Page 131 of Savannah Royals
“Paul.” I raise a hand between us. “Stop. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Are you going to beg for your life, Katarina?” Paul asks, another demented smile rising. “Go ahead, sweetheart.Beg.If you do it just right, maybe I’ll listen.”
“You know me well enough to know I don’t beg. Itakewhat I want. You taught me that.”
“I seem to remember you begging quite nicely on two particular occasions, bargaining for my life. Once to stop the bullet, the second to save me afterward.”
“You think that gives you power, don’t you?” I move closer. One step, two. All the way until the revolver presses against my forehead. “You think your life brings me to my knees? It doesn’t. Not anymore.”
“You’re a liar.” He steps back and sticks the barrel of the gun to his own chin. His eyes are desperate, his finger on the trigger.“You love me.”
My breath catches in my throat, every nerve ending in my body fighting the urge to wrest the gun away. To stop him from pointing it at himself. In this battle of wills, I don’t move a muscle.
“You love me,” he says again, whispering now.
“Love isn’t power, Paul,” I breathe. “You can’t weaponize my feelings and expect them to remain true. You can’t make me say it, you can’t make me feel it, and I can’t make you believe it. Not anymore.”
In one smooth motion, Paul swings the gun away from his chin and points it at Matthew.
There’s zero thinking, zero rationality. I move.
“Don’t take another goddamn step, Katarina,” Paul thunders. “I’ll shoot him dead where he sits, make you watch the life leave his eyes. Tell me, ishethe one you’ll beg for now? The one you’ll die on your knees for? Prove it. Drop.”
I was never very good at following directions. I don’t drop. I charge. Socking into Paul’s gut and batting the gun away as it fires. The bullet slams into the ceiling, raining dust and limestone upon us.
We struggle, tussling back and forth. The gun goes off twice more into the ceiling before I manage to release Paul’s grip. It falls to the floor with a clatter. I kick it to a far corner.
I’m going for the knife in my boot when two hands, Paul’s hands—once loving, now enraged—encircle my throat. He grabs me by Cleopatra’s collar and lifts, raising me off my feet, slamming my back into the wall. My head rings with the impact, air choked from my windpipe. The bite of the golden collar digs in, cutting off circulation and air.
Paul’s face is inches from my own, his breath hot on my cheek as he chokes the life out of me. The boy I knew and loved is well and truly gone, completely over the edge. This man is going to kill me. There’s not a doubt in my mind.
My fingers scramble hopelessly against Paul’s, prying for purchase, but it’s useless. Even now, my vision swims, beginning to tunnel. I have only seconds, and the dagger in my boot is out of reach. I stretch my fingers for Paul’s face, my right hand falling short to brush his neck. It’s almost loving, this caress…
But then I thumb Cleopatra’s serpentine ring. Right over my queen of diamonds tattoo. I thumb twice until the cobra head flips open. A tiny blade pops out of its mouth, right between the fangs.
My hand is there, curling into a tight fist alongside the smooth curve of his neck. Matthew told me once the carotid artery lies less than two inches beneath the skin.
I stab, deep and true. Twice, for good measure. The second strike spurts bright red blood. Arterial.
Paul releases me, and I fall to the ground, sputtering and clutching my throat. It’s wet with blood where my necklace sliced through skin. Within seconds, Paul collapses to the stone floor beside me. His exsanguination is quick and merciless. I don’t want—can’t bear—to watch, so I turn away.
“Kat!” Matthew cries in my periphery. He’s wiggling like an inchworm toward me. “Kat, untie me. Cut me free.”
“He’s beyond saving, Matthew,” I rasp, but I pull the dagger from my boot and cut him loose. Matthew doesn’t move toward Paul. He wraps his body around me, pressing his thundering heart directly to mine.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs.
“We’resafe,” I answer, pulling back and running my hands down the length of his arms. “It’s over, and we’re safe.”
Bittersweet is the only way to describe the taste of the words as they leave my lips. Born of my own blood, sweat, and undoubtedly soon to come, tears. Tinged with sorrow, relief, hope…all of it and more.
MatthewandIarriveat the bayou loft together, but I leave him on a bench outside to wait. This is something I have to do alone.
My footsteps fall heavily on the stairs, each one echoing like the toll of a funeral bell. Louder and louder. I knock twice on the door, not trusting my voice, before swinging it open. Tony sits at the table and looks up from two wristwatches in his hand. Five more timepieces tick away on the surface in front of him.
I meet his eyes and open my mouth, but all that comes out is a hoarse squeak.
How will I ever find the words to tell them?
