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He’s smiling again. That same twisted grin like he thinks he’s got me. Like one stab is enough to stop me.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

With a roar, I grab him by the front of his shirt, lift him clean off his feet, and spin toward the window.

“You want to hurt her? You want to fucking die for it?”

Before he can answer, I hurl him forward.

Glass explodes as his body crashes through the window. I hear him scream as he hits the ground outside with a sickening thud, followed by silence.

Shards of glass rain down like jagged snowflakes.

It's not over, and there's no way I'm letting him slip through my fingers again. Ignoring the blood and pain coming from my thigh. I hop through the shattered frame and land on the ground next to him. He's already up on his feet and gets in a swift kick to my gut that has me gasping for air. He tries to kick me again, but this time I'm ready for it. I grab his foot as it comes toward me and push him backward just enough to give me some space.

Getting back to my feet, leaving as much weight as I can off my injured leg, I raise my hands ready to continue. Zeke is thin, but he's resilient, I'll give him that. There's no sign of him stopping.

"You dumb piece of shit!" He growls and lunges for me again. He's faster than I expected. I manage to block one of his blows, but he lands a good one against my left cheek. The contact has my vision swimming for a second before I steady myself. This time, when he swings again, I duck and uppercut him hard in the gut.

Zeke coughs and gags hard like he's about to throw up. When he turns, I take a step forward. I didn't realize until it was too late what he's reaching for. He bends to pick up the knife and in the next second he's swinging it in my direction like a fucking sword. I jump back once and twice, but he's still coming for me like a crazed animal.

Like a crazed animal with no control.

I steady myself and wait. Patience has never been my strong suit. But tonight I'll wait for my opening. One he's giving me without even realizing it.

Zeke swings the knife in my direction. The blade pointed to the side instead of straight forward, his hand wrapped tightly on the metal grip. This time instead of just dodging away, I move to the side and grab the elbow and shoulder of the arm he is swinging, and I shove him with all my weight. Directly into the electrical box.

The lights in the house flicker and I watch as Zeke seizes up violently. His hand glued to the metal knife in his hand as the massive jolts of electricity zaps through his body. Smoke and the smell of burning flesh instantly fill my nostrils. I'm sure it wasn't that long, but it feels like minutes go by until Zeke's body goes completely stiff, and he drops to the ground like a falling tree.

Smoke rises from his charred hand, and blood seeps from his ears and nose.

Slowly I lean down and press a finger to his neck.

Perfection.

No pulse.

I stare at his body for one breath, then two, making damn sure it isn’t some trick. The bastard’s eyes are open, wide and lifeless. No rise in his chest. No twitch in his limbs. Just the sick stench of burnt skin hanging in the air.

It’s done.

I pull myself upright, biting back the scream climbing up my throat as my leg protests with sharp, white-hot pain. Blood’s still leaking down my jeans, soaking into my boot, but I don’t care. Not right now. I limp to the back window, shove the shattered pane wider, and climb inside.

Melissa’s still in the chair, her head bowed, shoulders trembling.

She’s crying.

That sight alone hurts worse than the knife ever could.

I move toward her, slow and limping, but she hears me.

Her head snaps up, her eyes locking on mine.

She jerks forward, trying to speak behind the tape, trying to get free, her whole body straining toward me like she doesn’t believe I’m real.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, voice rough. “You’re safe now.”

I reach her, hands fumbling for the zip ties with clumsy fingers. The blood loss is starting to take its toll, my vision narrowing and the edges of the room going soft, but I force myself to focus.

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