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I take a step backwards.

A shadow moves.

Frank rounds the corner and steps into the kitchen, a gun already raised in his hand.

“You’ve been causing a lot of problems around here.” He looks me up and down, lingering on the blood staining my white dress. “I see you’ve had a busy night.”

My pulse throbs in my neck. My breaths come too fast, too shallow. The blood drying on my skin makes every movement feel stiff and uncomfortable.

“What do you want?”

He tilts his head like he’s considering his options.

“To put it simply,” he says, “blood.” He turns the gun on Calista. “Now, how I obtain that is entirely up to you.”

Calista lets out a quiet, broken sound. She doesn’t look at me. Her shoulders curl inward, trying to make herself smaller. She shakes her head slightly, almost to herself, as if she’s accepted what’s coming.

I can’t leave her.

“Either I kill her now,” Frank continues, “and collect her blood in a bucket…” He pauses. “Or you come with me to the church.”

Silence swells between us. Except for Calista’s quiet cries.

“If I go with you,” I say, making sure I understand, “you let Calista go?”

He smiles kindly as if he’s trustworthy.

“Yes.”

Calista lifts her head then, wet eyes finding mine. I think of the knife tucked into my bra. The men in the hotel suite. If I did it twice, a third time should be easy.

“I’ll go.”

Calista takes a deep breath and lets out a sob. “No, Zaiya. Just run.”

Frank steps closer, the gun pointed at me now. “To the car.”

I don’t move. “Untie her.”

He doesn’t answer. He grips my arm and shoves me towards the sliding door.

“Untie her,” I repeat, planting my feet.

He pushes harder, shoving me through the opening.

“Zaiya!” Calista shrieks. “No!”

The gun presses into my ribs, forcing me to walk. Calista’s screams continue behind us as Frank hauls me to his car.

It’s a short drive to the church, but I’m crawling out of my skin. Frank keeps one hand on the wheel, the other holding the gun on his leg. He doesn’t seem concerned about me doing something crazy. But he doesn’t know what I’ve done tonight.

The knife sits against my heart under my stained silk dress. Every few seconds I imagine grabbing it. Driving it into his throat. Wondering whether I'd be fast enough to strike before he pulled the trigger.

“Did you kill those men tonight?” he asks, breaking the silence.

My posture stiffens. My chin lifts just a little.

“Yeah. I did.”