61
CORA
I need to run.
I need to scream.
I need to tell Ivan.
But there isn’t time for any of it. For a second, it’s like I’m back at the dinner last week. I’m having déjà vu. Francia hurls herself at me exactly like she did before.
The only difference is, no one is here to stop her this time.
There is nothing between me and Francia except empty space and she’s closing it quickly.
When she smashes into me, my lungs compress. I can’t scream. I can barely even breathe.
We collapse on the tile floor and every training session I’ve had with Anya and Ivan falls out of my head. All I can do is throw my arms over my face and try to protect myself from Francia’s nails and fist and teeth.
She grabs a handful of my hair and yanks. I swing out at her, but I hit dead air. Then she smashes my head against the floor. Stars explode behind my eyes.
“You ruined everything, you fucking bitch!” Francia screeches. Her breath is hot on my neck. I drive my elbow back in the general direction of what I think is her face and yelp when her teeth dig into my bicep. She’s fucking rabid.
Then Francia splutters. She lets go of my hair and slides back, and I realize, my bicep smashed into her teeth.
She didn’t bite me. I hit her.
That one success is enough to wake me up. It’s enough to pull me out of the shock of her showing up and lunging at me so that I can see what I need to do.
When I was sore and exhausted from training, I told Ivan that he and Anya were going to break me. He swore they were training me so no one would ever be able to break me.
I guess it’s time to put that to the test.
Francia is still trying to reclaim the little bit of ground she just lost when I flip onto my back and kick out. She’s practically on top of me, so all I manage to do is kick her shins. But it’s better than lying on the ground defenseless.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be!” Francia is panting and scrabbling for grip on my arms.
I know if she pins me down, I won’t get back up. So I throw all of my weight to one side and roll. It gives me enough space to pull my right leg up and then kick straight back with the heel of my foot.
Francia’s knee snaps awkwardly under my foot. Things that aren’t supposed to move go pop-pop-pop. Even I wince.
Her shriek echoes off the high ceilings as I crawl away on my hands and knees. My head is still spinning from the blow earlier, so standing up isn’t an option. I just need to get far enough away to—
Then there’s a cold hand around my ankle.
Francia rakes her fingernails into my skin. I try to kick, but she throws herself on top of my legs, pinning me down to the floor.
Francia’s breathing gets louder as she scrambles over me. Ivan is going to find me dead on his entryway floor. Maybe Francia will lie in wait and attack him, too. He’ll drop to his knees next to my corpse in horror and that’s when she’ll strike. He’ll still probably be able to fight her off, but he’ll never forgive himself for letting me die.
That thought is scarier than realizing I’m about to die. And I muster up one last burst of energy.
I haul myself up onto my arms, pull my legs in as fast as I can, and throw myself forward. It only puts a few feet of space between me and Francia. It’s not enough, I know that.
But at least I tried.
I hope Ivan knows I tried.
Francia rears back to launch herself at me again… just as shots ring out.
She drops flat on the floor, but I spin around looking for the source. Yasha? Ivan? Maybe even Niles? Ivan told me his household staff is trained for emergency situations like this.
Maybe someone came to save me.
Then I turn and see my dad standing in the hallway, his gun pointed at the ceiling.
“Stay the fuck away from my daughter.”
There’s a hole in the ceiling and plaster dust raining down in a white haze.
A few hours ago, he showed up carrying flowers and taggy. Now, he’s holding a gun. It’s hard to reconcile the two sides of him. But it doesn’t matter. He’s here. I’m safe.
So why doesn’t it feel that way? Something still seems wrong. Francia is still lying flat on the floor. My dad is sighing with relief and setting the gun down on the ground. A hole in the ceiling is smoking.
It takes me a second to put together the pieces.
Then it hits me. He fired a warning shot.
Which means he didn’t hurt Francia.
Which means she shouldn’t be lying motionless on the floor.
My dad is moving towards me, leaving the gun behind. I see it all happen in slow motion. He’s holding a hand out to help me up, but behind him, Francia lifts herself up. She doesn’t stand all the way up because she doesn’t need to. She can reach what she needs to while lying down.
She picks up the gun in her hand and, unlike my dad, she isn’t pointing at the ceiling. She’s pointing it at his back.
Without a word, she fires.
Unlike him, she doesn’t start with a warning shot. No remorse. No chance to give up.
Francia pulls the trigger and my dad jerks and crumples to the floor.
“Dad!” I reach out for him, but my head spins. I think I have a concussion, but if I don’t get to him, things are going to be so much worse.
I can’t put one foot in front of the other, but I try anyway. I lift myself to my knees and the world is yanked out from under my feet. I fall sideways with my shoulder pressed to the wall.
Francia’s shadow falls over me. She scoffs. “What Ivan sees in you, I will never fucking know.”
Then something heavy hits my temple. The world goes dark.
The last thing I see is the blood on my father’s shirt.