by Rosaria, A.
He yanked the knife away, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her up. The blade nicked her throat. “I should cut your throat right here, right now.”
Her stomach convulsed at the idea that this was the end and by him of all people. She clenched her hands to fists, but she was powerless with the blade against her throat. A flinch could set him off and he’d cut her.
“Priss has little to say anymore. Soon you won’t, either.”
Her throat felt dry. Her head dizzy. This was not how she imaged her day to start. Their roles should be reversed, and somehow she ended in his place.
“How did you know?”
Vance chuckled. He pulled the knife away again and pressed her back down on the bed.
“You have a nice body. What a waste.”
“How?”
“Chance. You and your sugar daddy should have stayed inside. Imagine my surprise upon seeing you drag my friends through the mud when I was about to open the gates for them. You murdered them.”
This would end badly for her. She needed to fight if she wanted to survive. But how?
“We had no choice.”
“Bitch!” He dragged the knife over her back, carving it open. Sarah screamed. He slapped the back of her head. “Keep your trap shut.”
He carved her again. She clenched her teeth together and muffled a scream.
“Why, Vance? Why?”
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut against the pain as the knife went over her back.
“Because I can, bitch.”
He yanked her head back again and pressed the knife against it. “Look at that, tears.” His tongue licked over her wet cheeks. She flinched away. The knife nicked her neck. He drew the knife away.
“Hey, easy there, no quick death for you.” The knife traced her back, not cutting skin this time. “I want to go a little longer.”
He was playing with her. He wanted something. He wanted to have her scared. And he was succeeding at that. He wanted her scared mindless.
“Bullshit,” Sarah said between clenched teeth.
The knife was at her throat again, digging in, but not enough to cut her.
“You’re not going to kill me.” She pushed hard to stand up. Vance cried out. He forced her back down. The knife at her throat, he yelled in her ear, “No? You don’t think I will?” He pressed harder. Blood trickled. “I’ll cut you open, bitch.”
“Do it!”
“I will.”
She grabbed his hand and held it in place over her throat.
“What are you doing?”
She pressed her throat forward. It didn’t matter if he wanted to kill her now or later. She wouldn’t play along. She’d die on her own terms and not on any of his sick whims. Vance let her head go and slammed his fist against the back of her head. “Fucking crazy bitch.”
She felt her head sway from side to side. Before she could recover, his fist slammed against the side of her head with such force that she toppled from her bed. Her back hit the cold floor. She cried out as her open wounds burned with pain. He bent over her and grabbed her by her hair and yanked her up. He pushed her out the door. She whirled around to strike him. He hit her. She staggered back, clasping her hand to her mouth. She felt the blood wet her hands. He twisted her around roughly.
“Walk.”
She struggled to escape. He hit her again. Slammed her against the wall and pushed her forward. “Walk.”
She staggered forward. Not fast enough. He pushed her again. He led her up the stairs to the top floor. The entrance hall was lit. Priss lay at the door, her face bruised. Sarah cried out. She whirled around to claw Vance’s eyes out. He expected that. He closed one hand around her throat and plunged the knife in her belly. Sarah groaned as the metal slid in. Vance let the handle go. Sarah grabbed the handle.
“I wouldn’t pull it out. Not that it matters. Dead or alive, you will do.” She let go of the handle. If she pulled the knife out, she likely would bleed to death. He pushed her toward the door.
“You won’t get away with this.”
“No?” He pushed her. She staggered forward. The knife in her belly hurt with each jolted step. With every shift, it cut her more inside. She wanted to check on Priss and make sure she was all right. The short girl lay on her back, breathing.
Vance grabbed her hand and placed her palm on the palm reader. The light flashed green. The door unlocked.
“Fucking bastard locked me and Priss out. I would have left you alone. So you see.” He twisted the knife, sending a searing pain through Sarah’s belly. “It’s his fault this is happening to you.” He pushed her away from the door. He picked Priss up and hoisted her over his shoulder. “But maybe this is for the best.”
He faced her, grabbed the knife, and twisted it out. Sarah gasped and fell on her knees. Blood pulsed out her belly. Unbelieving this was happening, she stared up at him. Desperate, she tried to grab Priss before Vance could exit. He swatted her hand away. “You lost, deal with it.”
