Page 116 of Puck Struck
I drop my hand and turn slowly. James stands about ten feet away, next to a black sedan. He looks different than he did the last time I saw him at the coffee shop. Thinner. Wild-eyed. Desperate. In a t-shirt and ripped jeans instead of his signature Armani suit.
His hand dangles next to him. Something glints under the overhead light.
A knife.
"James," I croak, my eyes glued to the weapon clutched in his hand. "What are you doing here?"
"I want you to stop pretending you don't know exactly what you've done to me." His voice is shaking with rage, his face nearly purple as he edges closer. "Do you have any idea what my life has been like since you ruined everything?"
"I didn't ruin anything. You did that yourself."
"I loved you!" The words echo off the concrete walls, reverberating between my ears. "I gave you everything, and you threw it back in my face. You filed that restraining order, destroyed my reputation, cost me my job. I lost everything, you ungrateful bastard."
"You stalked me. You threatened me. You wouldn't leave me alone." I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. “I had no choice.”
"Because you belonged to me!" Pure madness glares back at me as he creeps toward me. "You were mine, Connor. And then you disappeared, changed your name, became this...this hockey star. Living the life you should have been living with me."
I hold out my hands and try to take a step back, but my legs are engulfed in a puddle of imaginary tar. "James, put the knife down. This isn't going to solve anything."
He laughs, a sharp, piercing sound, high and manic. "William Keating thought he could use me, then throw me away when I became inconvenient. Just like you did. Just like everyone does."
"William used you?" I rub the stress knot lodged at the back of my skull.
"Oh, didn't you know? He hired me to provide information about your past. Promised me it would be discreet. Professional. But then he decided I was too much of a liability. Cut me off, told me to disappear." James's grip tightens on the knife. "But I'm not disappearing. Not until I get what I'm owed."
"What do you think you're owed?" Keep him talking. That’s good. Hopefully someone will show up and scare this crackerjack off. Rex, security, fucking anyone.
"You. You’re coming back to New York with me. Living the life we should have had together. And if I can't have that, then no one can have you."
He lunges suddenly with the knife. I dodge sideways, but I’m a second too slow. The steel blade catches my shoulder, tearing through fabric and flesh. Pain explodes through my arm as I stumble backward into a car.
The alarm blares out. My temples throb.
"James, stop," I rasp, holding out a hand. As if that’s going to stop this psychopath.
"You ruined everything!" He comes at me again, the knife flashing under the lights. "Everything!"
I stagger to my feet and roll to my side, pushing off the car, but he's faster, more desperate. The blade catches me again, this time in my side, and I crash down hard on the concrete. Blood pools beneath me as I dig my fingertips into the ground and try to crawl away.
"Stop fighting it, Connor," James says, standing over me. "This is how it was always going to end."
He raises the knife again. I stare up at him, my vision blurring, head thick with cobwebs. Darkness flirts with the edges of my sight, and I close my eyes, bracing for the final blow.
Before I feel the blade slice into me again, Ryan's voice cuts through the air.
"Get the fuck away from him!"
My eyes open a crack, my head dropping on my ear. Ryan Keating barrels toward us from the elevator.
"Ryan," I gasp, my voice barely louder than a whisper. "Get out of here. Call security."
But Ryan doesn't listen. He doesn’t stop. He leaps over meand tackles James around the waist. Both of them crash into another parked car, the knife skittering across the concrete as they struggle on the ground.
I blink fast, struggling to maintain consciousness. James's elbow catches Ryan in the face. Blood streams from his nose, but Ryan doesn't let go. Doesn't back down.
"Call 911," Ryan yells at me through gritted teeth as he wrestles with James. It’s muffled, like I’m submerged in water. "Now!"
With shaking hands, I fumble for my phone. I barely get it out before my fingers stop working and it crashes to the concrete next to me.
