Chapter 10 #2
She has long dark hair and light brown skin and is lying on her back with her mouth wide open.
There’s a large, gaping wound across the anterior neck, extending from ear to ear.
The gash doesn’t look very deep. At least not deep enough to kill her.
There is profuse hemorrhage, with patches of dried blood staining the front part of her red sweater.
Her body is contorted at weird angles — one hand over her head and the other is hanging off the edge.
Her legs are intertwined with the bedsheets, and her dark hair is a tangled, matted mess.
I walk around to get a better look. That’s when I notice the pool of blood beneath her slashed wrist.
Drip, drip, drip.
I crouch down, my expensive shoes carefully positioned away from the blood and press a finger against the girl’s neck. Nothing.
Drip, drip, drip.
“Excuse me?” I call out. “Ma’am?”
No response. Drip, drip, drip.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “Are you cold?”
I inspect her right arm, the one hanging off the edge of the bed.
This isn’t Holly’s work. Holly would never do something like this.
For starters, she’d never harm another woman.
And secondly, this is way too messy. Too…
barbaric to be done by even a surgical intern, let alone a surgeon as experienced and brilliant as Holly.
Whoever did this obviously doesn’t know how to use a blade. Pathetic.
It’s difficult to estimate how long ago this was done.
The average person has a total of five litres of blood in their body.
You’d have to lose at least two litres before being in any danger of dying.
I stare at the small pool on the ground.
That’s at most three coffee mugs worth of blood.
Not enough to kill someone. Not enough time either.
It would take someone hours to die from blood loss if they cut their wrist. Putting it under running water would exacerbate the process, but that’s not the case right now.
Which means the killer could still be in the building.
This doesn’t make any sense. How did she die? Who did it? And why —
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”
I spin around. A figure bursts through the doorway. A man, his face contorted in a mask of rage. But it's not his rage that chills me to the bone. It's the glint of metal in his hand. A gun.
What the fuck?
My confusion gets choked off as he lunges at me, a feral scream escaping his mouth.
I throw myself to the side, scrambling backward on my hands and knees, desperate to escape.
What the FUCK is going on?! The rough concrete wall stops me cold, and a loud noise explodes next to my head.
Dust stings my eyes. I blink hard, trying to see, as the metallic tang of blood fills my nose and mouth.
The world spins for a moment. The man is almost on top of me, his face filled with rage.
Panic floods my vision and a horrifying realization cuts through me like a freshly sharpened knife.
Did he kill this woman? Did he call Holly here?
Is this fucking Nate Lawson? I look at him.
A surge of my own rage, hot and primal, threatens to consume me.
I clench my fists, the urge to fight this maniac overwhelming.
But reason elbows its way back in. He has a gun.
I don’t. I'm just flesh and bone. One reckless move could get me killed, and who would help Holly then?
I need to get out of here. I need to find Holly and I need to keep her safe.
I look to my right. The boarded-up window is too far away, and scrambling towards it would be like offering myself up on a silver platter.
I glance at the door to my left. Maybe I can make a run for it?
I know I can outrun him, but can I overpower him?
Probably not. While I maintain a healthy physique through regular exercise, I must concede that this madman’s muscular build surpasses my own.
I would be no match for him in a physical confrontation.
However, desperation can be a powerful weapon.
If I can somehow subdue him, maybe I can find Holly and help her too.
The mere thought of something happening to her ignites a fiercely protective spark within me, a sensation that burns brighter than any logic.
My gaze darts back to the man. His gun is slightly lowered and he’s looking at the woman sprawled on the bed. Dead and cold. Her lifeless form seems to fuel his rage, his face contorting even further.
“I’m gonna blow a hole in your fucking skull,” he rasps, tears welling in his eyes.
He snaps the gun back towards me. The cold metal presses into my forehead, the world dissolving into a single sharp point of pressure.
Every frantic beat of my heart echoes in my ears.
His finger tightens on the trigger. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the deafening explosion, but all I hear is a choked sound. Wet and gurgling.
I open my eyes.
A glint of metal catches my eye. Not the gun.
