Page 20 of Until Death Parts Us

There’s some rustling inside the tent we’re in. It’s remained relatively warm, but every time I hear a zipper, I feel a cold breeze, letting me know someone has come or gone.

My chest heaves with the panicked breaths of someone who knows they don’t have much longer. Then I remember how much people like us enjoy that, so I try to calm down. I don’t want my death to give them any pleasure.

The zipper opens, a breeze rolls in, and a few seconds later, I feel another hot brand against my skin.

I yell, giving them exactly what they want, and I hate myself for it. I attempt to talk through my gag, calling them every name in the book while I suffer through the pain. I threaten them. I call them cowards and pussies. None of it matters.

I feel the familiar sensation of a knife on my skin, and though it’s irrational, I can’t help but think of Quin and how it feels likea betrayal. If there’s going to be a blade on my flesh, extracting my blood, it needs to be wielded by him. If someone were going to kill me, I’d prefer it be him. I want his eyes to be the last thing I see when I leave this world, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to get what I want.

As I try to think about Quin, I feel the blade push into my flesh.

I try to keep it in, clenching my teeth and just grunting through the pain, but then he pulls it out and places it on my inner thigh, starting to pierce the spot where my femoral artery is, and my scream fills the tent.

Just as I’m quieting, I think I hear another sound.

It’s coming from outside…

And it’s getting closer.

CHAPTER TWELVE

QUIN

They’re aboutthree miles west of the tent I went to, thinking I was going to find Kaspian. I’m flying through the snow, the truck bouncing and rocking as I never take my foot from the gas pedal. I glance at the phone to make sure he’s still there, then I look up and spot a beige tent behind a row of trees.

When I hit the brakes, the truck struggles to slow down in time. The bumper taps the trees, knocking snow free from the branches, and then I’m rushing out the door with my knife in hand, and duct tape in my jacket pocket.

As I’m nearing the front, which is facing toward the trees, I spot a small fire before turning and seeing someone emerge from the tent. His face is etched into a scowl of confusion, but then he sees me.

“Tim?” I question, sure I’m right, but uncaring if I’m wrong.

I lunge forward, the knife sliding right into the hollow of his throat. His eyes widen just as his lips part, blood bubbling between his teeth.

“What the fuck is—” a man says, coming to a stop when he sees the scene in front of him.

Maybe he’s Tim. But the one I already stabbed is now falling to his knees, hands clawing at his throat like he can save himself.

He takes a second to think, then he’s scrambling back into the tent. He dives forward just as I reach out and grab the hood of his sweater. It’s then that I see him. My Kaspian.

He’s stripped of his shirt and pants, a bleeding cut on his side and another on his thigh. I also see an angry, red mark on his stomach.

I yank the man back with force, making the tent walls shift when he flies into one.

“You fucking branded him.”

It’s not a question. It’s clear what he did. Did he think he could outdo my own brand? The one of my name scrawled across his chest?

I pounce on him, reaching for the tape in my pocket, knowing I need to make his death slow and painful.

His hand flies at me, and then I feel a sharp pain in my side.

“Fuck!” I roar, realizing he had grabbed a knife before I snatched him up.

He takes advantage of my momentary shock, shoving me off him and climbing on top of me. I kick at his legs, trying to take out his knees. I tighten my grip on my knife, but he grabs my arm, keeping me from being able to bend it.

I use my other arm to bring my elbow down on his head, but the jacket prevents it from being as effective as I want, so I ball up my fist and smash it against his temple. It’s my left hand, which has less force, but it bothers him enough to let go of my other hand briefly.

I stab the blade into his back before rolling us over where I continue to punch him in the face, over and over.

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