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“What? No coaster?” I commented.
The jibe was a distraction. I had a gun in the top drawer of the sideboard, but I was at least ten paces away from it. If Bruno was also armed—which I now suspected he was—I’d be dead before I got there.
It also occurred to me that I probably would have been better off lying about not seeing Ivy again than I was dead.
“Think what Ivy’s going to say when she learns what you’ve done,” I warned him.
He pulled out a flick knife. It was a relief. I stood a chance against a knife. Perhaps he’d just give me a warning cut then leave. At least it wasn’t a gun.
He cocked his head. “If I do this right, she’ll never have to know. You’ll just simply be gone from her life. All problems solved.”
Fuck. Did that mean hedidintend on killing me?
I took a sidestep towards where the gun was kept.
I lifted both hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. You win. I won’t see Ivy anymore.”
“You expect me to believe that after the whole ‘I want to marry her’ bullshit?”
“Well, you’re not giving me much choice here.”
“I already gave you a choice, and you made the wrong one. Time’s up, arsehole.”
He lunged at me, brandishing the knife. I darted to one side, bringing up my elbow with the intention of knocking it from his grip. But he was young and fit, too, and he easily evaded me and then spun back around to face me. Fucker. He came at me again, knife held above his shoulder, ready to stab. He definitely didn’t intend on only giving me a flesh wound. I drew back this time, but the knife came down in a sweeping arc and cut through the front of my shirt. I felt nothing for a second, then the pain came. I glanced down to see the shirt slicing and my skin flapping open, from above my breast bone down to my solar plexus.
Fuck. Blood ran down my skin.
I couldn’t allow myself to be distracted. I understood fully now that Bruno Gilligan, while he swore he wasn’t responsible for killing my father, was fully determined to kill me now. There was no point in me yelling for help—my apartment had been deliberately soundproofed from the rest of the hotel—and I didn’t have time to get my phone out of my pocket and call for help.
We did a strange kind of dance, circling one another. I was overly aware that I only had my bare hands, while he had a knife.
Our circling brought me next to the sideboard where he’d put down the drink he’d taken from my fridge.
I snatched up the beer bottle and brought the bottom down hard on the surface. The glass smashed, leaving me with the neck and jagged remains in hand. I worked purely on instinct. I was hurt and bleeding and fighting for my life.
Bruno lunged at me again.
This time, I got under his arm, but not without him catching me with the knife across my shoulder. My movement brought me directly behind him. Before he got the chance to spin to face me, I grabbed his head from behind, yanking his chin up, and drew the broken glass across his throat.
