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He turned me over so I could see his bloodshot eyes, the scrape marring his face. He draped his body over mine so there was no escape, the crush of his hips like a lover’s, and wrapped his hands tenderly around my throat. Right there, sprawled over the staircase, so close to freedom, Don choked me. We were right back to where we’d started. Hubris or repetition compulsion or savior complex, in the end it didn’t matter. What mattered was I’d gone back into his house, and now I would never come out.
He leaned in close and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”
At the top of the stairs, on the other side of the door, someone screamed, their indignation so sharp it lanced through the fog in my mind: “Get your hands off the governor!”
Don whipped his gaze to the top of the stairs. I could hear the whine of hinges, the sound of the door swinging open. And I felt it more than anything—the survivor’s instinct, the voice whispering,This is your chance.
His fingers relaxed incrementally around my throat, and I reared up and sank my teeth into his cheek, tearing with my canines as best I could, tasting scruff and tangy blood, savage as a wolf. And when he yelled, that guttural sound, and withdrew his hands from my neck, I summoned strength from somewhere deep and shoved him with aching arms. The weight of Don’s body lifted off me, an astounding release, so much air flooding my lungs I was drunk on it.
He rolled to the side of the staircase and screamed, clutching his cheek. I crawled down the stairs and across the basement floor, knees slipping in Laurel’s blood but still moving. I could feel him rising behind me but forced myself not to turn, forced my slick hands to seize the hatchet. I rose on shaking legs just as he launched from the stairs and rushed me.
Ten years. My mind an enemy, my friends lost, one by one. I was painted in Laurel’s blood, the soft flame of her voice alive only inside me now.
I let him get so close I could see the triumph on his face, then drove my foot hard into his gut, letting him double over, kicking him harder between the legs, smashing the blunt side of the ax against his head. He fell to his knees.
Footsteps pounded the stairs. Someone was coming.
I drew the blade against Don’s throat, the handle sticky with blood. He looked up at me, chest heaving, dark eyes burning from his ruined face. When he swallowed, the ax moved with his Adam’s apple, bobbing up and down.
Our eyes locked. And that’s when I saw it: for the first time, after all these years.
Fear.
Chapter Forty-One
“Shay,Jesus.” A familiar voice boomed into the basement, and Jamie ran into my line of sight, hands covering his mouth. “What the fuck is happening?”
Sweat poured down my back. “I found Don.”
Don didn’t even glance at Jamie. He stayed locked on me. I gripped the hilt of the ax tighter.
Jamie’s eyes fell on Laurel’s body, the gory seam in her throat, and he staggered back. “Oh my god. Hekilledher.”
I didn’t correct him.
“Shay, what did he do? You’re covered in blood.”
I didn’t take my eyes off Don. “Everything he could.”
Jamie moved closer. Even though I could tell he was trying to sound calm, his voice shook. “The FBI is here. They’re arresting people, and they’re in the garden, digging. You did it. The Paters are done.”
“We’re never done,” Don murmured, so low only I could hear.
Jamie talked fast. “The episode’s everywhere. People are sharing it, they’re calling the police, they’re emailing journalists. When we called the FBI, they already knew.”
Jamie’s listeners were saving us. All those strangers, disrupting the safe, peaceful bubbles of their lives at our call for help.
Don’s eyes slid to Jamie, taking measure. He looked at me and mouthed,Him?
I pushed the edge of the blade deeper, and he smiled.
“The FBI burst through the doors in the middle of the governor’s speech,” Jamie said, and I recognized his tone. It was his soothing voice. “Took him into custody in front of everyone. It’s a madhouse, Shay. Come see. The feds are rounding people up, the press is recording everything. It’s going to be the story of the decade.” He inched closer. “They have their names—every Pater you uncovered. Don’s not going anywhere. You can put the weapon down.”
I could hear the raid unfolding, the screams and heavy footfalls.
It’s not over, the soft voice whispered.Not yet.
Don’s voice was silky. “Put the weapon down, dearest.”
