Page 140 of What Doesn't Kill Her

Kellen ducked reflexively, fearing the unsecured gun would discharge.

But the Glock skidded away to hide under a cask.

There. She felt a bone-deep satisfaction. That made things a little more even.

He grabbed his wrist, staggered backward, stepped on another princess doll, did a clumsy dance to keep his balance. Then, before she could blink, he pulled a thin knife out of his sleeve.

The son of a bitch had come prepared to fight, and like Gregory, Daniel was tall and long-armed.

Damn men. They always had the unfair advantage, and took it, too.

He lunged at her, blade outstretched.

She retreated. The hose on her feet was beginning to shred. She had traction again. Thank God, because this gown dragged her down and the only way to fight this guy was—lifting her skirts high, she kicked at the hand holding the knife.

The weight of the gown slowed her.

Daniel anticipated the kick, moved aside and slashed.

She swung in a circle and stumbled. Agony slithered up her leg. Blood, sticky and warm, slithered down from the gash in her ankle. She gasped, unsure how badly she was hurt, unsure if she could stand.

“I’ve had to keep up my fighting skills to get parts,” the actor told her, and lunged with the point of the knife.

He was right on target; Kellen thought she was dead, pierced through the heart by a knife wielded by the greedy pig who wore her dead husband’s face.

The point of the knife stuck in the plastic stays of her corset. Stuck—and remained. Daniel couldn’t jerk it loose.

His eyes bulged, disbelieving. He lost his grip on the hilt.

Kellen lifted her skirts again, ready to kick.

As she swung around, Daniel grabbed her train and spun her faster, farther, then jerked and pulled her feet out from under her.

She fell hard, hitting the smooth concrete with a slam that jarred her from jaw to knee. Pain brought tears to her eyes, but she bent her elbow, slammed it up and blocked him as he leaped on her.

He reached for her throat.

From out of nowhere, an empty blank wine bottle appeared, swung, slammed into the side of his head.

His eyes rolled back and he fell sideways, off Kellen and onto the floor.

Rae. Rae held the bottle in one hand—and the Glock in the other. “Mommy, here!” She offered the pistol.

Before Kellen could react, Dan came to life and lunged for it. He slapped Rae’s face, fast and furious, and ripped the pistol out of her hand. He moved so quickly she couldn’t react, this little girl who had never been deliberately hurt in her life. He turned the pistol on her, on Kellen’s daughter, cocked it and—

Rae threw herself on the floor.

Kellen pulled the knife out of the corset and stabbed him in a swift upward motion between the ribs.

The point entered his heart. He jerked in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak.

And as he died, the pistol shot blasted and echoed, back and forth across the blending shed.

57

The world went still, motionless, cool, dim, blank, gray. The only sound was the ringing in Kellen’s ears and the thunder of fear in her veins.

Rae. Did Daniel kill Rae?

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