My back hits the wall.
“You’re insane.”
“Am I?” She lunges. “First I’ll gouge out your eyes. Then I’ll take your tongue.”
The first slice catches my arm. It burns hot and sharp and wrong, pain so clean it feels unreal. I cry out and scramble sideways across the glass-strewn floor. My shoe slips on a shard and my stomach flips as I catch myself on the counter.
My hand slams into the broken case and I grab blindly, fingers closing around another knife.
Bethany laughs like she’s delighted. “You think you can fight me?”
She comes at me again, grabbing my hair, yanking my head back hard enough that tears spring to my eyes. It’s like the lake all over again. The blade flashes toward my face.
“Pawn shop trash,” she hisses. “Jailbait whore.”
She shoves the knife closer. Close enough that I can feel the cold of it.
“I’ll carve you up so he won’t even look at you.”
Rage snaps through me. Not fear. Not panic. Rage. It comes up like a fuse catching fire.
“Cut me again, and I’ll kill you for real you crazy bitch,” I spit.
She presses the knife closer. “He’s mine.”
Then her voice goes breathless, frantic, and for the first time I hear the real threat in it.
“If he leaves me,” she says, “I will burn him to the ground. I will tell them everything. Every run. Every crime. He’ll rot in prison for life.”
That lands heavy. Real. She means it.
She slices again, catching my forearm. Pain explodes, and my body finally stops trying to be civilized.
I move.
I shove forward with everything I have and drive my blade into her side.
The resistance shocks me. Skin ain’t paper. Bodies are not soft. Her eyes go wide, and for a split second neither of us moves, like we’re both stunned the line got crossed for real.
Then she staggers back.
Blood blooms through her perfect blouse like a horrible flower. She looks down like she can’t believe her own body betrayed her.
“You…” she gasps.
I’m shaking so hard I can’t feel my hands.
She stumbles, falls, and hits the floor with a dull thud that makes my stomach roll.
Silence crashes over the room.
I stare at her.
Waiting.
She doesn’t move.
I drop the knife like it burns. “Oh God,” I whisper.
