Page 156 of One Night with Number Nineteen

The man from Faye’s signing.

“Wh-what are you⁠—?”

He’s wearing a police uniform…and has a phone to his ear. A phone he slips into his pocket as he slowly steps off the elevator.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

I don’t.

And I don’t care to hang around and listen to him tell me. Whirling, I sprint down the hall⁠—

Then cry out in pain when he grabs me by the hair and drags me back.

“Let me go!” I shout as fire burns through my scalp.

He doesn’t.

He just yanks me away from the elevator, away from the Family Suite, and around the corner into a darkened hallway.

I claw at his hands, drag my heels.

And fight.

But it doesn’t do any good—I’m getting further and further away from the elevator, from the family area, from any help that might come.

He stops in front of a door and my panic ratchets up.

Because I know—know—if he gets me in that room…

I scrabble at his hands, claw at his skin…and don’t come any closer to freeing myself.

Which is when I realize that I’m not using my best weapon of all.

My voice.

“Help!” I scream so loudly my throat instantly feels like it’s on fire. But I don’t stop. “Help! Help me! Help⁠—!”

He lets go of my hair and grips me by the shoulders, shaking me like a rag doll. “Shut up,” he growls. “Shut the fuck up right now, you stupid bitch.”

I taste blood. “Why are you doing this?”

“You were supposed to love him forever,” he hisses. “And then you threw your wedding certificate out, like it was a fucking piece of trash.” Another shake. “You were just pretending when you stayed by his side, pretending to be the good wife, the perfect partner.”

My head slams against the wall and I cry out again, tears streaming down my face.

“You’re all the same. You just take and take and take until there’s nothing left.”

His crazed eyes fix on mine. “And then you just go and fuck the next man you see.”

“I—”

His fingers tighten. “I saw you!” he shouts. “I saw you fuck him in your bed. I saw it!”

The prickling feeling on my nape.

All the oddities—the wine glass, the marriage certificate, the stuffed Ollie.

“You thought the cameras would save you?” He scoffs. “I’ve been in your house, bitch. I’ve seen you touch him, kiss him, seen you write that filth you make a living at.” He reaches for the doorknob. “You’re just another whore who needs to learn her lesson.”