Using the shirt again, I pull it from the knife block, damn sure that it’s probably blunt, but that just means that I’m going to have to work for it, just like I’ve worked for everything else in my life.
I study my knife, more than aware that this is about to become a murder weapon, and as I study its sleek clinical line, I realize just how dead I feel inside. Where’s the emotion, the overwhelming voice inside my head telling me not to do it? It’s not there. It’s just me alone with the nothingness inside of me.
Not wanting to put this off any longer, I raise my head and start creeping toward the living room, knowing that if he wasn’t such a drunken idiot, he probably would be able to see my reflection in his big-ass TV. I get just a few steps from him when a shrill phone rings through the near quiet room.
I drop to the ground, hiding behind his recliner as he scrambles around on his side table, trying to get a grip on his phone. The ringing continues for far too long, making me anxious before he flops back into the seat, rocking the whole couch.
“Sam,” he grunts as he answers the call, making me catch my breath. This is the call I’ve been dreading. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all fucking day.”
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m not too late, but if I don’t make this quick, I just might be.
“Listen,” I hear the familiar voice roaring through the phone, loud enough that even shoved against Kurt’s ear, I can still make him out clear as day. “I told you not to fucking call me. We had a deal. Transaction over. Lose my fucking number.”
I get straight back to my feet, thankful that the phone call is keeping Kurt distracted. “But I got another deal for you, and this time, you better fucking pay upfront.”
No, no, no.
My fist tightens around the handle of the knife, my heart racing so fast that it couldn’t be humanly possible. I start shaking, the fear that was completely vacant before now coming crashing into me, slamming through my chest with a savage desperation.
“It better be fucking good,” Sam tells him. “Don’t waste my time. That last foster kid was a fucking bitch.”
“That’s just it,” Kurt says, the laughter in his tone making my stomach twist with disgust. “That bitch—”
Nope.
Time’s up, motherfucker.
I step into the back of the couch, my hips slamming against it in my rush to end this before it’s too late. I grab the phone with one hand before launching it across the room. It slams against the front door, shattering into pieces as I grab Kurt’s chin and yank it up. Then without hesitation, I take the blunt knife and tear it across his throat, making sure that he will never hurt me again.
CHAPTER 23
Blood spurts from Kurt’s throat, hitting the walls, spraying the roof, and redecorating the floors. It instantly soaks through his clothes, and I gape in horror as he fights against my hold, hardly able to understand what the fuck is happening, but it takes less than two seconds for his thrashing to ease.
Kurt starts choking on his own blood, and as it pours out of him in waves, I scream, never having seen anything like it, let alone being responsible for such a heinous and violent murder.
Holy fuck, what have I done?
I throw the knife across the room and listen as it clatters against the wall of the kitchen and drops to the tiled floor. I run.
I race out the door, leaving it wide open in my desperation to get out of there. My feet thunder down the broken concrete, my heart beating a million miles an hour as the vision of blood spurting across the room circles my mind.
I’ve watched more than enough episodes of ‘Criminal Minds’ to know that the blood spurts across the room like that, but nothing could possibly prepare me for how it felt. One part of me is grateful that Kurt’s threat will never linger over my head again, while the other part is horrified to learn just what I’m capable of.
I’m a murderer. If I was to get caught, I’d be spending the rest of my life behind bars.
Holy fuck. Did I just allow Kurt to take away the rest of my life? I can’t fucking win. Let him live and be abducted and sold to a real purchaser, probably raped day after day until I’m killed, or end Kurt and spend the rest of my life behind bars.
Fuck. Either way, I was going to be screwed. At least with Kurt dead, I can run.
I reach my bike hidden in the shadow of the neighbor’s home and climb on, not wasting a damn second with my helmet or bothering to be quiet. My bike roars to life, and within the blink of an eye, I take off, my tires skidding against the road and leaving a thick black line along the asphalt.