Page 118 of Can You Take It?

Without breaking eye contact, I pull out my phone and swipe to the picture I took earlier. The man I killed is all over the news. I turn the screen towards Victor, letting him see the proof of what I’ve done.

His eyes narrow, and for the first time, I see uncertainty. He wasn’t expecting this.

“Recognize him?” I ask coldly. “He’s one of yours, isn’t he? Well, not anymore. He’s kinda dead.”

Victor’s face contorts with rage, and he lunges forward, grabbing me by the neck. His grip is tight, cutting off my air, but I don’t flinch. I’ve been through worse.

“You think one dead minion makes you powerful?”

I struggle to breathe, but I manage to choke out the words. “It’s a start.”

“I could kill you right now.”

I force a smile, despite the pain. “But you won’t. You need me, remember?”

“You think you’ve outsmarted me, Izel? You’re more naive than I thought.”

“You should check the news.”

That gets him. The look in his eyes changes from hesitation to confusion, and then he lets go, reaching for his phone. His fingers fumble as he unlocks it, and I can see the worry start to creep in.

“Fuck!” He curses as he swings at me. “Why the hell did you send those letters with the victims’ blood, you stupid bitch?!”

I cough, tasting blood, but the smirk doesn’t leave my face. “Because it won’t be long before the FBI figures out, I was the one writing them. I sent those letters before their deaths. I was practically saving them... or at least trying to. And when they start putting the pieces together, they’ll come straight for me. And when they do, I’ll have no choice but to rat you out.”

Victor lets out a cold, mocking laugh. “You always had a vivid imagination, didn’t you? How about this: you’re lounging on a beach in Hawaii, sipping cocktails while the FBI chases their tails. Or maybe you’re in a cozy cabin in the Rockies, completely off the grid. But the truth? You’ll be rotting in the same place I left you ten years ago. Now, tell me how the hell are you going to rat me out when you’ll be a living corpse. Tell me, how are you going to tell everyoneIamthe Ghostface Striker, the Slasher, or whatever the media’s calling me these days?”

I wish Richard was here to hear this. To finally witness the confession that I’ve been waiting for all these years. Because I know, deep down, this is the last time Victor will ever admit to killing anyone—from Hollowbrook to Virginia. It all started a decade ago, when I first tried to escape him. Since then, he’s made my life a living nightmare, punishing me in ways I could never have imagined.

First, he had Charles throw me into slavery, a fate worse than death. When that no longer tore me apart the way he wanted, he moved on. He started targeting my friends, picking them off one by one, making sure I felt that isolation, that crushing loneliness. He wanted me to feel like I had no one left. And when I stopped making friends—when I became too numb to care about the people around me—he switched tactics again.

He began killing anyone I came into close contact with. Every person who so much as glanced in my direction had a death sentence hanging over their head.

I wanted to report it. God knows I did. I wanted to put an end to it all—stop the bloodshed, stop the madness. But I couldn’t. Victor had something on me, something I couldn’t let see the light of day. Isla. I killed her. I did the one thing that haunts me every single night, that makes me sick to my core. And the thought of being locked away, craving something as simple as sunlight, it made me weak. Made me stay silent. But that leverage? It doesn’t hold the same weight anymore.

Because I fell in love.

I can’t let him touch Richard. Iwon’t. Even if it means spending the rest of my life behind bars, rotting in a cell. I’ll take that over losing Richard.

But there’s still one unfinished business left. One final thing I have to do before this all ends.

“I could destroy you with a single word. Make you disappear. You’d be nothing more than a ghost, just like you’ve always been.”

I don’t say anything. The silence must get to him because his eyes narrow, and before I can blink, his fist connects with my cheek.

“Tell me how the fuck are you going to rat me out now, huh?” he hisses.

I stay silent because the more he hits me, the more desperate he becomes, and the less I care. Each punch feels like a badge of honor, proof that I’m getting under his skin. I might be bleeding and bruised, but I’m not broken. Not yet.

“Answer me!” he roars, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me.

I start to black out, the edges of my vision blurring, when I hear him sneer, “Tick-tock, little girl. You’re going home.”

Chapter 31

RICHARD

I wake up with a pounding headache. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and my muscles are stiff from being out for God knows how long. I blink, trying to clear the haze from my vision and realize I’m still in the same rundown motel room. The memory of Izel straddling me, her lips on mine, and the sting of the needle flashes back. I should be angry, furious even, but as they say, love is blind. And with her, it’s like I’m willingly closing my eyes to the truth. Because my love for her isn’t just a flaw; it’s a fucking crime I’ll never plead guilty to.

---