Page 212 of Sins of the Hidden

"Should've killed you in your sleep years ago," he snarled, spittle flying between them as veins bulged in his neck from the strain. "But he wouldn't like his favorite whore killed."

With a vicious twist that cracked audibly, she broke his grip and slashed in a wild arc that opened his forearm from wrist to elbow. Spray arced between them, spattering the cream-colored walls and ceiling in a grotesque pattern. Chet bellowed but didn't retreat, instead grabbing a heavy brass lamp from the side table and swinging it with bone-crushing force.

The lamp caught her shoulder with a sickening crunch. Daphne howled, momentarily staggered, but recovered with frightening speed. She feigned left, then drove toward his abdomen. He twisted, but not fast enough—the point sank deep into his side.

"I always knew you'd be the one to kill me," Chet laughed through gritted teeth, bubbles forming at the corner of his mouth. He staggered backward, one hand pressed to the fresh wound, the other groping blindly for something to brace against.

Daphne followed. "Give my regards to hell."

As she moved in for the kill, Chet's hand shot out—fast, final. His fingers grabbed the wrought iron poker leaning against the fireplace. He lunged for it, his body twisting away from her as the blade sliced through the air where his neck had been. His shoulders slammed against the brick hearth, jars of decorative seashells shattering across the floor. With a grunt, he grabbed the poker and rolled, narrowly avoiding Daphne's boot as it stomped where his face had been a second earlier.

He stepped left, then swung the poker toward her legs, catching her ankle, sending her stumbling into the glass coffee table. It shattered beneath her weight, shards exploding outward.

Daphne rolled through the shards, glass crunching beneath her as she sprang back to her feet. Streaks ran down her face from a fresh cut above her eye, but she moved like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. The knife flashed in her hand as she lunged again, this time catching Chet's shoulder, opening a new gash that immediately began pouring.

"Fuck!" he bellowed, staggering back, poker swinging wildly to keep her at bay. His boot caught on the edge of the rug, throwing him off balance for just a fraction of a second—but it was enough.

Daphne seized the advantage, driving forward with inhuman speed. Her weapon arced toward his chest. At the last possible moment, Chet twisted, using the momentum of his fall to swing the poker upward with all his remaining strength.

The poker connected with her temple, the force of it lifting her off her feet. Her body went rigid mid-strike, the knife clattering to the hardwood as she crashed into the mantle, sending framed photos raining down around her.

She collapsed in a heap of broken glass, her limbs twitching unnaturally. The weapon skittered across the floor, coming torest at my feet. I kicked it away, unable to touch the thing that had already done so much damage.

Chet didn't waste the moment. Despite fresh fluid pouring from at least three separate wounds, he lurched across the room, kicking the blade under a heavy cabinet where she couldn't easily retrieve it. His boots left footprints across the hardwood as he staggered back toward me, one hand pressed against his side, the other still gripping the poker like a lifeline.

"Move, sweetheart," he gasped, grabbing my arm with clammy fingers. We stumbled backward together, my feet tangling in the remnants of shattered glass and splintered wood. Behind us, Daphne was already stirring, her hand reaching blindly for a jagged piece of the coffee table.

Chet pushed me behind him, the poker held out defensively. Thick rivulets tracked down his arm, dripping from his elbow to form a growing puddle at his feet. Air sawed in and out of his lungs in short, ragged bursts, his looming silhouette swaying slightly.

"I always finish what I start," she whispered.

Despite the devastating blow, Chet somehow remained on his knees. He found me, a silent message passing between us. Then, with strength that shouldn't have been possible, he lunged forward and grabbed Daphne's ankle. She stumbled, caught off guard.

As she fell, her head struck the corner of the heavy oak sideboard with a sickening crack. Her body went limp instantly, glass shard clattering from her fingers as she collapsed in a motionless heap.

Chet dragged himself toward me, each inch claiming a fresh toll. "Stay behind me," he muttered, his eyes never leaving Daphne's motionless body.

Daphne's fingers twitched, her body beginning to stir despite the devastating blow to her head. Chet didn't hesitate. With asurge of desperate strength, he brought the poker down again. The metal connected with her temple with a dull thud that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards beneath us. Her eyes rolled back, consciousness fleeing instantly as her body slackened. She collapsed like a marionette with cut strings, limbs splaying at awkward angles as she hit the hardwood with a heavy, meaty sound. A fresh trickle snaked from her hairline down her cheek, pooling beneath her ear. Only then did Chet turn his attention fully to me.

He squatted down in front of me, blocking my view of Daphne. His presence was solid, immovable despite his catastrophic injuries. Each breath whistled slightly through the hole in his side, yet his eyes remained clear, focused on me with an intensity that felt overwhelming.

He checked over his shoulder, his body swaying slightly with the effort. A fresh stream slipped down his side, disappearing into his waistband.

"It's not your business, Oak," he rasped, froth forming at the corner of his mouth, turning his teeth pink. "But someone needs to know."

My throat squeezed shut around a sob. Copper and salt saturated the air around us. My hands hovered uselessly near his wounds, trembling so violently I couldn't have helped him even if I'd known how. "W-We have to go?—"

"Five years ago, Darrell cashed in on the marker I owed him." He cut me off. "Sent me to Diamond Ridge to watch that bitch behind me." His hand gripped my arm, leaving tacky prints on my skin. "My debt was paid months in. Could've walked away. Gone back to my kids."

My stomach lurched at the contact, his fluids cooling against my flesh. I wanted to pull away but couldn't bring myself to break that desperate connection. His grip was the only thing keeping either of us anchored to reality.

A wet cough shook him, spatter from his wounded side landing between us. When he straightened, his face was pale from exertion, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Despite his injuries, there was no mistaking his strength—beaten and bloodied, but nowhere near broken.

"But then I saw why he wanted me to watch Daphne." His voice dropped to something barely human, shredded with urgency. "That boy with nothing behind his stare. The one we found in the rain that night."

My pulse thundered in my ears. Something in his words scraped against a truth I couldn't yet see but somehow recognized bone-deep. My vision tunneled until Chet's face filled it completely, his lips forming words that pierced directly into my chest.

His hands fumbled against my skin, then clenched hard, desperate for something solid.

---