“He hates you. He fucking hates you. And for that, I'll never let you win. I can feel it, all his fucking anger, and it fucking burns!”
Ville laughed, continuing to find the situation funny as more blows crunched against his bones.
A tooth popped out, pinging somewhere in the darkness of the long hallway.
“That's the delusions talking, kid.”
Ville's hands finally moved from the immobile position at his sides. They landed on Hell's throat, his fingers pushing deep into his tracheal cartilage, where the most prominent and painful part of his tumor resided.
“Stop,” I pleaded, but no one looked my way.
Ville pushed harder. My head shook, noticing Hell's skin change shade, turning duller and less vibrant.
His breath stalled, air not making it through the congestion.
Ville let his grip slide, dropping his son to the floor. Hell stared down, his fingers moving rapidly at his throat.
Slow steps moved me across the landing to Hell. Ville didn't interject, he waved me on, encouraging me across the meter of space between us. My eyes didn't leave him until I heard Hell's first wheezing breath. With a struggle,I crouched over him, unable to bend my leg without tremendous pain. My shadow landed on his naked back, my skin never touching his.
“Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Me!” he screamed. He lurched to his feet, his aggressive hands socking into the cramps still assaulting my stomach.
I stumbled backwards, and my back hit the wall as I fell over my own feet. The top step finally delivered its threat. My heel slipped from the ledge, and it all happened too quickly for the banister to save me again as my arm reached out to grip it.
I was falling.
The pain in my stomach promised to kill me if my landing failed. And the ache in my heart vowed to beat them both to it.
I saw Hell raise his hand like he was callously waving goodbye.
And then, with a loud crack, everything went black.
Hell
Fuck, that was her head.
My stomach dropped, forcing sick halfway to my throat before it moved back down, my body realizing it would have no hope to pass.
I hadn't realized it was Jolie when I pushed back. I thought it was the cunt still looming behind me, whispering words into my ears that would hypnotize me into some fucking illusion.
I tried to block him out, focusing on the image in my head—her face as she fell. I'd reached out to save her, but I was too fucking late.
My feet slogged forward, moving slower than I'd ever moved.
Two shadows moved behind me, one darker and more sinister than my own.
There she was, lying on the floor, garnet leaking from beneath her hair.
I could feel Woodrow inside me, like he was pacing, impatiently demanding I step down from the front. He could feel my stress, and I could feel his anxiety, clawing its way to the surface of my skin, and it made me erupt in goosebumps.
“Jolie. . .?” I whispered, but even I'd admit, it sounded more like a whimper.
“She's dead, kid. We'll get you another.”
I ignored the devil in my ear. My long sweats brushed the carpet on the stairs, sweeping at the dust as I dropped down the first three steps.
I froze, noticing her toes curling on the foot of her uninjured leg.
“She's moving.”
