Page 34 of Dart to Me
“That’s it,” Rick coaxes. “You always knew we belonged together.”
I catch a flicker of movement outside the window—a shadow passing quickly. The police? I need to keep him talking.
“She’s doing what you want,” I say, drawing his attention. “Let Miles go first.”
Rick’s eyes narrow. “You don’t make the rules here.”
“Neither do you,” Ellie says suddenly, stopping just out of his reach. “Not anymore.”
Something in her voice has changed—steel replacing fear. Rick notices it too; his expression falters.
“What game are you playing?” he asks.
“No game.” Ellie takes a deliberate step backward. “I’m done letting you control me through fear. I’m done running.”
Rick’s face contorts. “You promised?—”
“I promised nothing,” she cuts him off. “I asked if you would let them go, and you lied. Just like you always lie.”
His grip tightens on the knife. “You think you know me so well?”
“I know you never intended to let any of us walk out of here alive.”
I see another movement at the window—definitely someone outside. I need to keep Rick’s attention away from it.
“You’re going back to prison,” I tell him. “The only question is whether it’s for kidnapping or murder.”
Rick laughs, a hollow sound that echoes through the dilapidated boathouse. “If I’m going down, I’m not going alone.”His eyes lock onto Ellie. “We’ll go together, like Romeo and Juliet. More romantic that way, don’t you think?”
He drags Miles’s chair backward, keeping the knife at his throat while positioning himself away from the windows.
“Drop the gun,” he orders me. “All the way this time. Or I start carving.”
The distant wail of sirens reaches us. Rick’s head jerks toward the sound.
“Now!” I shout, diving forward as the back door crashes open.
Two officers burst in, weapons drawn. “Police! Drop the knife!”
Rick yanks Miles’s head back, blade pressing deeper. “Stay back or he dies!”
Everything happens in a blur of motion. I lunge for Rick’s knife hand. Ellie screams. Miles’s chair topples backward. The knife slashes air, then flesh—my arm erupts in searing pain.
Rick shoves me aside with surprising strength, lunging toward Ellie. I stagger but stay on my feet, blood streaming down my arm.
An officer tackles Rick from behind, slamming him to the splintered wooden floor. The knife skitters away, spinning across boards stained with my blood. Rick howls with rage, bucking against the officer’s weight as handcuffs click into place.
“Stay down!” the officer shouts, knee pressed between Rick’s shoulder blades.
I stumble toward Ellie, who’s rushing to Miles. Her hands work frantically at the duct tape binding his wrists while another officer helps right the overturned chair. Miles’s eyes are wide, darting between Rick and Ellie, his chest heaving with panicked breaths.
“Are you okay?” I ask Ellie, my voice sounding distant in my own ears. The adrenaline is wearing off, pain replacing it in throbbing waves.
She turns to me, face paling as she takes in the gash on my arm. “Oh god, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, pressing my hand against the wound. Blood seeps between my fingers, warm and sticky. “Check on Miles.”
The room tilts suddenly. I brace myself against the wall, leaving a crimson handprint.
