Page 102 of York

But I had the knife.

There were no thoughts right then.

Just survival instincts.

Just action.

Tightening my hold on the knife, I plunged it into his thigh, feeling the hot blood trickling over my hand as Sonny roared.

I yanked it back out, reaching higher, and stabbing again. And again.

The hand released me as he yelled out in pain as I yanked the knife back out of his pelvis.

“You fucking bitch,” he snarled.

He kicked out, sending me flying backward, but I held onto that knife like the lifeline it was.

Something stabbed me in the back and thigh as I landed and I scuttled backward, making it bite into me more as Sonny loomed over me.

He bent forward.

And I just… stabbed and stabbed.

Into his calf. Leg. Thigh.

It was the thigh that did it.

As soon as I yanked the knife back out, the spray jetted, splashing across my face, my chest, my arms.

I reached up, wiping my face. But the spray just kept coming.

Then Sonny stumbled, dropped.

When my gaze moved up to his face, he was ghost-pale, wide-eyed, and slack-jawed.

He reached down, pressing his hands hard into his thigh as I scrambled backward.

The blood wasn’t spraying, not anymore. But it was still pouring out of his leg way, way too fast.

I watched as Sonny’s head wobbled as he dropped onto his ass. Then saw him fall sideways into the rock wall, not even reacting to the rock that his face rammed into.

My heart had taken up residence in my mouth. I was gagging on it, and the scent of copper that filled the crevice we were nestled in.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t even think.

All I could do was stare at Sonny’s lifeless body.

His whole body was slack.

His breath was weird. It went from fast, frantic, to slow and deep, and, finally, to these weird gasping sounds.

I needed to call the police.

Get him an ambulance.

But I couldn’t unfreeze my body.