Page 184 of Secret Obsession
I keep my gaze locked on his face.
My murderer.
I taste it in my mouth, roll the words around.
They feel wrong. Like accepting this fate is something only an idiot would do. But what can I say? He’s threatening the only girl I care about. The only one I’d give up everything for.
And he’s asking—no,demanding—that I give up my life to save her.
Done.
Easy.
“Are you sorry for killing my brother?” he asks. “Your final words, Whiteshaw. Better make it count.”
His thumb pulls back the safety. I don’t know shit about guns, but clearly everything up until now wasn’t a real threat.
Now, it’s ready to go.
I lift my chin and stare him down. “If I knew this was how it would end, I would’ve tortured him a bit more first.”
59
WILLOW
My lungs ache. The last thing I remember was taking gasping breaths, then nothing. More darkness, but it seemed worse than the pitch-black I was locked in. This was endless, and I was falling through it without a parachute.
But then cool, stale air rushed into me, and the familiar scent of Miles curled in my nostrils. His voice in my ears.
Another hallucination.
But when I asked if I was dead, his voice was a sweet melody. Sweet and sad, and he denied death. The pain in my muscles and joints came back next. My head was pulsing, a migraine of epic proportions brewing behind my eyes.
Miles loves me.
He told me.Again. And it sounded more like a plea, or an apology.
Except Miles Whiteshaw doesn’t apologize.
He put his folding knife in my hands. I blink at it and try to get my numb fingers to work, to flip open the blade and slice through the tape. It takes me too many tries to get the blade pointed the right way, and then the right leverage. Force.
The blade slips through the tape as soon as I get it started. I sit up and glance over at Miles. He’s on his knees, glaring up at the brother of the guy he killed without a shred of fear.
Me? I have plenty of fear.
“Are you sorry for killing my brother?” he asks Miles. “Your final words, Whiteshaw. Better make it count.”
My heart kicks it into high gear. I cut the tape away from my ankles and move to a crouch. When neither notice me, I swing my leg out. Then the other. I land silently and step forward.
The gun is in Miles’ face. He’s going to fucking obliterate him.
But Miles says, “If I knew this was how it would end, I would’ve tortured him a bit more first.”
I’m not losing him.
I lunge forward and swing with the knife. It buries in the back of the guy’s knee, and he lets out a yell. A split second later, the gun goes off.
I scream, the noise tearing from my throat as I rip the blade out.
