Page 66 of Killing Emma

“Come on,” Luca roars, startling me. “Are you seriously going to play quiet?”

“Told you,” the voice says above me.

I wrap my arms around myself. Just say something, Emma. But as I open my mouth, the music level grows louder.

And then I feel it.

The whizz of something flying just past my face startles me, burying in the wall on the other side of my face. Shaking, I reach my hand up, feeling the handle of a blade.

“Fair game,” Luca’s voice calls out, taunting. “I see your shadow. You’re no match for me, so I’ll let you at least try to go down with a fight.”

I pluck the knife from the wall.

“Look at you,” he chuckles. “Maybe you are deranged.”

“Maybe,” I whisper, running my fingers over the blade itself. It’s about the size of my hand, and I have no fucking intention of trying to hurt Luca.

But I don’t want to die, either.

“I almost heard that,” Luca laughs, the same tone as when he chased me through the woods. A shiver of fear rolls through my body. This isn’t the Luca that sleeps beside me. And I just now realize it.

I push off the wall, my legs nearly giving out as I make way toward the sound of Luca’s voice. I need to say something. I need to speak. But I can’t get a single word out as I finally see the shadow of a man. He’s terrifying.

But he’s still the man who spared me.

“Ah, here you come,” he growls. “I’ll make this fast. I want a real challenge tonight, not a little, breakable twig.”

Breakable twig.

That’s how I appear in the dark, and I’m suddenly pissed. I open my mouth to cut back at him, but I never get the chance, a hand clamping over it. And I smell him and a lot of booze.

I whimper.

He stills against me, his body pressed to mine. But it’s different this time. He’s not aroused by me.

Why isn’t he moving?

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “My head is so fucked right now. Why’re you toying with me, Chester?” I wince at the roar of his voice. “You know why I’m here.”

“Exactly the reason to make you work through it.”

I furrow my brow, and fight to tip my head back to look at him, but his hand holds me like a vice. He bends my head to the side, and I know what’s coming.

He’s going to snap my fucking neck.

And before I realize what I’ve done, the blade is buried in his thigh.

He bursts into pained laughter as I bite down on his fingers, ripping the blade out, and dropping to the floor, slinking out of his grip. “You’re smooth, albeit a little predictable.”

I spin around from the floor, gasping for air as the gravity of what just happened hits me. I stabbed him. He almost snapped my neck.

And he’s completely unaware I’m Emma.

Heavy hands grip my ankles and drag me toward him. I slide across the floor, knowing my demise is coming, I panic as his knees come down hard on either side of me. I know those big hands are coming for my throat, and with every ounce I can muster, I reach up and grab the front of his shirt, using all my strength to bring my lips to his.

I never make it.

He slams me back down on the floor and I see stars. “I don’t think so.” His voice is more sinister than before. “You won’t fucking touch me. You’re here to die, not fuck.”

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