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“It can be overwhelming even for us, the wives, especially when husbands hit the bottom young”
I'm not sure why, but I sense a hint of threat in her voice, and I watch her reflection in the water as she swiftly pulls something out of her bag. A feeling of unease washes over me, and without further hesitation, I grab onto her leg and pull with all my might, causing the woman to tumble backwards. I try to climb over her, but I see her desperately searching for something nearby.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask and see her reaching for the knife she had taken out of her purse.
I manage to grab it before she can plunge it into my chest. I gasp as the cold blade lightly grazes my palm, right where my old wound had just started to scar. I catch the desperation on the woman's face, a sign that she didn't expect me to fight back. I seize her wrist and strike it against the stone bridge, feeling the blade burn my soul with pain. I hit her so hard that the knife finally slips from her hand.
At this moment, I'm grateful for Manasseh, who taught me wrestling and how to escape from a knife when I was fifteen. I continued those training sessions sometime later with Han, the instructor from the gym. I slap her across the face with my right hand, which is now bloody and throbbing in pain.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell, trembling.
“I'm sorry,” the woman bursts into tears.
“You're sorry for trying to stab me in the back?!” I slap her so hard, blood starts dripping out of her nose.
“They made me do it! Please don't hit me, not in the face!”
“If you don't spill the truth, when I'm done with you, you'll look like Elmer Wayne Henley from ChainSaw Massacre! And I doubt you know who that is, but I can show you,” another sharp slap lands on her cheek.
“Fine, I'll tell you everything, but please... not in the face!”
“Why would they put the wife to kill me? What did I do to you?” tears of pain wet my cheeks, but a wave of adrenaline rushes through my body.
“They wanted to get rid of your husband, and when they heard you were coming along, they forced me,” the woman trembles as I silence her with another firm slap.
I push my hair out of my face and feel the trail of blood on my long, mid-length blonde curls. I breathe because I feel like I forgot for the last sixty seconds, since my life is once again on the edge of a knife, quite literally. I wipe my bloody hand on her dress and grab her by the chest, giving her a shake.
“Is Manasseh in danger? Hey,” I slap her again. “Answer, damn it!”
“Yes...” the woman murmurs, and I stand up, wiping my bloody palm on the hem of my dress, holding onto the knife.
“To hell with you all,” I growl and grab her hair, helping her up. “Go!” I urge and press the tip of the knife against her jugular.
CHAPTER 21
Present
Rebecca
I could've left her unconscious, found my way to London, picked up my mom from the clinic, and got back the quiet life I had before him. I could've let those weirdos take care of her, do the dirty work for me, and emerge from my darkest nightmare with clean hands. I could've let Manasseh go to hell, but that would've been way too straightforward for him, so things can't just wrap up like that.
I won't let it all end like this.
He started a game he thinks he's aced, but he's disregarding the most critical rule: Never underestimate your adversary, no matter how weak they might seem.
If Manasseh's going down, I want to be the one to push him over the edge. Only then can he seek redemption for his sins, and only then can I find some semblance of closure. Only revenge will bring me satisfaction, and I won't let anyone have him, as long as I breathe.
He owes me a happy life.
With my hand tangled in the woman's hair, with her ponytail around my wrist to drag her along better, I navigate through the crowd of stunned faces, amidst muted voices and cries, heading toward the Captain's Table. There, Manasseh sits, flanked by the two men, visibly tense and flushed.
“Do you know you're striking the worst deals I’ve ever seen?” I cast a fleeting glance at Manasseh, who looks like he's stopped breathing, his expression strained, then looking at the two men.
In a heartbeat, something beneath the table grabs my attention.
“I swear you look like an angel,” Manasseh shakes his head, his gaze unrelenting, even when his life is in danger.
Flushed and squinting, I can tell they're in a tough spot. Manasseh is visibly affected by alcohol, threatened under the table by a knife with a blade about 8 cm long, sharp enough to do some real damage.
