Page 29 of Betraying Family Vows
How did living in my mom's shadow turn into running from a killer?
This chaos with no outcome, this performance of revenge stitched together with desperation, it's exhausting, and it's not the life I thought I'd be living.
Crack.
A twig snaps somewhere to my right.
I press deeper into my hiding spot, trying to make myself as small as possible.
"I can hear you breathing," he says, his voice terrifyingly close.
My fight-or-flight instincts kick in, and my mind chooses the latter.
I bolt, scrambling out of my hiding area. I make it three steps before he crashes into me. We go down hard, rolling across the ground.
I thrash against his iron grip that pins me.
"Get off me!" I scream.
He flips me over, straddling my hips, one hand wrapping around my throat, holding me down.
I claw at his arm and he doesn't even flinch.
"Done running?" he growls.
He doesn't wait for an answer. He pulls me to my feet, and before I can find my balance, he slams me against a nearby tree. The bark digs into my back. His body presses against mine, caging me in.
The hand at my throat tightens just slightly.
"That was stupid," he says, his face inches from mine.
I can see the sharp planes of his face now. His blue eyes are dark, and there's a scratch on his cheek that wasn't there before.
"Letting you catch me," I gasp against the pressure on my windpipe, "was stupid."
His mouth curves into a half-smile.
I look down and see he's holding his knife in his free hand.
I'm not scared.
I should be, but I'm not.
I'm on fire.
Every nerve ending. Every inch of skin. Hyperaware of the man pressed against me, pinning me in place.
I want to scream. Slap him. Pull him closer. My body doesn't know the difference anymore.
He drags the flat of the blade up my ribs, over my collarbone, until the tip rests against the pulse point beneath my jaw.
I should be terrified, but there's something else, something hot pooling low in my belly. My skin prickles with awareness of every place our bodies touch. My skin doesn't know if it wants to run or lean in, and I hate him for making me feel it.
His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there.
He releases his grip on me and takes a step back, the cold blade leaving my skin.
He grabs my wrist and yanks me forward.
