Page 25 of Jagged Line Paradise

He circles the table to stand in front of me where I’ve rolled into a ball on my side. I don’t look up at him, afraid to see his face, but my eyes stay open as much as they can through my tears. Some part of me still needs to know what’s going to happen.

I can feel it.

I can feel that this is going to be one of my last moments alive. It’s a crackling, sinister energy that hisses from his pores. He has the knife in his hand, dangling from his fingertips at his side.

I’mgoing to die.

He’s going to kill me.

There’s a surge inside me—a rush of adrenaline unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s a burning hot rush of energy that whooshes through my veins, and when it pumps from my heart to my brain, a bright light shines inside my mind. It’s the light of my sunset—my raspberry pink soul light—that bursts bright and hot and convinces me that it’s not over yet.

It’s not over until I say it’sover.

He inhales noisily, then exhales on a satisfied sigh. “Do you smell it,puta? Do you smell the death on you? It’s my favorite fucking scent.”

“Mr. Hernandez?” I say quietly, turning my head just a little, just enough to be able to look up and into his dark, menacing eyes.

“What?” He practically spits out the word.

“Could you tell Andrés that I love him?”

He sucks in a quick breath and sways backward—that’s the moment that my body takes control, jumping into action while my consciousness tucks itself away in the back corner of my mind, just far enough away that I can’t talk myself out of this final fight for my life.

Lying still and waiting for death would be easy. Easy for him, easy for me. But I won’t go easily. He can’t take me away from my home, from my sunset, from my paradise, from Andrés.

I ball my fist and throw my arm forward, punching him in the gut hard enough to catch him by surprise, and he stumbles back. The knife slips from his fingertips and clatters onto the metal floor. The swing of my arm is so forceful—or else I’m so weak—that it rolls me off the table and I drop onto the floor. It knocks the wind out of me to land so heavily on the metal floor, which sits on top of hard Earth beneath. But the swell of instinct lets me ignore the shock of it. I push to stand, but my legs are still prickling back to life. I quickly realize I can’t just get up and run.

I have to fight.

I lift my head to look for the knife and see it resting on the floor just above my head. Mr. Hernandez is swift, swooping down and reaching for it at the same moment I do. I grab hold of the handle, but his hand wraps around mine and his grip is strong. He lifts it, dropping to his knees for leverage as he pushes it toward my face.

“No!” I scream at him, pushing back, pushing with all my might, pushing with everything I’ve got.

He slams his knee into my stomach and drives it down, forcing me to roll onto my back as we fight each other for control of the knife. Before I was scared, but somehow the chemical rush inside me has transformed that fear into fury.

I’m notscared, I’m angry.

I let that anger burn inside my belly, find the fire light inside my soul, and let it burst through my body in an explosion of energy.

I will my legs to work and by some miracle, they do. I wedge my knee up between his legs and jab it into his crotch just hard enough to throw him off-balance. His right hand, which holds mine around the handle of the blade, loosens its grip when he tilts sideways. He lets go to catch himself, his palm slamming on the metal floor.

With my hand and the knife free from his grip, I twist my wrist to turn the tip upward, and stab it into the side of his neck. I scream as I push the blade in through flesh, horrified by the feel of it, flinching as blood spurts across my face.

His eyes go wide and he reaches up to touch the wound. Stupidly, I let go. I let go of the handle and scramble backward because stabbing another person is so grotesque that it has stunned the rage inside me and twisted it back to fear.

“No, no, no,” I chastise myself as he grabs the handle and yanks the knife from his thick neck. Blood sprays, then flows freely, but I’ve only just injured him. A dark fury casts across his black eyes as he slowly climbs to his feet.

Step.

Step.

Step.

His boots slam on the floor as he walks toward me and I scoot backward.

I’mso stupid.

So, so stupid.

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