Page 72 of Saving Little Clark

Sterling chuckled, low and ugly in his throat. Began to prowl forward, head cocked at that awful, predatory angle.

"Oh, I think you know exactly why I'm here, sweetheart." He spat the endearment like a curse, lips curling in a sneer. "After all, you're the one who forced my hand. Backed me into a corner, left me no other choice."

I blinked hard, mind reeling as I scrambled to make sense of it.

"I don't understand," I stammered, backing away on instinct. Keeping the couch between us, a laughable barrier against the force of his resentment.

Sterling snarled. "Liar!" He hissed. "You're alwaystwistingthings. Trying to make me out to be the bad guy."

He advanced another step, eyes wild and rolling. "That interview," he spat. "Thatfuckinginterview, where you played the poor little victim. Cried your crocodile tears, made the whole world think I was some kind of abusive psycho."

My heart seized in my chest, a rush of cold prickling down my spine. Oh god. He'd seen it.

"I had to," I whispered, hating the tremor in my voice. "To warn people. Show them the signs, the red flags, so they wouldn't end up like me."

"You were mine," he panted, low and feral. "But you ruined it, because you couldn't handle a little tough love. Couldn't stand the thought of someone seeing through your bullshit, your pathetic attempts to be something you're not."

I was shaking now, fine tremors wracking my frame. But beneath the fear, a flicker of defiance was stirring.

"You're wrong," I whispered, the words wavering but resolute. Meeting his wild-eyed stare head on, unflinching despite the way my knees wanted to buckle. "Wewere wrong, and toxic, and so fuckingbadfor each other. And I'm done letting you convince me otherwise."

Sterling reeled back like I'd struck him, eyes wide and stunned. For a single, suspended moment, I thought I glimpsedsomething in their depths. Something lost and wounded, a frightened child staring out from a monster's face.

But then it was gone. His lips curled back from his teeth, a snarl more animal than human.

"You think you can just walk away?" He hissed, a chilling calm settling over him like a shroud. "Think you can air our dirty laundry for the world to see, and there won't beconsequences?"

His hand slipped into his pocket, and my heart seized. Because I knew that motion.

"I tried to leave you alone. To start over somewhere new, be someone better." His voice was eerily flat. "But you just couldn't let it go. Couldn't resist the urge to play the martyr, to paint yourself as some kind of tragicvictimon the news. Well guess what, sweetheart? You're about to get your wish."

And then, between one blink and the next, he lunged. Slashing out with the knife he'd pulled from thin air, a glittering blur of motion.

I yelped, throwing myself sideways on pure instinct. Felt the whisper of the blade against my cheek, a line of icy fire that made my breath catch in my throat.

And then I was running. Tearing through the house like all the hounds of hell were on my heels.

Sterling gave chase with a howl, a sound of pure, unhinged bloodlust. I could hear him crashing after me, furniture splintering and knick-knacks shattering in his wake.

A heavy thud, a grunt of impact. He'd vaulted clear over the couch, hitting the ground in a roll and coming up sprinting.

I swung around a corner, socked feet skidding on polished wood. Caught myself on the banister and hauled myself up the stairs.

Behind me, Sterling bellowed in frustration. The sounds of pursuit faltered, then redoubled with a vengeance.

"You can't run forever, Clark!" He roared, the words bouncing off the walls like ricocheting bullets. "This house is only so big, and I know it like the back of my fucking hand. There's nowhere to go that I won't find you."

Tears blurred my vision, my breath coming in desperate gasps. He was right. I was a rat in a maze, scurrying through corridors with no exit.

But still, I ran. Flew down the hallway, hanging a sharp left into the guest wing. Racking my brain for somewhere, anywhere to seek refuge.

There! The linen closet, tucked into a small alcove. I wrenched the door open and flung myself inside, pulling it shut with a soft snick.

Darkness enveloped me, musty and close. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, the rush of my own breathing harsh and loud in the confined space.

For a moment, all was still. And then, from beyond the door, a creak. A scuff of shoe on carpet, slow and deliberate.

"Clark," Sterling sing-songed, the words dripping malice. "Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

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