“Let her go, and I’ll give you whatever you want,” Cole was saying. “She’s dying,” he continued, his voice cracking. “Dad, please. Whatever you want from me, fine. But let me get her help.”
Carter didn’t answer, which was an answer in and of itself.
The rage burned hotter, spreading through my chest like wildfire, drowning out even the pain of my failing heart. This man had destroyed so many lives, treating people like game pieces to be sacrificed. He’d used my father’s weakness like a knife, twisting it deeper with every demand. He’d spent years breaking Cole down, grinding away his son’s spirit with perfectly timed cruelties. He’d threatened Tristan’s future with the casual ease of someone crushing an insect. He’d tried to ruin Alek. Everyone he touched, he corrupted or crushed, leaving nothing but wreckage in his wake.
The lights went out.
All of them.
The office plunged into darkness for three heartbeats before emergency lighting kicked in, the dim, red-tinged glow turning everything into a nightmare landscape.
“What the fuck?” Carter moved toward the windows, gun still trained on Cole.
I heard shots in the distance, the sharp cracks echoing through the building as they moved closer.
Hope flared in my chest, bright and desperate. Someone was coming. The police? Alek and Tristan? It didn’t matter.
I had to act now while Carter was distracted.
The carpet fibers bit into my palms as I shifted my weight, keeping my movements small. Every inch sent fresh agony through my chest, but I forced myself to focus. There, under the desk, half-hidden in shadow, was the letter opener I saw earlier, fallen just far enough that I could reach it if I stretched.
The gunfire grew louder. Carter swore, backing toward the desk, toward me, his attention split between Cole and the door.
Just a little farther.Eva, you can do this.
“Looks like your friends found us,” Carter drawled. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll both be dead before they can get through that door.”
My heart stuttered again, harder this time, the valve catching with a vibration like grinding metal. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, transforming the officelights into strange constellations. My body felt distant, disconnected, like I was floating above the pain.
Just a little closer. My breath came in shallow gasps, each one harder than the last. The emergency lights cast strange shadows across the office, turning Carter into a monster.
My fingers closed around the letter opener. The metal was cool against my palm, the weight both foreign and familiar as my heart stuttered once more.
“I’ll call it a murder-suicide,” Carter snarled. “The cops will believe me, as will the press. My poor son, driven to kill by his demons, by everything he stole from me, while fucking his coach and his best friend. And this slut.”
He flicked off the safety and pointed the gun at Cole.
“I must admit—” Carter’s shoes stopped beside my head, the leather creaking as he shifted his weight and nudged my head, sending agony through me. The scent of bourbon and expensive cologne washed over me, making me want to vomit. “I expected more fight from you, Eva.” He chuckled. “But here you are, just another weak little girl who thought she could play with the big boys.”
My heart skipped, caught, skipped again. Each failed beat sent ice through my veins, darkness creeping at the edges of my consciousness. The pain was vast and terrible, consuming everything except my rage and determination.
The letter opener waited in my fist, under the desk, its silver edge catching the light like a beacon.
I needed him closer, needed him to underestimate me one last time. The pain was getting worse, each heartbeat more uncertain than the last. My chest felt like it was being crushed, every breath a battle against my failing body.
I gasped, trying to speak.
Carter set down his glass with a sharp clack against the mahogany. His shoes whispered across the carpet as he leaned over me, casting his shadow across my face. The bourbon on his breath mixed with the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”
Just a little closer. My fingers twitched against the carpet, measuring the distance. Everything Dr. Parker had taught me about anatomy, all those years in and out of hospitals, memorizing my cardiac system for my own good—it was all for this moment.
“You’re right,” I whispered, the words scraping past my raw throat. My fingers inched toward the desk, despite the tremors wracking my body. “I am weak.”
“You’re weak like your father was weak. Like Novikov was weak. He thought he’d expose my corruption too. And look what he’s gotten for his efforts. Fucking nothing.”
I took a deep breath and dragged myself up. The letter opener was warm in my palm.
