Page 67 of No Second Chances

Her face appears above mine, visible this time, and when I feel the rapid weight on my chest, I know that someone is giving me CPR, trying to bring me back to life.

“You’re not gonna die yet.” Her face twists; her eyes aren’t the same blue they always were. When I gasp for air, she is gone and in her place is Royal, staring down at me on the floor of the bathroom, performing CPR and saving my life so he can try to take it all over again. “You don’t deserve to die yet. You don’t deserve that peace, you stupid whore.”

I stare at the ceiling, recognizing the watermarks in the corners. The bathroom where he repeatedly beat me. Where he tried to kill me. Where he destroyed my spirit.

“You’re not done yet, Kennedy.” He wraps a hand around my neck and squeezes. “You haven’t given me what I want.”

I refuse to say a word, even though I know what he wants. I won’t give him anything more than an expressionless face to take out his anger on. I won’t say the words. He doesn’t even deserve the lie, no matter what my hallucination of Cassie says.

His pale face appears right above mine in a macabre imitation of the way Linc offers his comfort.

“I’m going to kill you, Kennedy. And when I do, there won’t be anyone to put me in prison. There won’t be anyone to stop me from doing this to your sister. To Parker.”

I laugh, despite myself, as my fingers and toes start to tingle with the drugs wearing off.

“You’re going to prison, Royal. And you’re going to die there.” The exclamation bursts from my lungs, from the dark and twisted part of my soul that Royal created every single time he raised his hand against me.

“Shut up!” He slaps me with the palm of his hand, just like he used to.

While it stings, just like every other time he hit me, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it used to.

He wouldn’t break me.

I hear Cassie, right there beside me, laughing like she used to do when we were kids.

“Don’t let him win, Kenny. Buy some time. You know what to do. You’re not alone.”

Royal raises his hand to strike again, and I laugh at him. Intensely, humorlessly, and begging for a fight.

“Go ahead, Royal. Hit me. But you’re too late. I gave the police everything.”

He freezes, his hand in midair, and panic lights up his face like the Fourth of July.

“What?” He tries to sound intimidating but fails.

“You heard me.” I push myself up off the floor, taking every inch that I can. “You’re going to lose. Recordings, my clothes, everything you touched that is covered in my blood. From the night you went too far, Royal. They’ve got it all.”

When he hits me again harder, and with his fist, my head hits the side of the tub and an audible crack fills the air.

“If I’m going down, I’m going to take your lifeless body with me, Kennedy.”

“Good luck with that.” My words are slurred, but there is no doubt he heard them.

The kick to my spine is proof of that.

Maybe when I wake up again, I’ll be able to move my hands and feet enough to get away.

To get the machete.

30

LINC

“Ready. Set. Go!” Remy waves his hands through the air like a crazy person, and we are off across the bullpen.

Dom has his chair tilted forward, using his feet to try and go faster that way.

But I’m smarter.

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