29. Ava
29
Ava
N ate?
I dragged the back of my hand across my lips, stepping out of the bathroom. Sudden movement on the monitor snagged my attention from the corner of my eye.
No.
I lunged toward the screen, palms flat against the desk as I leaned in closer. "Oh, shit."
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
My fingers fumbled in my pockets, yanking out my phone. The tremor in my hands betrayed the urgency. My stomach twisted in knots.
"Pick up, pick up, pick up." My voice cracked as I stared at the screen, unblinking.
He paused in my living room, his hand digging into his leather jacket's inner pocket. "Hello? Where—"
"There's a man in my apartment," I whispered as though the assassin could hear me.
"Ava, I can't hear you. What did you say?"
The voice on the line carried through the stillness.
Too loud.
Too clear.
The man in the bathroom stiffened, his head snapping up like a predator catching a scent. Slowly, he rose to his full height, his eyes narrowing as he squared his shoulders.
"Get out, Nate. There’s a man in my bathroom, and he knows—"
The assassin stepped into view, the gun in his hand rising, barrel aimed straight at Nate.
Nate’s eyes flashed wide. In one swift motion, he hurled the phone, the impact cracking against the man’s face.
The hiss of the suppressed shot split the air, veering wide as the man’s head snapped back, a guttural groan escaping his lips.
Nate charged, a force of raw momentum, slamming into the assassin and driving him into the wall. The collision echoed through the room as the gun skidded under my bed.
A strangled cry tore from my throat. My chest tightened, heart pounding with the frantic rhythm of a stampede racing toward a deadly drop.
I can't help him.
Oh my God.
He's going to die because of me.
I glanced down at the creaking device in my tight hand.
Liam.
I sucked in a sharp breath, jammed my thumb against his contact photo, and pressed the phone to my ear. My eyes snapped back to the screen, tracking every brutal movement.
The assassin drove his elbows into Nate’s spine, but Nate countered with punishing blows to the man’s ribs, each strike landing like a hammer. The fight churned into a vicious rhythm—a clash of pure survival.
He surged forward, forcing Nate toward the kitchen table, his boots scraping against the floor. With a sudden pivot, Nate spun the man around. Their combined weight crashed onto the table, splintering it into shards and scattering debris across the room.
"Hello?"
"Liam, I need help."
"Ava, what's wrong? Did he hurt you? Where are you?"
"No." The word ripped from my throat, my chest tightening like a vise as my heart slammed against my ribs. Tears blurred my vision. "He's the one getting hurt."
"I don't un—"
"My apartment," I stammered. "An assassin is here. They're fighting—right now. I need you to send help!" My grip on the phone tightened, knuckles white, as I struggled to steady my breath.
"What? Ava, slow down. You’re not making any sense."
The men wrestled on the ground, a blur of fists and fury, each blow landing with sickening force. The assassin’s hand shot out, snatching a jagged table leg from the wreckage.
"Watch out," I screamed.
With a brutal thrust, he drove the splintered end into Nate’s side.
"Noooooo." The singular word burned in my throat like claws tearing down my flesh. I bit down hard on my knuckles, stifling the scream, desperate to keep from drawing attention.
"Ava, come on you have to give me something."
"My apartment. Now. Bring SWAT. The department—"
Nate sagged to the side, his body folding like a marionette without strings. The assassin wriggled free, sliding out from beneath him, his movements cold and deliberate. Nate lay motionless—his eyes shut.
"Oh my God." My voice trembled. "I think it's too late. I think he killed him—" The words broke as panic choked me.
The assassin loomed over Nate, his hood down, revealing a black, skin-tight mask that clung to his head and face like a second skin. The absence of emotion in his stance sent a chill through my veins.
"Liam." A sob ripped free. "I think he's dead." Tears streaked down my cheeks, my chest heaving with the weight of the words. "He killed him."
"Ava, who killed him? Are you safe?"
"I'm saf—"
Nate’s eyes snapped open, sharp and alive, as the assassin moved toward my bed. His hand shot out, gripping the man’s ankle in a vise-like hold and yanking hard. The assassin crashed to the floor in a chaotic spiral, his limbs slamming against the ground.
Muscles coiled, he rolled onto his side and sprang to his feet in a single fluid motion. Bolting toward the kitchen, every step calculated and swift, he reached the butcher block as the assassin scrambled upright and turned to face him. His hand gripped the handle of a gleaming chef’s knife, drawing it free in a sharp, deliberate motion.
The assassin froze mid-step, his stance wide, hands poised with surgical precision—ready for the fight to continue.
Nate slashed the blade through the air, its edge slicing cleanly through the tension. The assassin jerked back, the motion quick and calculated, his eyes fixed on the knife with cold focus.
He swished the blade through the air, and the assassin jumped back.
I can't watch.
I tore my gaze from the screen, Liam’s voice cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. "Ava, take a deep breath and tell me what’s happening. I have men on the way."
Tears streamed down my face. "Hurry. Please."
Shoving the phone into my pocket, I forced myself to glance at the screen again, peeking with one eye, dread coiling in my chest.
Nate locked the man in a chokehold, his arm coiled tight around the assassin’s neck, chest pressed to his back. The knife drove in and out of flesh, each thrust ripping into his stomach and side with brutal precision.
The assassin writhed in Nate’s grip, his body twisting as blood poured in dark, heavy streams, pooling on the floor beneath them.
A wave of nausea surged in my stomach, the acidic burn torturing the back of my throat.
