him to be even more violent.

He planned to kill me the day he caught me leaving, and it doesn't get more violent than that. Yet, I can't seem to move.

With her free hand, Kayla reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her phone.

"This isn't right," she says as she drops her eyes to the screen. "I'm calling the pol—"

Her words freeze as Graham takes a step closer to her.

Kayla's hand squeezes mine harder, and I feel the fear she's facing in the tremble.

Graham doesn't say a word to her. He doesn't threaten her. He doesn't remind her of the consequences of whatever she's facing if she breaks their agreement.

All I see is a flash of silver before he stabs her, his hand pulling back and shoving forward several times in quick succession.

Kayla gasps, looking down as her hand drops from mine. Blood rushes over her hands, spreading quickly through her clothes. Her eyes are wide as she crumples to the ground, no sound coming from her lips.

I stare down in disbelief as I watch the red stain on her clothes grow too quickly to sustain life.

Graham crouches over her, wiping the bloody knife on her jeans as if she never mattered to him at all.

For some reason, I'm still locked in place, watching all of this play out instead of using his distraction to my advantage and trying to find a safe place where he can't hurt me.

The second he looks up, his eyes locking on me, I find the courage to take off. I spin, running toward the entrance to the parking garage, somehow knowing I'll never make it inside my car without him catching up to me.

I yelp in pain as my hair is pulled, my flight ending as I'm jerked backward.

The warmth of his chest makes my stomach turn. The warmth of his breath on my neck and the side of my face introduces the real chance of me puking.

"You can come with me now, or you can die right beside her," he says in my ear, a calmness in his voice that makes no sense after watching him stab a woman repeatedly.

He makes the decision for me, the cold of the knife blade pressed against my throat.

My feet move slowly as he urges me deeper into the parking garage.

I know I'm going to die. There's no chance this ends any other way. My only choice is whether I will die now or after however long he plans to hurt me before he makes his final choice.

Maybe if he stabs me here, hospital staff could get to me in time to save my life. If he takes me somewhere else, I know with certainty there will be no one to save me.

Had I not waited for the woman from the women's shelter to arrive all those years ago, I could've been gone before he came back home.

Waiting to be saved is what put me in the situation to lose my babies and nearly cost me my life.

I stiffen, my shoes scraping over the concrete as he continues to move me forward.

"Growing a little backbone, baby? Don't worry. We'll make sure to put an end to that real quick."

The threat I'm facing builds inside me, but rather than increasing my fear, it makes me livid.

Somehow, I build the strength and courage I never thought I was capable of where this man is concerned. I spin, unsure of how the knife is going to come into play, and face him.

Surprised that I'd ever stand against him, he drops the knife, but I don't hesitate to lift my arms and scratch at his face.

I don't make a sound. There's no yelling or screaming. I don't hiss words that I've wanted to say in my defense for years. I simply fight.

I hit at his hands as he regains his composure and tries to grab me. I put everything I have into getting away from him. My heart races, pumping blood to every necessary part of my body needed for my survival, but it still isn't enough.