I scrambled up, ignoring the pain in my shoulder and wrist and knee. “What is wrong with you?”
“You’ve taken everything from me. I need that money. Without it, I’m broke. I tried to make you understand before, but you didn’t listen. I even thought if I could get you out of the way when I ran that stop sign, it would help, but it didn’t. Then, when I saw you at the concert? I figured I’d find a way to make you see reason. How the hell am I supposed to survive on nothing? You took everything, and now you’re going to pay.”
There was madness in his eyes, a darkness that was unlike anything I had ever seen before. He’d tried to hurt me? All those times I’d thought I’d only been seeing things, but he’d been right there. Waiting. Watching. Trying to hurt me.
I struggled to get up again, then pushed at him, kicking at him with my high heel. He groaned, slapping at me, but I was faster than he was this time. He blocked the front door, but I could still go out the back. I ran, looking for my phone but unable to reach it. I had a landline back there if I could get to it. I needed to get away from Roland. Call the authorities. Do something.
He was twice my size, and so much stronger. I wasn’t able to fight back effectively, but I could run.
And so, I did, my heels slamming against the wood and then the tile as I made my way to the other side of the house.
But Roland was faster. He tugged at my hair, and I screamed. I fell back, my head slamming against the tile as he pushed and shoved.
My mouth went dry, and I closed my eyes, the world spinning. I tried to get up, but then he was there, and I saw a flash of something bright in front of my eyes. Suddenly, a searing pain shocked my system.
Warmth spread over my flesh, and I looked down at my forearm, feeling as if I were watching a movie instead of living this. I quickly clamped my hand over the bleeding wound. Roland had cut me with the butcher knife from my kitchen, a long line running from my elbow to my wrist, and it was deep enough that I was afraid I could see bone.
I gagged, bile filling my throat as the pain set in, and shock slammed into me.
“Look at what you made me do. I didn’t mean to do that, Myra. But you were so fast. I only wanted to threaten you. Jesus Christ, Myra. Look what you made me do.”
I was shaking, my back against the wall as I scooted away from him, trying to stop the bleeding. But it wouldn’t stop. It kept coming. I didn’t think he had nicked an artery because it wasn’t spurting, but it was bad. Fucking bad. Blood seeped out from between my fingers, and the pressure I applied wasn’t enough. Roland threw a towel at my face. I took it like a lifeline and pressed it to the wound, trying to wrap it around my arm.
“You need to stop the bleeding and be okay. You need to be able to sign over the money to me.”
I looked at him as he ran his hands over his face, the knife still clutched in his hand, the blade pointed outwards. My blood coated it.
I looked down at my wound and then turned to the side and threw up what little I’d had that morning for breakfast.
“You’re disgusting. What the hell, Myra? Why did you make me do this?”
I couldn’t wipe my face, but I tried to push the pain from my mind and focus. I needed to remain calm. It was the only way I could survive. “Please, call an ambulance. We’ll tell them it was an accident. I swear I will say everything was an accident and you didn’t mean to cut me. But I need to go to the hospital. Please, Roland. You didn’t mean to do this.”
“This is all your fault. They’re going to blame me, but it’s all your fault.”
“You’re right, it is my fault,” I lied, my vision going blurry. “It’s all my fault. All you need to do is call them and tell them it’s my fault. I will agree. I’ll be the one who goes to jail and everything. I just need you to call the hospital.”
I was losing too much blood, and I could barely breathe.
Roland looked at me and nodded tightly. “Yes, that’s what we’ll tell them. And you’ll give me the money?”
“Of course, I’ll give you the money. I’ll give you anything. Please, call an ambulance.”
“Myra?”
I froze as I looked into Roland’s eyes. Suddenly, the world went quiet.
Nate had come into the studio, maybe thinking I would still be there. I had forgotten that door, everything coming at me so quickly.
Roland’s back was to Nate, but as he turned, Nate’s eyes went wide, and Roland slashed.
“Myra,” Nate shouted and then grunted as he leaned forward, holding his hand over a cut in his side.
“No!” I said and tried to scramble up. I crawled over to them and pushed myself toward Roland’s legs. Roland and Nate fought each other, both of them trying to go for the knife, but I moved more strategically, using what little strength I had, and took Roland out at the knees. Nate pushed, and then there was screaming, a sound that would echo in my dreams for however many moments I had left. And then Roland stopped making any noise at all. I looked down at the blade buried partway into Roland’s chest and then at Nate, who was on his knees in front of me.
“Myra. Myra, don’t go.”
“Nate.”
I looked at him, tried to reach for him, but my arms weren’t moving.
Nate was saying something, doing something with his phone, maybe. I didn’t know.
I tried to tell him that I loved him. That I was sorry. But no words came out.
Instead, I closed my eyes, and I rested on Nate’s chest.
And warmth slid over me.
Chapter 20
Nate
“It’s getting damn exhausting coming back to this place,” Cross said as he looked around the small hospital room.
I nodded, leaning back and trying not to move my side too much. “I have to tell you, I don’t really like being back in this bed. It might’ve been a few years, but I’m over getting stitches.”
Cross winced. “Is it bad that I didn’t even think about your accident when I mentioned that?”
I shook my head and then winced. I was grateful for the pain meds they had given me. I had a headache from hell thanks to the stress and adrenaline of seeing Myra on the floor like that. And, of course, from the slice to my side. I needed a little bit of rest—and to see Myra.
“No, I get you. I was thinking about the fact that every single one of us has been in the hospital for something or other recently. All of it added up is a bit much.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” He paused. “And Myra’s going to be fine.”
I opened my eyes to look at my brother, my throat going dry. “She’s really going to be okay? It’s not only the doctors telling Paris, and therefore Paris telling you random things to placate me?”
“Paris is on Myra’s emergency contact list. The doctors told her everything. She’s out of surgery now, and she’s going to be fine. She’ll probably have to go through some rehab and physical therapy for her arm, but they don’t think she’s going to lose any range of motion or sensation.”
“It was her left arm, at least. Not the one she paints with,” I said softly.
“Jesus. I didn’t even think about that. You and I aren’t firing on all cylinders tonight.”