Nate growled, a guttural sound tearing from his chest as his heaving breaths filled the room. The blade plunged deep into the center of the assassin’s back. The assassin’s hands clawed desperately at Nate’s side, fingers digging into the open wound, their struggle vicious.
God, please don't let him die.
Not for me.
Not for me.
Nate’s body jerked, the sickening crack of bone snapping echoing through the speakers. The assassin went limp, collapsing to the floor in a lifeless heap. A vibrating purr brushed against my ankles as the cat weaved around me, oblivious to the horror unfolding on the screen.
Standing over the body, Nate’s chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. Victory clung to him like a shadow, but his legs wavered. He stumbled back, bracing against the kitchen wall, one hand pressed to his bleeding side.
His fingers pulled away slick with crimson.
"Fuck." The word left his lips in a hoarse rasp, his head tipping back against the wall.
Through the speakers, the wail of an approaching siren pierced the tension, faint but closing in fast. Nate’s head snapped forward, his gaze darting around the room. He shoved off the wall, each movement labored and staggered toward the phone lying discarded on the floor.
Bending down, he picked it up, holding it in his hand as his shoulders stiffened. He didn’t move, didn’t dial. Just paused.
"What are you doing?" I hissed, leaning closer to the desk as though my voice could somehow reach him. "You need to get to a hospital."
His eyes lifted, cutting through the camera feed like a blade. For one heart-stopping moment, Nate's gaze stared right into mine.
"If you're watching this, you better fucking run, Ava."
My stomach bottomed out.
The air rushed from my lungs.
My vision spotted.
I glanced around the room and darted to the closet, throwing open the doors.
A black shirt with the words 'I'm here because you broke something' hung on the hanger at the end of the rod.
This is his place?
He knows I'm here.
I backed away, my heart in my throat, my airways constricting.
Taking one last look at the monitors, I gasped.
"Where did he go?"
Rushing for the door, I swung it open, and ran down the hall, leaving the door wide open. I took the steps two at a time, threw the keys on Martha's desk with a quick thank you, and bolted to my car before she could even look up from her program.
Where am I going to go?
I tore open the driver's door and sank inside, checking the back seat before starting the car, then peeled out of the dilapidated parking lot.
This is bad.
This is worse than Martin Keller's case.
Tears streamed down my face, my vision blurring as I gripped the wheel and merged onto the freeway, the car carrying me farther from the city with every mile.
Forty-five minutes later, the gaslight chimed. The needle hovered over 'E,' a silent warning that I couldn’t outrun everything.
Great.
Pulling off onto a small gas station, I dug through my pockets and purse, searching for a twenty. Something, anything to get some gas in and get further.
"Come on, come on. Where did it go?"
A truck horn honked behind me, and I jumped, my bag dumping onto the floor, my purse in hand. "Shit."
My hands shook, and the pressure in my temples grew.
"Let's go, lady." A man’s voice barked. "We don't have all day. Either pump or leave."
Dammit.
I threw the door open and stepped out, my jaw tight as I marched to the pump. Sliding my card into the reader, I whispered a silent prayer.
Select fuel grade.
I mentally high-fived myself as I grabbed the nozzle, selected the cheapest fuel grade, and shoved the nozzle into the fuel inlet.
Fill it up, drive to BFE, and disappear.
My butt leaned against the car, my arms folded over my chest as I glanced around, the dirty, rust-pitted Chevy parked behind me, my gaze averting anywhere but there.
The automatic shut-off mechanism clicked, and I removed the nozzle, replaced it with the cap, and climbed into my car as my phone rang.
Cold dread climbed my spine, gripping my chest like a steel band. My fingers trembled as I flipped the phone over, relief hitting like a fleeting breath of air.
"Hi, Liam."
"Tell me where you are. Are you hurt? Are you safe?"
The engine purred to life as I started the car, the Chevy behind me revving in irritation. I eased onto the road, my voice steady. "I'm fine. I wasn't there."
"Then whose blood is this?"
"The dead man laying in my kitchen."
Silence crackled on the line, the weight of his pause heavier than the air in the car.
"Ava," he said slowly. "There isn’t a body here. Just blood. A massacre. But no bodies."
My grip on the wheel tightened. The empty freeway stretched ahead, and goosebumps prickled along my arms. "What do you mean there isn’t a body?"
" The officers who got here before me said it looked like a war zone—blood everywhere, furniture overturned—but no sign of a body."
"But I—"
"Ava." His tone dropped to something quieter, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand. "I need to ask you something."
I gulped. Tears burned the edges of my vision. "Okay."
"Were you planning on committing suicide?" His words landed like an unforgiving gut punch. "Because if you are, we can get you some hel—"
"I would never do that." The words tore from my raw throat. Hot tears streaked down my cheeks, the road ahead warping into a blur. "You have to believe me. You know I wouldn’t do that."
I don't want to be her.
I can't be like her.
"You'd tell me, right?"
"Of course I would." My body trembled as the words came fast and desperate. "Listen to me, Liam. If you ever find my body, and it looks like I killed myself, you need to know—I didn’t. I am not suicidal."
"Ava..."
"I’m happy." The lie burned as it left my lips—the tears unstoppable. "I love my life. And I might be scared out of my mind right now, but I am not suicidal."
"Jesus Christ—"
"Tell me you understand." I sniffled, grabbed a tissue from the glove box, and wiped my nose. "Please."
Liam’s sigh crackled through the line. "I hear you, Ava. But you need to tell me where you are."
My eyes flicked to the call timer.
Two minutes.
It was enough.
"I’m somewhere safe for now."
I pushed the end button, opened my window, and tossed the tracking device out the window.
30