CHAPTER 46
And he knows it.
I slam my foot harder into the gas. I don’t care if I flip the fucking car. I will get to her if it kills me.
But as the blocks crawl by on the GPS... as I watch him cross the street to her house... I realize the truth.
I’m not going to make it.
I’m still too far.
I’m not going to make it.
Dexter’s growl is my only warning. Deep. Unearthly. The kind of noise that doesn’t belong in a tiny, fluffy dog with a snaggletooth and pink toenails.
Then a shadow moves—fast.
Something slams into me like a brick wall wearing skin, and I’m hurled against the door. My head cracks against the wood with a sickening thunk that blurs everything in a spray of stars.
I don’t scream. Or maybe I do. I can’t tell.
I can barely see.
My vision splits—white-hot pain on one side, darkness on the other.
My fingers are slick on the knife—my mother’s knife—and I don’t even aim. I just slash.
I feel it land. Feel it resist.
A sound erupts inches from my ear—part snarl, part scream. Wet and raw.
Dexter loses his mind, barking high and fast, circling our feet like he’s ready to throw himself into battle.
Please, Dexter. Just run. Hide.
My vision clears just enough. I already know who I’ll find:
The rideshare driver.
Bleeding from his face. One eye squeezed shut, hand clamped over it. He’s panting, shaking with fury. And even with blood dripping down his shirt, he’s smiling.
“You really thought that fake phone call was gonna fool me?” he spits. “You’re alone, sweetheart. I knew it the first time I picked you up.”
My stomach lurches.
He knew.
And I’m standing here with a knife, a dog the size of a soda can at my feet, and my stalker-issued phone just out of reach.
If only I could get to it, I’d call him like DoorDash. Express delivery for two ninety-nine? Sure.
But even if I did, he’d never make it in time.
The thought centers me. No one’s coming.
I have to do this myself.
He lunges.
I barely get the knife between us when he throws his full weight into me—forcing the blade into his own torso.
It sinks deep. I feel it catch.
Then the blood hits.
Warm. Sticky. Violent. It splashes across my face, soaks my shirt, spatters into my mouth.
The taste hits me—salt and iron and oh my God I think I’m going to throw up.
I gag. Spit and swallow it down.
There’s no time. He’s still upright. Still grinning.
He grabs my wrist with a grip like a steel trap and slams my arm into the door so hard my fingers go numb.
“No, we’re just getting started,” he breathes, voice hot and twisted.
My grip on the knife hardens like cement. I can’t drop this.
“You think you’ve got some fight in you? I love the fight. Love it more when you finally give in.”
Something in me rises—sharp, searing, done.
“Over,” I hiss, twisting my wrist, trying to break his grip. “My dead body.”
I kick. Hard.
His body jerks, mouth opening in a silent cry. His hold loosens—just enough.
I wrench my hand, pivot the knife, and saw upward along his forearm. It’s brutal and effective.
Blood slicks my hand, sprays across the door.
His grip falters.
And something in me snaps.
Not fear. Not survival.
Something colder. That whispers:finish it.
His face shifts—fury turning to fear. He sees it. The monster I bury. The one with blood on her hands.
And she’s wide awake.
He sees it, right before I move.
Both hands on the knife now, fingers locked. I plunge it into him with everything I’ve got.
He screams but it’s not fear. It’s shock.
The blade hits resistance but I don’t recoil. I press until it pushes through. Until I hear a crunch. A pop.
It should repulse me but it doesn’t.
It satisfies something primal.
Something that remembers the calm after Travis Gannon’s blood.
I yank the knife back and stab again.
Once. Twice. Again.
I lose count.
Dexter barks somewhere nearby, but it’s muffled—like I’m underwater. Only the rhythm of the knife exists.
In. Out. In. Out.
I straddle him now, knees digging into his ribs as he squirms. He tries to throw me off, but he’s bleeding out too fast.
I drive the blade in again—below the collarbone. He jerks.
Dexter growls, proud. Or maybe that’s just me.
My tiny demon cheerleader.
Another stab.
Messier. The blade snags. My hands slip but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Because this?
This is release.
Every blocked case. Every predator who walked. Every girl who cried and got nothing. Every fear I swallowed like glass.
It all breaks.
And I break with it.
I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear slips off my chin and lands on his cheek.
Fitting.