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CHAPTER TWELVE
CARMEN
As Carter moves toward the door to answer it, I grab him by the bicep. “Please don’t. He’s here to kill me.”
He shakes out of my hold. “Carmen, you’re being paranoid. Go sit down, calm down, then tell us what happened so we can figure out what to do. All you’ve done is babble nonsense since you got here.”
I suck in a deep breath. Maybe he’s right. I need to chill out and relay everything I saw and what I know, but at this point, none of it even feels real. It’s like some lucid fucking nightmare. One where I can’t wake up no matter how hard I try.
“Come on.” Lydia grabs me and leads me into the living room. She sits on the couch and pulls me down with her. “Tell me what happened.”
I nod, scrubbing my hands down my face, and take another deep breath, ready to get it all out. But Carter’s voice from the door has every word I want to say lodging in my throat.
“This can’t be real.” His voice has a hard edge to it. It’s full of pain and anger.
That doesn’t sound good.
I stand from the couch, then round the corner, and my heart stops. Standing in front of Carter is Stallion—the one who just murdered Bernard. His shirt still has the red splotch on the collar, and he’s holding a big, black duffel bag. It’s probably full of all the things he uses to kill people and what he’ll use to end me now too. Before he can catch sight of me, I back up slowly until I’m shielded by the wall again.
My back bumps into Lydia, reminding me this isn’t just about me anymore. I ran to my best friend, and now, she and her boyfriend are in the crossfire of my mistake.
My two worlds are colliding. The one where everything is fine and we have movie nights and talk shit, and the one where I fucked this guy for money and now know about him murdering someone.
My feet feel like concrete bricks as I drag them across the floor. I hold my finger to my lips, telling Lydia to be quiet, as I walk to the fireplace and grab the poker from its stand. The iron is heavy in my hand, and it gives me a sense of comfort. If he’s here to kill me or hurt my friends, at least I’ll go down swinging.
I make my way back to where Lydia is standing, looking at me confused, then push her behind me. “Trust me, okay? I got this.”
She doesn’t reply. Not even with a nod, but she still follows closely behind me as I round the corner again. This time though, I make my presence known. I let my feet slap against the floor painfully, just to make some noise, then rush to where Carter stands.
I try to push him out of the way as I raise the poker to strike the murderer in front of him, but Carter is faster. He grabs the heavy iron stick from me, then puts himself back in front of Stallion. “What the fuck, Carmen?”
I shake my head vigorously and take a few steps back. “He’s going to kill us. You need to get away from him!”
Stallion narrows his gaze on me and steps forward, pushing Carter out of the way. “You need to listen to me,” he starts.
“No!” I raise my hands, but he doesn’t stop.
Every step he takes forward is another I take back, until my back hits the wall and my hip digs into the corner of the small table that houses Lydia and Carter’s keys. The vase full of flowers wobbles before falling and shattering into a million tiny pieces on the floor.
I liked the game he and I played—the one where he chased me and I ran—but this isn’t the same. This is real. Too fucking real and scary, because now it isn’t just a thought of “what if he’s a killer”—it’s “he’s most definitely a killer, and I’m his next victim.”
With everyone’s eyes following the vase crashing to the floor, I move forward, snatch the fire poker back from Carter, and swing it in front of me, hoping to connect with Stallion’s face. It’s like everything is moving in slow motion. Like a dream where you’re forced to fight but your limbs won’t cooperate.
He reaches out, snagging the end of the stick with his hand, then yanks it from my hold. I stagger forward with the movement before letting go. Defenseless, I reach behind me without moving my eyes from him. I feel around the table and grab a set of keys that are lying there. I move them, the soft jangling of them hitting one another now sounding like a gong in the quiet space, and let one of each of the keys fall between my fingers.
“I won’t say it again. Get back!” I scream, bringing my fist in front of me, ready to strike if he moves another inch.
“Carmen, put them down,” Carter demands, but I ignore him. He doesn’t understand the severity of this situation clearly.
“I just want to talk,” Stallion comments.
“Talk? You got me fucked up if you think I’m going to sit here and talk to a murderer!”
Carter steps in front of him while Lydia stays to the side, silent. She obviously knows something I don’t. Why else would she leave me alone to defend us all.
“Carmen,” Carter says again. “Put them down. You say you won’t talk to him because of what he did or didn’t do—we don’t fucking know yet—but you still talk to me. Let’s not forget what happened to my father.”
I shake my head. “This is different, Carter.”
