Page 226 of Did They Break You

Chase is still moving, and I try to tell Cort that but he’s staring at my palm, then pulling his phone from his pocket. Chase is snatching the knife from the tile and he’s angling it over the side of Cortland’s neck and just like that night...

I can’t speak.

I can’t move.

I can’t do anything as Cort says into the phone, “Something’s happened to Remi,” and just as Chase raises the knife to plunge it into Cort’s neck, Chase says,“Yeah, and I’m the one who fucking did it.”

Fuck.You.

I scream as Chase’s hand comes down, snatching my own from Cortland’s grip and tackling him to the ground, forcing him onto his back.

I feel a sharp pain in my left side and I scream again, convulsing on top of Cortland.

Cortland is yelling, then more people crowd the doorway.

“Fuck.” Storm’s voice.

He hurries into the room, grabbing me from Cortland, hefting me in his arms. My side hurts and I wince but I try to get down, get away from Storm.

“Stop fighting, Remi,” he says, holding me tighter, cradling me like I’m a child. But I’m kicking and screaming and trying to get to Cortland as Storm steps back, just as Cortland grabs the knife and knocks Chase to the ground, angling it over his face, his knees pinning Chase to the floor as the latter holds up his hands, trying to shield his face.

“Let me get to him! Let me fuckingget to him!”I scream in Storm’s arms, that pain in my side growing sharper, but Storm holds me tighter, watching with his jaw clenched as Cortland is ready to plunge that knife into Chase’s neck.

“Remi?” Van’s voice, panicked. “Fuck, Remi, let me?—”

But his words are cut off as Brinklin steps inside, sinking to his knees, darting his fingers out to wrap around Cortland’s wrist.

They’re fighting, Cortland trying to bring the knife down. “He hurt her,” he snarls, his eyes on Brinklin’s green ones. “He fucking hurt her. He. Hurt.Her.” He’s saying it over and over and over, and Storm steps back, edging against the wall, holding me closer, and this time, I’m not fighting.

Cortland isn’t hurt.

He’s not hurt.

He won’t get hurt.

“You wanna go to prison?” Brinklin asks quietly. “That’s what you want? Be away from her forever?” I see the veins in his forearm, his shirtsleeves rolled up as he stares at Cortland. “We’ll deal with him. For now, drop the knife, Cortland.”

Cortland closes his eyes. I see his chest heave.

Storm says nothing, and neither do I, watching, my pulse thrashing in my ears, warm blood spilling down my wrist.

Finally, Cortland drops the knife to the floor, right beside Chase’s head.

Brinklin snatches it up.

But Cortland doesn’t get off Chase.

He cocks his fist back and drives it into his nose. Once. Twice. He doesn’t let up. Chase is screaming between each hit but Cortland goes again. And again. And again.

“Cortland.” Storm’s voice.

I can barely breathe.

Cortland pauses with his elbow back as he stares at Chase, crying underneath him.

“That’s enough, baby,” I say, the words raw.

Cortland swallows, then looks up at me.

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