Page 129 of Can You Take It?

I glare at him. “Go to hell, Victor.”

He chuckles, stepping further into the room. “Already there, sweetheart. And it looks like you’re joining me.” He looks at my mom. “You should be grateful I let you have this moment. It won’t last.”

I know he's right. That’s why I've come prepared. My threats might seem baseless, but they're not entirely. Luna knows the truth that he’s the Ghostface Striker. If Richard rescued her, she’ll spill everything. And once the truth is out, Victor will have no choice but to eliminate me.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper in her ear, barely able to get the words out. My hand slips into my sleeve, and my fingers brush against the syringe I’ve hidden there. I pull it out and inject it into her arm. She goes still almost instantly.

I start hyperventilating, making a show of panic. “Mom? Mom, wake up!”

Victor comes rushing in. He pushes me aside and takes my mother’s limp form into his arms. “Ava, come on, wake up!” he shouts, tapping her cheeks, but she doesn’t stir. She wouldn’t, atleast not for a while. That should give me enough time to deal with him.

“I-I’ll get some water,” I stammer, backing away.

“Okay, go,” he waves me off.

I slip out of the room and head into the makeshift kitchen. I grab a glass and start filling it with water. Drugging my own mother... it feels like betrayal. She’s suffered so much, and now I’m adding to it. But I can’t trust her not to intervene. If she wanted to kill Victor, she would have done it years ago. Although I don’t mind killing myself and Victor in order to save Richard, I can’t risk hurting my mother.

The water starts overflowing the glass, pulling me out of my reverie. I shut off the tap and take a deep breath.

I look around, taking stock of my surroundings. Victor is smart, too damn smart. He never kept any sharp objects around, and even the glass in my hand is made of steel. There’s no way I can hurt him enough to incapacitate him with it. Smashing it against his head might slow him down, but it won’t be enough.

Victor glances at me with suspicion in his eyes. “Why are you standing there like that? Give me the water.”

I hand him the glass, and he tries to sprinkle water on my mom, but she doesn’t wake up. I need to get her out of here.

“She’s not waking up,” Victor mutters. He turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” I say, my voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. “I don’t know why she’s not waking up.”

He looks at me suspiciously, but he’s too worried about my mother to think clearly. He crouches beside her, checking her pulse. His back is to me. This is my chance.

I need to find something. I scan the room desperately. My eyes land on a heavy cast iron skillet on the stove. I move quickly, grabbing the skillet and hiding it behind my back. I walk back to Victor.

“Is she okay?”

Victor doesn’t look up. “She’s fine. Just... get me more water.”

I grip the skillet tighter, ready to swing, but a thought stops me. If I hit him now, it might not be enough. He could overpower me, and then I’d lose any chance of saving my mother. I can’t risk it. I set the skillet down quietly and walk back to the kitchen to get more water.

I fill the glass again. Every second feels like an eternity. Victor is losing his patience, and I need to act fast. I return to the room, handing him the glass. He snatches it from my hand and sprinkles more water on her, muttering curses under his breath. She still doesn’t wake up.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” he growls.

“Maybe she’s just exhausted,” I suggest. “She’s been through a lot.”

Victor glares at me. “Go get me some smelling salts from the bathroom,” he orders.

I nod and head toward the bathroom. I need to find a way to take him down for good, but without any sharp objects or weapons, it feels impossible.

I head back to the room. Victor is still trying to rouse my mother. “Where are the salts?” he snaps.

“Couldn’t find them,” I lie, stepping closer. “Maybe we should try getting her outside for some fresh air.”

Victor glares at me. “And why would we do that?”

“She’s been cooped up here for so long. It might help,” I say, putting as much conviction into my voice as I can.

He considers his options. I can see he’s about to brush my idea off, so I push harder. “Victor, she might need a doctor.”

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