Page 41 of A Christmas to Die For
"Yes," I breathe, as she stepsforward.
And then I move.
With a guttural cry, I slam my legs into the side of the deck, pain ripping through me like fire.
What happens next was something I anticipated, but I never imagined it would unfold like this.
The massive icicle hanging from the second story roof—its tip sharp as a dagger, the base thick as my upper thigh—wobbles from the force of my strike. Then it snaps free, crashing down onto Holly.
It spears into her back with a brutal slice, the jagged point sinking deep into her shoulder blade. Blood sprays across the deck and splatters the snow.
The heavier end slams into the back of her head, and a laugh nearly escapes me at the way she freefalls off the step, landing face-first in the snow.
I know this is only the beginning of the fight, but at least she's wounded too. A more even playing field.
She crumples in the snow, clawing at her back like a branch is jammed in her shoulder.
"You fucking bitch!" she screeches, scrabbling to dislodge the sharp object protruding from her body.
It's a worthless attempt. How do you grab something like an icicle slowly melting from your own body heat? I can't exactly run to the car, but I brace myself with my good leg and use every ounce of strength to haul myself upright.
Pain surges through me as the wire bites deeper the moment I flex my calf tostay standing.
My only shot is to slip past a distracted Holly, let gravity take over, and slide down the hill Sabrina and I worked so hard to climb.
When her back is turned, I make my move.
No matter how I go down, pain is inevitable, but my best chance is to slide through the snow on my back, injured leg elevated in the air.
But before I can even put a foot over the edge, it feels like my leg's been torn clean off.
I scream, hot tears streaking down my cheeks.
When my vision clears, I see Holly gripping the end of the wire and yanking like it's a game of tug of war.
I lose my balance and crash backward. The impact slams me down, pain exploding in my tailbone. My head whips back, hair fanning out in the snow.
Before I can tell which way is up, Holly is on top of me, straddling my hips. Her forearm crushes my neck, blocking my windpipe and preventing me from drawing a single breath.
"I'll still enjoy this," she spits, pressing all her weight into me, both gloved hands now squeezing my throat.
My world tunnels into a blur in an instant, every sense shutting down at once. I can't hear the wind, can't smell the blood dripping from my leg, can't feel anything but the crushing weight on my neck and the frantic urge to fight her off.
She's pulled her ski mask back on—a precaution to keep her DNA off me. I claw at her wrists, desperate to scrape skin beneath my fingernails, but darkness creeps in the longer she chokes me. I even try to bite her gloved hand, but there's no exposedflesh to reach.
My eyelids begin to close, and I know my end is coming. There's nothing left to do butsurrender.
Fucking hell, do you know how hard it is to strangle someone to death? The sheer, bone-shaking effort it takes not to loosen your grip too early? You have to commit—fully. Clamp down with unrelenting pressure, ignoring the way your own muscles scream while theirs flail and twitch beneath you. It's not quick. It's not easy. You have to want it.
And I wanted it.
When five full minutes have passed, I release my grip and let out a guttural groan of exhaustion and pleasure wrapped in one. I'm panting hard, chest heaving, arms trembling, the burn of effort still pulsing in my injured shoulder. But I know it's done. Phoebe's eyes are bugged wide, vessels burst in crimson starbursts across the whites. Broken capillaries freckle around her eyelids and face.
She's dead. There's no doubt about it.
I did what I came here to do. And now I have to clean up the carnage and disappear before anyone knows I was ever here.Snow is beginning to fall—soft, delicate flakes dusting the violence like nature's attempt at erasure. I don't have long. If I want to bury every trace of this day, I need to move now, while the snowfall is still fresh enough to work in my favor.
Before I came here—before I did what had to be done to silence the truth about what happened on the podcast—I prepared for the worst.
