"No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm okay."
"Good. Now I need you to slowly move toward the door. Can you do that?"
Evan takes a step sideways, blocking her path. "I don't think so. See, Cecily and I were just having a conversation about consequences. About what happens when you cross the wrong person."
"The only person who's about to face consequences is you," I tell him, and I mean every word. "You walked away from a work release program, you're trespassing, and you're threatening a civilian. That's three felonies before we even get to whatever the hell you were planning to do here."
"What I was planning?" He laughs again, that same black sound. "What I was planning was to have a conversation with the woman who destroyed my life. But now that you're here, maybe we can make this interesting."
The kitchen feels smaller than it should, like the walls are closing in. Troy's somewhere behind me, probably calling for that backup we're going to need, but right now it's just me, Evan, and Cecily in this room that holds too many memories. Too many weapons, too.
"It doesn't have to be like this," I say, trying to keep my voice calm, reasonable. "You walk out of here right now, turn yourself in, and maybe we can work something out."
"Work something out?" Evan's voice rises, and I see Cecily flinch again. "You think this is a negotiation? You think I'm going to just walk away and pretend none of this happened?"
"I think you're going to walk away because if you don't, I'm going to make sure you never walk anywhere again."
The words come out harder than I intended, carrying all the weight of my training, all the things I've done, all the people I've killed in service to my country. Evan must hear something in my voice, because his eyes widen slightly.
"There he is," he says, but now he sounds less sure of himself. "There's the killer I heard about. The one who came back from the war all fucked up."
"Evan." Cecily's voice cuts through the tension. "Please. Just leave. This doesn't have to get worse."
"Worse?" He turns to look at her, and in that moment, I see my opportunity. "Sweetheart, it's about to get a whole lot worse."
That's when I move.
14
Cecily
My heart is pounding so hard, so unbelievably loud, that I’m not even certain I can really hear what’s being said between them. But I can feel Evan’s hands on me, twisting my arm behind my back as he hauls me in front of him. The sharp point of a knife is digging into my back, just above my spine.Human shield.How many self-defense classes and in-service trainings did we have at the hospital on how to get out of these situations? Dozens. But can I remember what I’m supposed to do? Of course not. Even if I could, this is a different situation. Evan’s not using me because I’m convenient. He’s using me because he knows Quinn won’t shoot if there’s even a chance I could be hurt. And he’s got reasons of his own to want to hurt me.
“Let her go, Salyers. Do it now before this goes sideways any more than it already has!”
That’s Troy. The voice of reason in this hot mess. I’m not thinking straight. Quinn’s not thinking straight. Evan Salyers has never thought straight in his whole life.
I have to stifle a giggle at that, and I realize then that I’m hovering on the brink of actual hysteria. Not a good time to lose my shit. Worst possible time, in fact.
“It can’t get any more fucked than it already is, Troy!” Evan shouts back and then he’s twisting my arm painfully, using it to guide me in front of him. He’s backing us down the hallway, away from the living room and into a more narrow space.A narrow space where it will be harder for Quinn and Troy to help me.
There’s no way to get behind him, no way to get around me to get to him. The reality of that sinks in hard. It’s now essentially a hostage situation.
“You come any closer—either of you—and I’ll kill her.”
“He has a knife!” I call out.
The blade presses in a bit deeper. And all I can think about is that he came here with that knife. He brought it for a reason.
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!” he growls against my ear. “Don’t give me a reason, Cecily… oh, wait, you already did.”
“Evan, this doesn’t end well. Not for either of us. You hurt me, you won’t get out of here alive,” I tell him, trying to make him see reason.
“I wasn’t getting out of this shit alive, anyway,” he replies, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “That was my third strike. Third. And with the amount of fentanyl I had on me, I’ll be lucky to see the light of day before I’m eighty. You did that!”
There’s no way to reason with him because he won’t take any accountability for his actions. He didn’t go to prison because of me. He went to prison because of the choices he made. “Then think about Jenna. What’s it gonna do to her when she finds out you’ve been killed?”
“Jenna will do whatever the fuck she wants, just like always. But you won’t see a moment’s peace… she will make your life hell.”
