Page 198 of Lovers Like Us
Maximoff Hale deserves peace. And love. I’ll always,alwaysfight to give him the things that people rip away, and that’s not changing now, a year from now, five years—forever.
Nate lunges at me, blade outstretched, but I slip left and catch his wrist. I elbow his temple, then I uppercut his jaw, the impact bangs my knuckles, and his teeth bashtogether.
He blinks, disoriented, and I twist his wrist. His fingers release the knife, and it clatters to the floorboards. But I strengthen my grip and pull his wrist furtherback.
I feel his bonecrack.
Wincing, Nate spits, “Get off!” He thrashes to push me back, and I fist his button-down.
As he grapples and claws against me, the thermos overturns on us. Something red is in the steel canister, but I don’t focus on that shit. I deck him in the jaw and dodge his blows as thick, warm crimson-liquid smears on our arms, my chest, our faces, hishair.
Blood.
It’sblood.
I slam him to the ground, his back lands with a loudthud.He planned to dumpbloodon Maximoff’s bed. Probably from an animal, pig or sheep, but I don’t thinklong.
I pin Nate down, my knee digging into his ribs. Floorboards are so slick with blood that his legs slide beneath me—my legs slide. Both of us searching for bettergrip.
Fuck.
I sit up partially and throw my knuckles into his smeared-redcheek.
His head whips to the left, but he spits. And I stare at more sick hatred than pain. A sudden thought cuts intome.
Maximoff was supposed to be in this room tonight.Nate didn’t know that Maximoff would be in security’s townhouse withme.
My eyes sear as I seize his irate gaze, and I ask coldly, “Were you planning to hurt himtonight?”
Nate breathes hard through his nose, unblinking. Notaffirming.
Not denying. Could be, he doesn’t even know what he would’vedone.
He just leaves me to visualize that horrificscenario.
Fuck you.I can’t unleash the words or spit them out. They calcify inside of me, and my actions come in swiftsuccession.
I fist his shirt, lifting him in an iron grip, and then I slam him down forcefully. His head bashes into the wood. Eyes flutter. One more time. Up and down, his eyes flutteragain.
I cold-cock him with a right hook. His head lolls…unconscious. His body slackens beneathme.
I situp.
Breathing, breathing, my chest rising and falling. I find the cord to my mic and earpiece, hanging off and covered in animal blood. I click the mic, and instinctively, I say, “Farrow to Thatcher, come to Maximoff’sroom.”
Not a second later, he replies, “Copythat.”
With another heavy breath, I drop themic.
I can’tstand.
I can’t move offhim.
I spot the knife an arm’s length away.Grab the knife. End this.I reach and clasp thehilt.
The dooropens.
Maximoff enters like a quiet force of nature, coming forward, and his sturdy forest-greens make sense of this bloodiedscene.