Sarah sobbed at the truth. “Please, kill me.”
He backed away. “Nah, let this be a tomb for both of you. A quick death is too easy, and your man won’t be saving you, either.” He smiled as he slowly shut the door. “I left him a little present.”
This was not happening. He left with Priss. She lost. They all lost. She stared at the door, ignoring the throbbing pain at her back and in her belly. The door faded away. If only she had stayed with Ralph. If only.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Geon sat up and yawned. Someone knocked at his door. He stared in the dark where the door should be. Again the knocking. He switched on his nightstand lamp. The light lit the room up bright. It must be Sarah.
“I’m coming.”
He grabbed his pants. He wondered what she must want now. One hour before dawn. She must have been toiling in her sleep because of the Vance situation. From her fatigued state, he expected she would sleep through the day. As he closed in on the door, the knocking intensified.
“Hold it, dammit.”
To think he eased a little on her. Her waking him up this early brought her name close to going back on his shit list. Fucking princess. He opened the door. “I’m going to—”
Two zombies fought to enter. One grabbed Geon before he could back away. The other wrung his way to him. Its teeth bore into Geon’s trapezium. He cried out in pain. The zombie grabbing him drew him closer and bit his forearm. Geon pulled them back inside the room with him. More zombies shambled inside the room, crowding him.
“Vance,” Geon groaned. The slimy asshole let them out.
He pushed the zombie chewing his trapezium off him. It tore a chunk of meat with it. Geon dragged the one biting his forearm deeper into the room. He pressed the thumb of his free hand into its eye. The gushy dead meat gave way as he probed his finger in. The zombie, not feeling pain, kept at him. Geon’s thumb did not go deep enough to hit the brain. A living man would have given up by now.
Geon grabbed its head and smashed it against the wall. A string of his forearm skin went with the zombie. With both arms free, he grabbed its head and bashed it against the wall again and again. The zombie dropped to the ground.
Two hands grabbed him from behind. Geon dashed backward and smashed the zombie against the wall. He jumped to the side as two zombies closed in on him. Slowly they cornered him. He stored his guns in a cabinet on the opposite side from where he was standing. Five zombies blocked the way, wobbling closer, forming a wall between him, the cabinet, and the exit.
Geon’s muscles tensed, readying himself for what needed to be done. He charged forward, head held low, between the zombies. Hands clawed at him, grabbing, scratching, tearing at his clothes. He bullied his way through, hitting the zombies with his elbows as he went. One fell down when his elbow connected to its head, not hard enough, for it already started standing up. The others kept grabbing at him. Slowing him. Biting him. He screamed out in fury and doubled his efforts to get through. He felt the blood trickle down his arms,
back, and chest.
Wild, he thrashed around him, hitting whatever, and then he staggered free. The moans behind him intensified as they came after him. Fingers brushed his skin as they nudged closer. He flung himself toward the cabinet. A creature of habit, he had locked the cabinet and the keys were on the nightstand. He cursed.
Geon heard their shuffling feet. He stared at the lock. No way he could force it open in time. Soon they would corner him again and this time he wouldn’t be able to force his way through them. He grimaced. He should have chosen the door and locked them inside. He had fought against larger odds before, but never when ambushed like this, while tired and injured.
He grabbed the cabinet, hauled hard, and stepped aside. The cabinet toppled and fell on the zombie rushing in for him. It crushed the body underneath. The remaining four shambled his way, cutting him off from the door. Geon jumped on his bed and started kicking as they got closer. Every time he pushed one away, the other three got closer. Geon kicked one and grabbed another zombie. He pinned it to the wall and pummeled its face until he heard the bone crack. He threw the zombie aside.
The remaining three zombies were on him by now, grabbing his shoulders and back, scratching and pulling him. Blood oozed out of his many wounds. His arms became slippery with it. Geon panted, then clamped down on his resolve, ignoring the pain. He needed to escape. They were trying to drag him down.
With his way blocked, his space too cramped to maneuver, he could down one more, but the time he needed to do so would give the other two a chance to go in for the kill. He could only manage to keep himself standing, and the zombies from ripping his throat out.
