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“Relax,” Wayne said, his arms wrapped tightly around her small waist while Christopher’s head lolled back onto his shoulders.
“I’ve been bored of the same routine, darl,” he added, pulling the butcher's knife from his back pocket. My entire body went rigid as he dragged the blunt edge slowly across Evie’s cheek. Her lips parted, but no words came out. “I want to try something different,” he murmured into her neck, his hips rolling against her like this was all just some sick game. Rage exploded in my chest so fast, it made my vision blur.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” I snapped, yanking hard against the chains, metal biting deep into my skin.
He ignored me.
Of course he did.
Wayne shifted the knife and pressed it into Evie’s hand. Her fingers didn’t close around it at first. So Wayne’s hand wrapped over hers and forced it shut. My heart slammed so hard it hurt. “No!” I roared, surging forward, chains clanging violently as I fought against them with everything I had. “Don’t fucking make her do this!” I shouted.
But it was no use.
“I want you to kill him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
EVIE
The weight of the butcher's knife felt nocuous in my hand.
As if I was holding the throat of a python, its lethality was even dangerous to myself, despite the fact that I was the one wielding the weapon. I remembered when Peter used to chase me around the house with dried carcasses of cockroaches and lizards he’d found in the backyard. The terror I’d felt knowing that eventually he would catch me and force me to touch them would only make me run that much faster. Sometimes I would run straight to Dad’s room, knowing he would be there to save me.
But Dad was not here to save me anymore.
“You bastard!” Jackson’s voice tore through the room, raw and furious, the chains above him rattling violently as he thrashed against them, metal clanging with every desperate pull.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn't think.
I couldn’t breathe.
My fingers trembled around the knife so badly, I thought I might drop it. I stared at it like it didn’t belong in my hand. I wasn't a killer; I couldn’t even hurt a fly. I was hoping that any second now, I would wake from this horrible nightmare, but the warmth behind me was so real, I couldn’t have been sleeping. “I can’t,” I whispered, my voice breaking as I shook my head. “Please…Wayne. I-I can’t.” I turned my head slightly, just enough to look at him over my shoulder.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
I looked up at Christopher whose eyes were so empty, it stole the breath from me. “Please, Evie,” he rasped, barely able to get the words out. “Please don’t.” Tears flooded my vision, and I shook my head harder.
“I can’t,” I said again, louder this time, my voice cracking under the weight of it. “I can’t do this. Please, Wayne, don’t make me,” I cried, trying to step back—a feeble attempt to get away from him, from the knife, from all of it. But Wayne didn’t budge. His arm locked tighter around my waist, holding me in place.
“Stop!” Jackson roared.
“Shut the fuck up,” Wayne snapped, his grip tightening painfully against me.
I sucked in a sharp breath. “I can’t,” I sobbed, shaking my head as I looked up at Christopher. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I cried as the knife wavered in my hand. I couldn’t even lift it properly.
“You’ll do this,” Wayne growled, his voice dropping low in my ear, all pretence gone now, “or I’ll finish all three of you here tonight.”
My entire body went cold.
“Don’t fucking push me.”
“Please, Wayne. P-please,” I tried again, the words tumbling out in broken gasps as I shook my head so hard, it hurt. My fingers spasmed around the knife, trying to let go, trying to drop it, but his hand crushed over mine, forcing it tighter.
Oh, God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. “I’ll do anything, I swear! I’ll do whatever you want, just not this! Please don’t make me do this!” I twisted in his hold, pushing back against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space. There was none. He was solid behind me, unmovable, his arm locked around my waist like iron.
