Thirty-two.
Thirty-three heartbeats.
Stupid, stupid Hawk.
Slowly, I fisted the shears with my unbroken arm, wrapping tight fingers around the handles.
Bonnie didn’t notice, so consumed with her own self-importance as she stood and brushed plaster dust from her blood-red skirt.
Blood-red.
The same colour she wore at the dice game a few days ago.
My fury fired and I held up the twin blades. “You asked me before if my arm hurt. I’ll now ask you a similar question. Do you think this will kill you if I lodge it in your heartless chest?”
She scooted off her seat, shuffling backward. “Drop it, Ms. Weaver.”
I advanced, brandishing my weapon. “No.”
Her mouth opened to scream.
Fifty-two.
Fifty-three heartbeats.
I’d lost my opportunity last time.
I’d been too slow. Too weak.
I had no intention of screwing this one up.
I charged, stopping her before she could make a sound.
I slammed my palm over her mouth, tackling her. My break bellowed and my good fingers weakened around the pilfered scissors, but I didn’t let her go. She tripped, but I managed to right us. Bolts of agony and shards of pain drenched my nervous system from my uncasted arm.
“Ah, ah, ah. I think silence is better in this newly developed situation, don’t you?” My vocabulary mimicked hers, thriving off the power of manhandling the wicked Hawk witch.
Bonnie’s papery breath fluttered over my hand as her nostrils flared.
She struggled. But her brittle bones were no match for my rage. Her eyes tried to hurt me with unspoken curses, but I wouldn’t put up with it anymore.
In a burst of power, she ripped out of my hold, swatting my broken arm.
I groaned in agony as she sucked in a breath for help.
I had two choices. Let her scream, give into the overwhelming pain, and let this end without victory, or fight through everything and win.
I fought.
Tackling her again, I didn’t care about my arm as I wrapped the broken one around her tiny waist and slapped my other hand over her lips.
Seventy-four.
Seventy-five.
Seventy-six heartbeats.
She folded as delicately as her beloved flower petals, crashing to the floor. I didn’t try to protect myself. I didn’t relish the impact or brutal pain.