No, this time it’s the long, wicked blade of a scalpel protruding from the side of the man’s neck.
He stares at me, eyes wide with shock as blood drips down along the nape of his neck on the collar of his t-shirt.
His grip slackens on the gun, and it clatters to the floor with a heavy thud.
My gaze snaps up.
A cold wave of relief washes over me.
Holly.
The man stumbles back, hand clawing at the hilt of the scalpel protruding from his neck. Eyes flared wide, he releases a silent wail trapped behind his lips. I watch, fascinated, as Holly delivers a swift kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap.
She sticks the knife deeper into his neck and drives the tip of the blade up beneath his skull, till it gets stuck near his temple. She pulls her scalpel out and stabs his face. Over and over, sinking the blade deep, mutilating his brain until his blood is misting her face.
It’s overkill, but still, she grabs a nearby brick and brings it down on his head.
Once. Twice. Three times. Blood paints her cheeks in messy strokes of feathered arterial spray.
The last time she swings the brick at his head, I hear a raspy crunch, the sound of someone punching their hand through a drywall.
Even in the fuzzy light of the building’s run-down interior, I can see the side of his head that’s caved in, along with the black pool of blood that’s now spread out across the floor.
His foot twitches and morbid butterflies flutter in my stomach. Because Holly Moore, the woman who until yesterday couldn’t even be in the same room as me without suggesting I get run over by a car, just killed someone…for me.
And she did it without blinking.
My breathing quickens. The image replays in my mind, the reality of the situation washing over me. Holly Moore just killed a man to save me. She killed someone for me.
I’m frozen in space. My heart might as well stop beating. She bends down to pull her scalpel out of the dead guy’s throat. A viscous crimson liquid wells up between the crook of his neck, staining the floor.
I spot a thin red line marring the pale skin of Holly’s arm. “Are you hurt?” I reach out, concern twisting my gut.
Holly slaps my hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
There's a dismissal in her tone that stings, a cold distance that wasn't there before. But, of course, I know I’m reading too much into it. Holly just a killed someone for me. I guess Kennedy was right after all. Holly doesn’t hate me.
You don’t go around committing homicide for someone you hate. That’s just common sense.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I take a step forward, slowly and with my hands raised above my head, trying to reassure her that I come in peace. She places her bloody scalpel on my chest, right above the area where my heart is supposed to be. My muscles stiffen.
Well, shit.
“What are you doing here?”
“D-did you…just kill that man?” I have to feign some semblance of fear in my voice. Holly doesn’t know that I’ve seen her kill before. Even though it’s never been up close. And never for me.
“Answer my fucking question, Theo.”
“Holly…t-that man is dead…please…p-please, don’t hurt me.” The words leave a sour taste in my mouth. This is so fucking embarrassing. I sound like an absolute arse.
The tip of her scalpel presses against my skin. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Theo,” she warns.
“What? Did you think you’re the only one who likes to spend her free time exploring a decrepit building that houses the occasional dead body or two? You’re not that special, Hollister.”
She grabs me by the side of my neck and shoves me back against the wall beside the door.
I crouch down to make up for our height difference so that she can restrain my wrists with more ease.
Her right hand closes over both my wrists, holding them above my head while the left hand holds her scalpel against my throat, the cold metal threatening to break into my skin.
“Call me that again and I swear to God I’ll chop your balls off and shove them down your throat.”
My gaze drifts down to her chest and I realize she’s not wearing a bra. Oh my god, she’s not wearing a bra. No bra. The thought runs on repeat in my brain like a broken tape recorder. No bra, no bra, no bra. Despite our morbid surroundings, I feel a warm blush creeping up my neck.
Fuck, I need to get it together.
I stare into her eyes to distract myself.
Her very beautiful, very pissed-off, brown eyes.
Whoever said brown eyes are plain and boring has clearly never seen Holly’s.
I could stare into her eyes forever. Hypnotic.
The specks of brown blending into the onyx of her pupil.
Beautiful in a way that resembles a woody forest, pulling me in the longer I stare.
