Chapter 54 Eva
EVA
Dad
Stay with your hockey boys tonight.
Don’t come home.
“I have to go,” I rasped to Elijah, the student equipment manager.
He looked at me oddly. We were supposed to stay until the players left so we could tend wounds and help them stretch.
“Would you let Dr. Parker and Coach know, please? It’s an emergency.”
His gaze slid to the ice, where Tristan was flying toward a goal, and then back to me.
Tristan shot and scored, and the stadium went wild.
“Please.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “Do you need a hug?”
I laughed sadly, although the sound was watery with the tears I held back. “I gotta go.”
I stared at my rideshare app, thumb hovering over the cheapest option. Even that would strain my empty bank account. After a moment’s hesitation, I selected Cole’s premium card and called the fastest option—a black car with a professional driver.
I tried to call my father. His phone rang and rang and rang with no answer. My texts went unread.
Me
Something’s wrong with my dad. I’m going home.
Alek
Wait for me. I’ll meet you at the stadium.
Me
Already in the car.
Cole
Dammit, Eva. I’m right behind you.
My artificial valve clicked sharply in my chest during the ride home, each beat a reminder of my weakness as I panicked. The doctor’s warnings echoed in my head. Keep your heart rate down. Avoid stress. Take your medication regularly. Because I’d been so successful doing that so far.
When I got home, the door was open, the handle dangling.
No. No no no no no no.
The next warning sign was my father’s favorite chair. It lay on its side, one leg splintered, near the front door. The door itself hung slightly open, winter air whistling through the gap.
The familiar musty smell of our house was wrong—overlaid with copper and fear and sweat. My boots crunched on broken glass from the side table. Dad’s reading glasses lay crushed beneath the debris, one lens cracked like a spider’s web.
Dark drops led to the kitchen. Not quite brown, not quite red.
Black spots danced at the edges of my vision as I stumbled against the counter. My pills were at Alek’s. Fuck! I couldn’t look away from those drops of blood, couldn’t force myself out of the kitchen.
I knew exactly where my father was. I knew what I had to do. And I knew I had to do it before the guys got here and tried to stop me.
The drive to Carter’s office was a blur of skipping heartbeats and growing certainty, uncaring how expensive the car ride was.
My phone buzzed—Alek, then Cole, then Tristan, whose victory I was spoiling with the fact that I just couldn’t stop hurting them. I silenced the phone with trembling fingers. They’d lost enough because of me. I was going to end this tonight, no matter what it took.
Carter’s building loomed, all glass and steel and power. I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling the uneven rhythm of my artificial valve. No medication. No backup plan. Nothing left to lose.
The security guard recognized me. Of course he did. Carter had been waiting for this moment all along. “Mr. Carter is expecting you, Miss Jackson.”
Of course he was.
I tugged on the hem of my jersey and took a deep breath, ignoring the stutter in my chest. Time to make the deal I should have made from the start.
The elevator ride to the top floor stretched forever, each mechanical click of my valve echoing the floor numbers. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. My vision blurred. Twenty-five.
Carter’s office suite spread across the entire twenty-sixth floor, Yorkfield glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I pushed open his office door without knocking. The familiar scent of cigars and bourbon hit me first. Then, my father’s cologne. Then, the copper of blood.
“Eva.” Carter didn’t look up from his desk. “I was wondering when you’d figure it out.”
My father sat in one of the leather chairs, hands bound behind him. Blood matted his red hair and ran down his collar. His eyes met mine, proud and determined. He’d take a bullet for me if he could.
I had to do this for him.
“Let him go.” My voice came out steady, despite the stutter in my chest. “You can have me instead. That was the original deal I offered, wasn’t it?”
Now, Carter looked up. A smile spread across his face—the same one he’d worn when he made that deal with me the first time.
“The original deal?” He leaned back, studying me.
“As I recall, you offered yourself in exchange for his gambling debts. That was before you cost me millions in betting revenue and before you conspired with my son to ruin business deals. It was certainly before you thought you could take me down, little girl.”
My heart skipped. Caught. Skipped again.
“I’m worth more now,” I managed, “as punishment. Isn’t that what you really want? Someone to break so you can hurt your son?”
“Someone to break?” Carter’s laugh filled the office. “My dear, you’ve been breaking yourself for months. Breaking my son. Breaking that pathetic coach. Breaking poor Tristan’s dreams.”
He stood, circling his desk. The room swayed. I locked my knees, refusing to show weakness. My heart thundered arrhythmically against my ribs.
“Me for my father,” I said. “He walks out of here, and you never look at him again, no matter what.”
Carter shrugged. “He walks out of here, and I ignore the debt he owes me today.”
I slammed the flat of my hand on the desk so hard, it shook, and a letter opener rolled to the ground with a thud.
“Forever, you asshole.”
Carter looked me up and down, taking his time. “All right, Miss Jackson. You for your father’s debts, and I’ll leave him alone forever.” He walked over to my father and sliced through the cable ties holding him to the chair.
My father stumbled to his feet, reaching for me. “Sweetheart, don’t—”
“Get out, Dad.” I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see his face. “Just go.”
“But—”
“Out!” Carter’s voice cracked like a whip, and the two goons standing beside the door grabbed my father and dragged him out.
The moment the door closed behind my father, Carter’s controlled facade shattered. He grabbed my throat, slamming me against his desk. Papers scattered.
“You stupid little bitch.” His breath hit my face, full of bourbon and rage. “Did you think you could humiliate me? Destroy everything I built for my son?” His fingers tightened. “I’m going to take my time with you, make you regret every moment you thought you were smarter than me.”
He didn’t have a grand plan or some thought as to how he could use me to come back from this, just pure, entitled fury. This asshole.
“I’m going to break you—not because I need to or because it serves any purpose.” His smile was pure cruelty. “Simply because I can.”
Black spots danced across my vision as Carter’s grip tightened. My artificial valve clicked frantically, desperately, like a trapped bird against my ribs.
“Did you think they actually loved you?” He laughed, the sound ugly and raw.
“A cheap little nothing from nowhere? My son could have had anyone. Tristan could have played for any team.” His fingers dug into my throat.
“But you seduced them, didn’t you? Spread your legs and played the victim until they threw everything away. ”
I clawed at his hand, lungs burning. The edges of the desk bit into my spine.
“I’m going to take everything from you.” He released my throat, only to backhand me hard enough to taste blood. Another blow sent me sprawling. “You’re going to wish you’d never heard the name Carter.”
My head cracked against the marble floor. The room spun, Carter’s expensive shoes moving in and out of focus as he circled me.
“Get up.” He kicked my ribs, right where the surgical scar wrapped around my side. “I said get up!”
I tried. My arms shook, giving out beneath me. The valve stuttered, each click more erratic than the last.
“Pathetic.” He grabbed my hair, yanking me up. “Just like my son. Weak. Useless.” His breath was hot against my ear. “But I’m going to enjoy teaching you your place.”
My phone buzzed in my discarded coat.
Carter slammed me face-first into his desk. The impact jarred through my chest, and my valve—
One heartbeat. Two. Nothing.
“Not so brave now, are you?” His weight crushed me against the mahogany. “No more clever plans? No more—”
Pain exploded through my chest like shattered glass. A scream tore from my throat, raw and animalistic.
“Please,” I gasped. “My medicine—”
“Begging already?” He ground my face harder into the desk. “We’re just getting started.”
My vision tunneled. The valve clicked once, twice, then nothing. Just empty space where my heartbeat should be.
The last thing I saw was a letter opener under the desk as consciousness fled and the darkness took me.