The barrel swings toward me.
I brace myself.
This is it. This is how I die—standing between a monster and the woman I love, in the house where I learned that love and pain are the same thing.
There’s a blur of movement.
Haven isn’t behind me anymore.
She hasn’t run away.
She’s throwing herself at Ezra, knocking his arm away as he fires.
The bullet meant for my head tears through my leg instead.
Pain explodes up my thigh, white-hot and blinding. I go down, clutching at the wound, blood pouring through my fingers.
Ezra yells in frustration, turning to aim the gun at her. It wavers, my brother still off-balance from her tackle.
And Haven’s not done.
He charges her, but?—
—the blade of the electric knife is already buried in his stomach.
Haven tries to pull it out—I assume so she can drive it in again—but it’s stuck on something. Muscle, maybe his ribcage. So she pauses, puffs a strand of hair out of her face, and presses the on button.
The electric knife chugs and whines as it eviscerates Ezra’s flesh.
The serrated blades chew through skin and muscle, grinding against something hard with a sick, grating sound before finally punching deeper.
Ezra splutters out a mouthful of chunky, frothy blood and drops the gun. He tries to pull out the knife, but Haven grabs the handle with both hands and shoves him backward in a blur of motion and fury—years of accumulated rage finally finding an outlet.
“Haven—” I try to stand, but my wounded leg buckles. Nausea hits me, so intense I dry-retch. “Haven, stop!”
She doesn’t hear me.
A sound somewhere between a power drill and a baby chainsaw fills the dining room as blood and wet, ropy strands of flesh spray from the torn-open mess of his abdomen. Something pale and slick bulges around the vibrating blade.
Ezra falls backward, and Haven goes with him, crouching over him as his body twitches under the whining knife.
Jesus. So much blood.
It coats her hands. Her arms. Her face. Spraying up with each thrust, painting her crimson.
“Haven!” I drag myself toward her, leaving a smear of red across the marble. “Haven, he’s dead!”
I grab her arm, and she turns on me with wild eyes, her finger slipping off the button. The motor cutting off sounds like an animal dying.
Haven stares at me like she doesn’t know who the fuck I am or why I’m ruining her fun.
“Easy, easy,” I murmur, grimacing through the pain as I drag myself closer. I gently pry the knife from her fingers. No sudden movements, in case she decides to press that button and aim the blade at me. “It’s okay, Heavenly. I’ve got you.”
I set the knife behind me, as far out of reach of Haven as I can, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. She’s looking down at her hands as they slowly open and close on nothing.
“It’s okay,” I manage in a thick voice.
Her focus slowly shifts to the gaping hole in Ezra’s stomach.
