Page 44 of Don't Watch Alone
Now there is just silence.
He’s gone, or hiding.
One minute. Two. Three. Every second seems endless, my legs trembling under me, and every shadow seems like a threat. He’ll be back. He’s not going to give up. If I wait here, I’m dead.
I look at Gus one last time. He can’t help me anymore. I take a deep breath, the cold steel slick in my fist, and that one, vicious thought gives me the courage I need.
He bleeds. He can fucking bleed.
And I’m not waiting for him to come back either.
Chapter twenty-three
Blaiz
Thedoorknobisice,digging into my palm as I inch the security office door open. One thought burns through everything in me “Run.”
I’m ready to dash through the mall, breaking the doors if that’s what it takes. A chair, a mannequin—anything to escape. Freedom waits maybe a hundred yards away.
Then, a sound breaks the silence. A loud cry, cut short with a moan. Tony.
My heart sinks. The desire to flee becomes something more severe. I can’t leave him. I can’t let the only person I love die alone in this mall.
My vision of escaping fades away. I let go of the doorknob. My teeth grind until my jaw starts to ache. My head is overwhelmed by a burning, intense heat. Mad. Mad as fuck. My muscles are shaking, not from fear, but withrage that consumes my sanity. Whoever’s here is going to bleed.
My eyes lock onto the red firebox. I don’t think. My fist slams through the glass. Shards of glass cut into my knuckles, and warm blood makes my skin wet. I don’t care. I yank out the fire ax, heavy and solid. My fingers curl around it, and I move.
Tony’s moans direct me, starting softly and becoming loud and piercing. Each one stabs my gut. I creep through the shadows, moving beyond vacant stores, and the bitter smell of old popcorn combined with the metallic scent. Blood.
I turn the corner. He’s there. His arm hung down as he slumped in the chair, looking pale.
“Tony,” I whisper, dropping to my knees.
“Blaiz…” Barely a breath.
“I’ve got you.” My hands struggled with the ropes that were biting into his wrists. His shirt is covered in dark stains: bleeding, though only skin deep, stab wounds.
“We’re going,” I mutter as the lastrope snaps.
He nods weakly, leaning heavy against me as I lift him up. His body shivers against mine.
“Just… a second,” he mumbles.
“No seconds. We’re gone.” My arm locks around his waist, the ax low in my free hand. Step by step, we stumble toward the hall.
Movement. A pair of shadows appear from the food court. One holds an arm wrapped in a blood-soaked shirt—the bastard I cut earlier. The other is thickset, knife flashing in his hand. They close in on us.
“Back the fuck off!” My voice is hoarse as I swing the ax.
The stocky one lunges at me with his knife low, and his eyes dead on me.
Tony shoves me hard. “No!" His voice bursts from his mouth, and he lunges forward.
The knife sinks into him. Once. Twice. Three wet, brutal strikes.
The scream exploding from me is utterly untamed. Tony looks at me and smiles faintly, then he collapses, his blood spreading on the tiles.
I leap, but leg pain flares as the injured one drags me down. My ax goes spinning away from me on the slippery ground. I crawl trying to reach for the ax, my eyes are fixed on that steel strip as if it’s my rescue.