He pushed one away. As he did, one grabbed his head and yanked. He strained his neck muscles to get away from its teeth. He punched the zombie once, twice, but his next punch got stopped by the third zombie latching on to his arm. With his only free hand, he pushed the third zombie’s head away from him. The second zombie got back in, pressing its body closer. Geon pulled one knee up and wedged the zombie from getting closer. The first zombie’s hands raked for his face. Geon leaned away. The one blocking his left arm inched forward while pulling down. Standing on one leg, Geon felt his balance waver.
This was it. His time was running out. Geon tried to regain his balance, but to do so he needed to lower his feet, and if he did that, he would be dead. He couldn’t hold the third zombie off that way. Geon fell, pulling the zombies with him. He hit the bed. Two zombies fell on him, grabbing at him. This was not the way he wanted to end his life on a bed.
Gunshots. The zombie left standing, its head snapped back. It crumbled to the ground. Another bullet hit the bed stand inches from his own head. A third bullet blew the top of the head of the zombie going for his throat, spilling its brain over Geon’s face. A fourth bullet hit the wall close to the last zombie. A fifth bit into the bed stand. The next one hit the zombie in its back. This didn’t slow the zombie in the least. It pushed up on Geon. Geon grabbed the zombie by the throat and lifted it up. A bullet bore through its neck and hit the wall and ricocheted off. Whoever was shooting was shooting wild. Geon threw the zombie off him. He crawled up on the bed and jumped. He landed with both feet on the zombie’s head, crushing its skull, splattering goo all over the floor.
Panting, he stood over the zombie, not believing he actually survived this. He searched for his savior. His face paled. Sarah stood a few feet apart with her revolver aiming at him. The barrel trembled in her right hand. She clutched her belly with her left hand, blood seeping through her fingers, a trail of blood behind her. Her eyes were empty, looking straight through him. Her finger squeezed the trigger. Geon’s eyes widened. Click, Click, Click.
Sarah looked from the gun to him. She pulled her hand back to throw the revolver. Geon raised his hands, not wanting to be hit in the face again by the same gun. The gun slipped from her finger. She dropped to the ground with a groan.
He rushed to her side and pressed his hands on the wound, stopping the flow of blood. This was bad. With a severed artery, she never would have reached him and been able to shoot at something or stand—she would have bled dead long before. So, not fatal bad. She stood a real chance with a surgeon present. He wasn’t one. He had only a rudimentary medical training during his service. Enough knowledge to keep someone alive till the time a real pro could treat them. He wasn’t sure that would be enough to save Sarah.
Sarah opened her eyes. “I thought you were a goner.”
“You realize you tried to shoot me.”
She frowned. “Did I?”
“Don’t talk, I’ve got to—”
She pushed him away as he tried to lift her up. “No, go after him.”
“I can’t.”
“He took Priss. Save her.”
“No, you’re injured.”
She latched on to him as he tried again to lift her up. With little time to save both, and chances decreasing with every second lost, he couldn’t waste time with sentimentalities. As it was, he was way better in ending lives than giving life. He needed to make a choice. Soon.
She fought against him. “No… He’ll escape. Go after him, please, Geon. She means everything to me. You have to save her.”
Geon’s face was torn as he watched her. If he left, she would die.
“Priss wouldn’t want me to leave you.”
“Priss ain’t here, I am. I saved your life, you owe me at least enough to do this for me.”
Sarah started crying. He resisted the urge to look away.
“Promise me you will go after her.”
He stayed silent. She pulled herself up closer to him. “Promise me.”
She let go, her strength leaving her fast. Geon worried she was overexerting herself. It amazed him how despite everything she still could be this forceful. If she kept at this, her chances would be less than zero. If he got her to the surgery room in time and there were no zombies riddling the place, he would have a chance in saving her. A tiny one, but still a chance. Going after Vance now, he was sure he could track him down, kill him, and get Priss to safety. He was better at killing. Common sense dictated him to choose the most efficient option with the guaranteed results.
“Promise me you will, please, Geon. You bastard, promise me.”
Geon wiped the tears from her cheek. “I promise.”
Sarah sighed, shut her eyes, and went limp, passed out. Geon’s eyes haunted the door. He’d regret this. He’d regret this a lot. Not now, not soon, but he would one day. Regret seemed like all they got left in this world. All the time. Always. Forever. Regret. He did the needful. Regret or not. It was done.
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ALSO BY A. ROSARIA
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