Page 125 of Power
His eyes grew wild, pupils dilated with bloodlust, and I knew in that instant, it was all over. I tried to buck him off me, but he had the weight, he had the advantage, and he smirked, knowing this was the end for me.
He’d probably claim this was self-defense. After all, Scarlett had watched me storming to the elevator. Other people probably had seen it too. There might even be a witness that I was the instigator, slamming Marcus into the glass wall before the elevator doors closed. If I got stabbed in the process, well …
He pressed the blade harder against my neck. I growled in frustration, writhing, trying to get away from it. I could feel the first prick of its cut, the first drops of blood seeping down my neck. And then I felt it puncture deeper and slice.
A crimson spray erupted like a mini volcano, painting Marcus’s pristine cream shirt with red patterns and splattering against the mirrored wall. Suddenly, the elevator doors opened with a cheerful ding that mocked my dire situation, andsomething flashed through the air. Marcus jerked off of me with a howl and landed on his side, a bright red stiletto heel wedged deep into his ear.
“Jace!” Scarlett’s panicked voice echoed through my fading consciousness, her hands clamping down on my throat. “Oh my God! Someone call 911!”
“What the fuck?” Randolph’s voice boomed outside the elevator.
A crowd began to gather, witnessing their CEO bleeding out on the floor. Marcus moaning, trying to yank Scarlett’s high heel out of his eardrum.
My assistant materialized, pulling the emergency stop so the elevator doors wouldn’t shut.
“Get Marcus out of here!” Scarlett demanded, authority ringing in her voice.
I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her for protecting me from a possible second attack. Look at her, taking command of the situation, everyone following her orders. Randolph wrapped his arms around Marcus and pulled him out of the elevator, laying him on the ground while Scarlett hovered over me, her eyes blazing with tears.
“Don’t leave me,” she begged, pressing harder on my wound. “Please. Hold on, okay? An ambulance is coming. You just need to hold on.”
If there was only one last piece of information that Scarlett West could ever learn about me before I died, I wanted her to know that I wasn’t the killer after all. I wanted to die with honor. I wanted my family to be proud of the man I’d been.
And I wanted to be worthy of her love, if only in the moments I had left.
“I wasn’t the one driving,” I managed, blood bubbling between my lips.
“Shh,” she cried, pressing harder.
“I …” I started, voice barely a whisper.
Blood sprayed through her fingers, making her shriek until she covered the wound effectively.
“I love you,” I murmured, realizing the truth behind the words that I’d never said to anyone before.
“Stay with me, Jace,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.
But I couldn’t stay. I could feel myself fading. Her little hands were doing nothing more than slowing the bleeding, but I was hemorrhaging out right here on the elevator floor. The very heart of my empire—stories of steel and glass that had once been my greatest triumph—now reduced to nothing but the cold surface where I’d take my final breath.
How fitting that my life would end here, in the monument to ambition I’d spent years building, only to discover it was hollow compared to what I’d found in her. As consciousness ebbed away like the crimson pool beneath me, the pain mercifully receded, allowing me one final, perfect clarity: to see her beautiful face without distraction. The empire would crumble to dust, but her tears falling on my cheeks were the only legacy that mattered now.
She looked like an angel, really. If I had to go, at least I had felt the warmth of love.
The edges of my vision went black, and the sound of Scarlett’s voice crying, “No …” dissolved into nothingness as darkness claimed me.
64
SCARLETT
Jace’s lifeless body lay beneath me, his blood—sticky, warm, and smelling of iron—drenched around my trembling hands. I fought back the sobs that racked my body because each one shook my shoulders, and I couldn’t risk moving my hands. Not even an inch.
I won’t let him die.
Please, please, please let help get here before it’s too late. His skin looks so white already.
It felt like an eternity before the paramedics finally arrived, an eternity measured in heartbeats. Mine racing while his grew fainter. An EMT took my place, securing his jugular and performing critical life-saving measures, and then loaded him onto a stretcher.
Around us, a larger crowd had gathered. People crying, sobbing really. It wasn’t every day you witnessed an attempted murder in your workplace, but all I could focus on was Jace’s ghost-like face, the frightening stillness of his powerful body. I closed my eyes and begged the universe, God, or anyone who might be listening to not take him from me.
