Page 97 of The Sound of Silence

“Shutting you up is something I should have done a long fucking time ago.”

He lunged at me, but I was quick to sidestep his advance, and he stumbled past me. Spinning to face him once again, I watched as he tried to regain his balance.

“You see, here’s the thing, Ethan. You’ve always underestimated me. In fact, you’ve underestimated women in general. You might have your cronies in the police department at your back, but you know nothing about women and their survival instincts. Perhaps Cynthia figured it out sooner than I did, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t learn eventually. Even if you get off scot-free in this FBI homicide investigation—which I doubt—I have other protections in place. I won’t run and hide from you anymore. I’ve prepared three letters, two of which are already in the hands of the United States Postal Service. In fact, I dropped them in the mailbox before coming here tonight. If something happens to me, the recipients of those letters have been given instructions to turn the contents of the envelope over to the D.A. Even if you kill me, the truth about what you did to me will come out.”

“You have no proof of anything. Your little letters will be your word against mine.”

“And the word of several medical professionals. I have the medical records from the night I miscarried. I also have the results of a rape kit from the night I left you.” To my instant gratification, genuine outrage began to show on his face. “That’s right, Ethan. After you chased me from the hotel, I asked Teddy to bring me to a twenty-four-hour urgent care center. They accepted cash and the fake name I gave them, and I must say—they were extremely thorough. They took all kinds of x-rays. The doctors were shocked by the evidence of previous injuries that never properly healed.”

“I would have known if you went to a hospital. I’m calling your bluff,” he stated, twisting his lips into a menacing grin. “Then I’m going to kill you.”

He took one step forward. I took one step back and shook my head.

“Nope, it’s not a bluff. Oh, then there are the pictures the doc took. The bruises on my neck…” I let my words linger and tsked him. “That will be damning evidence. I mean, thanks to Cynthia, the FBI already has a shitload on you. This is just my little contribution.”

There was that telltale angry tick in his jaw and I chanced a glance at his fists. They were opening and closing, a sure sign that he was about to attack.

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You may have your protections, but so do I. The FBI will never get to me. I’ll disappear. Vanish. Poof. It will be like Ethan Walker never even existed. I did it once before, and I can do it again. My mother taught me exactly how to do it. She taught me everything I know.”

For the first time tonight, he’d rattled me.

“What do you mean you did it before?”

“Ah, my girl. How easily I was able to fool you and everyone else. It was years ago. Some little slut in Salt Lake City overdosed on Rohypnol—you know, roofies? When the heat started to come down, Mother and I just picked up a new identity and started a new life in Cinci.”

My brows pinched together as I tried to piece together what he was implying.

“What kind of new identity?”

He laughed, the high-pitched, maniacal sound a stark contrast to the deep bass booming from Club Revolution.

“As if Mother would actually name me Ethan. I was born Anthony Gallo, after St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things. My mother named me that with the hopes of finding the faith she thought she’d lost after she was raped by the man whose seed created me. Born out of wedlock, she feared I would be damned. So, you see,Val,” he said, emphasizing the name I’d once used. “You aren’t the only one who can come up with a fake name.”

His name is really Anthony?

I stood stock-still, barely able to process what the stranger before me was saying. I tried to remember the things he’d said about his mother, attempting to figure out if her religion was the reason he’d become the sick, twisted bastard he was today.

When I saw him reach down toward his ankle, I forced myself to focus on the present. I knew he was going for the gun most likely secured there.

I was expecting that.

Just as he lifted the hem of his pants and removed it from the holster, I brought my leg around to kick him in the face. The heavy boots caused blood to spurt from his nose as he flew backward and sprawled on the ground. The gun skittered toward me and out of his reach. Moving quickly, I kicked it away and watched as it disappeared under the sofa. I couldn’t have planned the guns landing place better if I’d tried.

Ethan scrambled back up to his feet and spit blood on the ground. His eyes flashed.

This was it—the final test to see if all of my training had been in vain.

“You fucking bitch!”

I didn’t know who moved first—him or me. Whoever it was, I wasn’t fast enough. A hard fist connected with my cheek, and I went hurling to the floor. I scrambled to my knees as Ethan gripped the top of my cropped hair. He yanked me roughly to my feet and smashed my head against the living room wall. Stars dotted my vision, and it was if I were thrown back in time. I remembered this feeling of pain blooming in my skull all too well.

Releasing my hair, he wrapped a hand around my neck. When it began to slip from the oil, he wrapped the other hand around like a manacle, squeezing until my vision began to darken, and I thought I might pass out. I remembered what this felt like—the panic, the hysteria—but shoved it down, focusing on my training. I’d survived this monster once when I had little more than my naïve self-declared bravado. This time, I’d survive because I knew that bravery was no longer false. I could feel it in my bones. I could survive this—I could survive him—and I would live to see another day.

My body shot adrenaline to every vital organ. Calling on my lessons with Derek, Hana, and Xi, I raised my right arm and twisted. Using all my strength, I tried to dislodge his wrists from my throat.

But it didn’t work.

What I was taught—all of my defense lessons—didn’t work.

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