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There are footsteps outside the room. I bolt for the far wall and press myself against it. I can’t let fear choke me. Can’t let it hold me hostage.
Only one of us can leave this room.
And it’s going to be me.
I stay still, quiet, calm. My pulse is rioting, my heart pounding against my ribcage. The door opens, and I’m doused in shadow.
Luke comes in and stops dead. Before he can react further, I push the door shut. It slams, echoing in my ears. I dive at his back and get my arms over his head. The chains on my wrists pull tight across his throat, and I drop to the floor. He’s tall, and I might not be as heavy as him, or as strong, but my dead weight is focused directly on his windpipe.
He makes a gurgling noise. He scrambles at the chain and falls backward over me. He does some rolling maneuver,dislodging me completely. I lose my position—but he grabs my wrists before I can get out of his way.
“Mistake.” His voice hoarse. “You bitch.”
I kick out. My heel catches his shoulder. I kick again, badgering him until he releases my wrist. The chain. I’m still at a disadvantage, still fucking bleeding, still bound. Every move hurts, every breath makes my chest ache more.
But I don’t care.
This is life or death, isn’t it?
He crawls over me. Pins my arms over my head. He stands, dragging me up by my hair. I hold his wrist and scramble to go with him and against him. The pain in my scalp is searing. He picks me up, ignoring the way my feet connect with his shins, his thighs. I scream and thrash, and he somehow gets my wrists back on the hook.
When he drops me, my legs don’t work fast enough to catch myself.
Dislocated shoulder.
I scream again, gripping the chain with my other wrist. Trying to keep my weight on the one arm. I can’t feel my fingers, or my legs, or anything.
Luke staggers in front of me. His eyes are wild, his throat red where the chains cut into his skin. If only I was stronger. If only I had moved faster, kept him upright—I don’t know what would’ve worked. What would’ve killed him.
He grips my hair, yanking my head back.
“I felt a little bad, Aurora, knowing you were going to die.” He rubs at his throat with his free hand. “But now, I don’t feel a thing.”
“You should,” I choke out.
The door behind him swings open.
“And why is that?”
Knox moves quieter than I could’ve imagined. Or maybe Luke is just fascinated with the way I bleed. But it doesn’t matter, because in the next moment, Knox jams the blade of the knife into his neck.
Luke’s hold on me releases, his eyes widening as Knox steps around him.
Knox rips the blade forward, releasing a spray of blood. It spurts out, his artery cut, and soaks me in blood. More blood. He falls to his knees, then slumps over. He’s clutching his neck, trying to stop the bleeding, but he can’t. Just like in the dream.
Except this time, Knox has blue eyes. The right shade. He lifts me slightly and undoes the chains from the hook, setting me solidly on my feet. Solidly—ha. He has to hold me up. He tries to direct my attention away from my captor, but I can’t stop staring. I feel like I owe Luke that much. To watch him die the slow, ugly way.
Not like my mom, whose death was peaceful in retrospect. I cataloged her death in my head, too. Seared it into my mind so I’d never forget what death looked like.
But now there’s a new version. A darker version reserved for horrible men.
Every last gurgle documented, until he goes still and quiet anddead.
“I don’t feel a thing either,” I whisper.
And that’s the end of it.
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