Page 56 of Runaways

I glare at him.

"Oh…didn't like that one, did you?" he asks.

"You stupid fucking whore," Paul spits. "I'm gonna—"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence before Silas punches him in the face.

"DO IT NOW, NOAH!" Silas screams—screams—in my face through clenchedteeth.

He's terrifying, like that time in the back alley, and all I can do is react. I lift the cleaver overhead, screaming, and then bring it down on his wrist.

My aim isn't as good as Silas's—the knife comes down at kind of an angle—and I definitely don't possess his size or strength, so it doesn't slice clean through.

It feels good, though, just like he said. I bring it up and back down—again and again. Four times it takes before the hand finally separates from the arm.

I let the knife fall to the ground and sit back on the floor, my entire body shaking with some mix of shock and adrenaline.

"Good girl," Silas says, placing his hands on my shoulders. "You did so fucking good, Noah."

He leans in, kissing my face, my lips, and pulling me into him. But I can't really move. I can't speak.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," Silas continues as Paul wails. "Look at that worthless asshole. He won't be able to hurt anyone anymore. You did that to him."

Paul rolls onto his back, his eyes closing, but I can still see his abdomen rising and falling slightly, so he's breathing. He's still alive.

"Misuse it, you lose it. Do you get it now, Noah?" Tate asks. "How good it can feel to make someone pay? He's giving up, and he's going to bleed out. He's fucking helpless, andyoumade him that way. How many times did you and your mom feel helpless because of him?"

"What…what did you do?"

I look up and see my mom crossing the room…with a gun in her hand.

"What did you do, you little bitch?!" she screams.

She barrels toward me, raising the weapon at her side and pointing it directly at my head before firing.

Pain.All I feel is white hot pain before I hit the floor.

Silas lunges for her legs just as the sound rings out, taking her down, the gun sliding across the hardwood floor. I watch him from behind, driving the knife into her body over and over again, until I close my eyes, unable to watch anymore.

He's killing her. He's killing my mom.

"Hey," Tate says, appearing at my side. "You're okay. Where does it hurt?"

It's my arm or my shoulder—the entire left side of my body is on fire, but I can't speak to answer. He runs his hands over my body, over my torso and neck before turning my head and pushing them through my hair…until finally, he closes his hand around my upper arm.

"Ahhh!" I scream.

"Okay," he says, studying the wound through the torn sleeve of my sweatshirt. He sticks his fucking finger it in, and I scream again. "This is okay, Noah. It just grazed you—it's a scratch."

A scratch? It was a bullet!That's what I'd say if I were capable of speaking, but I'm not. I'm in shock, trapped inside my own mind. My mother grabbed a gun, aimed it at my head, and pulled the trigger. If Silas hadn't lunged at her,my own motherwould have killed me.

My chest hurts. I didn't know. I didn't know she hated me this much.

And now she's dead. She must be, right? Because Silas is standing over me with a bloody knife in his hand, and she's somewhere else, not moving, not making a sound.

I start to cry, and it quickly turns into hysterics.

"Hey, it's okay," Tate says, appearing at my side again. "You're okay. This is going to hurt, though, Noah. Take a deep breath."

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