I wonder what they’d look like in the sun.
Rich and deep. Fierce. Melting into golden rays, creating a sunset of their own.
“What are you doing here?” she repeats, her voice more brutal this time.
When I don’t respond right away, she digs the blade a fraction deeper in warning which sends a flush down my legs. “I’m not fucking around, Theo. Did you send me that text?”
Huh? “What text?”
“Don’t fucking test me right now. Were you following me? Yes or no.”
There’s so much blood strewn across her face.
She looks so beautiful like this. The metallic tang hits my nostrils.
It's faint, almost masked by Holly’s sweet perfume, but there’s a warmth to it, a sweetness that sends my own blood rushing down to my groin.
I can’t help but smile. “I really like it when you boss me around like that, love.”
“You are one sarcastic comment away from being a dead man.”
“Better pick a good one then.”
A frustrated groan leaves her lips and something in my psychosis finds it so fucking hot. I don’t know why I’m like this. Really, I don’t. Maybe I go a little insane around Holly. Maybe I like it.
Her grip around my wrists tightens. I wince. “Jesus, Holly. Do you really have to grind your nails into my skin?”
“No, but I guess sometimes I just can’t help myself.” She leans in closer, her face mere inches from mine. “What. Are you doing here?”
“Don’t kill me and I’ll tell you.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll kill you.” She presses the tip of her scalpel against a spot below my jaw.
I breathe slowly, careful not to move my head too much. Fuck.
“Oh, I’m sorry, does this tiny little thing scare you?” Holly taunts. “That’s understandable. People fear knives more than they do guns. Did you know that, Dr. Carter?”
Dr. Carter. All the blood in my face rushes straight down to my cock and I hold back a groan.
“The reason is pretty simple. Only a few have been shot, but everyone has been cut. The cold steel touching your skin, the piercing pain that follows when it slices through, the absolute terror when thick, hot blood comes oozing out. No gun can replicate the fear of a sharp blade. And I bet if I hit the right spot, I can make you scream.”
Fuck me now, love. My cock is so hard it tents out the front of my trousers. “Are you trying to scare me or seduce me?”
“You’re not smart enough to be scared of me.” She uses her scalpel to cut a thin, precise line over my trachea. Not deep enough to draw blood. Just deep enough to make a point.
Fucking psychopath. I have to bite my lip to keep myself from grinning. “So a seduction then?”
“More like an enthusiastic suggestion.” She drags the blade to the base of my throat and, this time, presses hard enough to draw a big, fat drop of blood. “I literally cut into people for a living. Good people. You really think I won’t do it for free for a scumbag like you?”
Fuck, that hurts. That really hurts.
“I won’t ask again, Theo. Were. You. Following. Me?”
Perhaps it’s the fear of being carved up by Holly or it’s her heady perfume that’s invading my senses and making it very hard to think right now. Or maybe, and more likely, it’s those pretty eyes, angelic and amber, that are making me dizzy and weak.
Whatever the reason, I nod.
My sudden eagerness to comply seems to throw her off a little. Eyes narrowed, she leans back to look at my face and blinks. “You…you were following me?”
I can’t tell if it’s a statement or a question, so I nod again.
She lets go of my wrists and takes a step back, wetting her dry lips, before lowering her scalpel.
Heavy silence.
Her eyes go on scrutinizing my face. She tilts her head to the side like a confused puppy, and for a second, I think she’s about to smile.
Or perhaps kiss me. It’d be twisted as heck, but evidently that’s how I like it.
Her lip curves a bit, and a fluttery sensation rises up my stomach.
My heart rate picks up, beads of sweat forming across my upper lip.
The silence between us stretches and after a whole minute, Holly finally smiles.
Fucking finally. At last. A little common sense. I smile back.
Then I feel a tingle.
An intense, burning tingle. Like a burning hot rod of steel was just put into my stomach and left there.
Then comes the heat. Like someone’s set my skin on fire.
And lastly the pain. A flaming, searing pain, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
My smile fades. I look down at my abdomen and the scalpel lodged in it.
Motherfucker —