My hand shot across the table, grabbing the knife beside my plate. He reacted instantly—his palm slamming down on my wrist, pinning it to the wood with enough force to make the dishes rattle. The knife clattered away, spinning across the table before falling to the floor with a metallic ring.
For a heartbeat, we were frozen like that. His hand clamping like iron around my wrist. My pulse hammering against his fingers, wild and frantic.
Then I yanked backward, tipping my chair as I lunged away from the table. He came after me, faster than I expected. His hand caught the back of my shirt and I twisted, throwing my weight sideways. Fabric tore. I stumbled into the counter, and my hip cracked against the edge hard enough to make pain burst behind my eyes.
He was already there, reaching for me.
I grabbed the first thing my fingers found—the pan from the stove, still hot—and swung it at his head. He ducked and it whistled past, missing him by inches. The momentum carried me around and I used it, driving my elbow back toward his ribs. It connected. He grunted but didn’t let go, his arm locking around my waist from behind. I drove my heel down onto his instep, twisted out of his arms, and ran.
Three steps toward the door. That was how far I got.
His hand fisted in my hair and yanked me backward. Pain exploded across my scalp, and I reached back blindly, clawing at whatever I could find. He made a sound, low and angry, and shoved me forward. I slammed into the refrigerator face-first, the air punching out of my lungs.
The world tilted. Blurred. Stars burst across my vision like fireworks.
I pushed off the fridge, spinning around just as he closed in on me again. His hands went for my throat, and I clawed at his wrists, trying to pry his fingers away, but they might as well have been made of stone. His thumbs pressed into my windpipe and the pressure was immediate, crushing. My legs kicked uselessly, heels drumming against the floor.
Tom’s face was close to mine. I could see every detail with horrible clarity—the scratch marks I’d left down his cheek, already welling with blood. The set of his jaw. The focus in his eyes, clinical and detached, like I was a problem to be solved.
I wasn’t going to survive this, was I?
My vision started to darken at the edges, tunneling inward. My hands were still clutching his wrists, but they felt distant now, disconnected, like they belonged to someone else.
I tried to hold on. Tried to stay present. But the darknesswas spreading, warm and inexorable, pulling me lower and lower.
The last thing I saw was Tom’s face above mine, expressionless and cold.
Then, there was nothing.
13
Shay
I’m not dead.
That was the first coherent thought that surfaced through the fog. My lungs were working. My heart was beating. Air moved in and out of my throat, even if every breath felt like swallowing glass.
The second thought came slower, swimming up through layers of confusion:Where the fuck am I?
It took me several long seconds to orient myself, my eyes adjusting to the pale light filtering through the narrow window.
I was in the basement—Tom’s basement, to be exact.
I recognized his bookbinding bench, making me remember the careful way he repaired old books, replacing spines and rebinding pages with an almost reverent attention to detail.
I’d thought it was charming at the time. Endearing, even.
My laugh came out as a rasp, painful enough to make me wince.
The desk where he restored his books sat against the far wall, completely bare now. There were no tools, no sharp implements or heavy objects that could be used as a weapon.
It shouldn’t have been surprising. To expect anything else from him would be a disservice. I was dealing with a seasoned killer, after all.
I tried to move, and my body screamed in protest. My forehead felt tender, and when I reached up to touch it, my fingers came away sticky with blood.
I cleared my throat experimentally. The soreness flared bright and hot, and I tasted copper. When I swallowed, it felt like my esophagus was lined with broken glass.
How long had I been out? Minutes? Hours?
