Skye didn’t care about the pain. When the knife dug into her, she didn’t scream or try to jerk away from the blade.
Instead, she lifted up her hands and she clawed at Anna Jean’s eyes.
Anna Jean was the one to scream. The blade slipped, cutting Skye more, but she let her knees buckle and she fell right from Anna Jean’s weakened hold.
Drake grabbed Skye and tossed her across the room. Then he lunged for Anna Jean.
But he staggered to a stop when she brought up her knife.
“Going to shoot me?” Anna Jean taunted him. “Going to leave me to die alone? Again? You weren’t supposed to be the one!”
He circled her.
Skye put her hand to her throat. The wounds weren’t that deep, and she pushed the pain to the back of her mind. After all, the pain didn’t matter then. Stopping Anna Jean was all that mattered.
Why wasn’t Drake firing at her?
“You were different,” Anna Jean whispered. “I stopped him from killing you earlier because I always thought…not you, Drake. Not. You!” The knife trembled in her grasp.
He opened his hand. Held it out to her. “Give me the knife.”
She laughed at him.
Screw this. Skye raced across the room. She yanked on the bathroom door. It flew open, but only just a few inches, because it hit Claire’s prone body.
“Claire!” Skye sank to her knees beside the other woman. There was blood. So much. A growing pool of it. Not from a slit throat, but from a deep wound in Claire’s gut. Skye’s fingers covered the wound, pushing down as she tried to apply pressure.
Claire’s eyes cracked open. Her stare was glassy, nearly blind with fear. “Again,” she whispered. “It’s happening a-again.”
“No.” Skye shook her head. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll get you help.” She turned her head. Drake and Anna Jean were still facing off. What the hell? “Call an ambulance,” Skye yelled at Drake. “Claire needs help, now!”
Drake’s gaze jerked to Skye. He blinked as if waking from a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
And in that one moment, Anna Jean attacked. She lunged forward and drove the knife into Drake’s stomach, and then she yanked, jerking the blade to the right. He fell back, stunned, his eyes wide.
“This time, you get to die,” Anna Jean told him.
His knees sagged, and he hit the floor.
Anna Jean spun to face Skye. “Your turn.”
Claire whimpered.
Skye kept applying pressure. “Claire has nothing to do with this. Let her go.” Drake wasn’t making a sound. His guilt had made him vulnerable. Guilt, love—they could wreck a person.
“I don’t give a shit about Claire,” Anna Jean yelled. She bent over Drake’s body, and when she rose, she had his gun. “Maybe he did love me,” she said as she stared down at him. “Because if he’d been smart, he would’ve shot me when he had the chance. Instead, I had the pleasure of gutting him.” Her voice dropped. “That’s what you get for leaving me in the cold.”
Drake’s body was already covered in blood. So much blood. But when Anna Jean moved to step around him, his hand flew out. His fingers locked around her ankle. “No…” Drake growled.
“Oh, darling, relax, I’ll slit your throat and end things soon.” She lifted the gun. “But first, I want to make sure Skye’s dead. You were right, you know. I did have a partner. And he’s waiting for a phone call from me. One that tells him Skye is dead.” She smiled at Skye. “Who’s going to save you now?”
Skye stood up. She inched away from Claire, not wanting the bullet to hit the other woman. “Why?”
“Because when Trace falls, we’ll take everything he has. All that money…mine.”
This had been about money? “I thought this was for revenge.”
“Killing you…” Anna Jean shrugged. “That’s for revenge. The rest is for money.”
Drake was trying to heave himself up behind her.
Anna Jean’s finger tightened on the trigger. “At least I’m being merciful. Good-bye, little dancer.”
Skye flew forward even as—
Nothing happened?
Anna Jean’s fingers squeezed the trigger twice more, but the gun didn’t fire.
Skye slammed into her. They fell to the floor, landing right next to Drake.
“Stupid…f-freaking water…” Anna Jean snarled. “I’ll just…do it…the old f-fashioned way…” Her fingers locked around Skye’s throat and she started to squeeze.
Skye slid her own hands under Anna Jean’s, and she shoved up, fast and hard, breaking the other woman’s hold. Then Skye drove her fist into Anna Jean’s face.
Again and again.
She was pretty sure that she heard bones crunch.
Anna Jean sagged back, unmoving.
Skye jumped up. Her hand throbbed. She’d probably broken some of her own fingers. She tried to grab for the phone that had been left on the little table near the door, but the phone fell from her now burning hand. Skye dove for it, and tried to dial nine-one-one.
Anna Jean yelled. The woman just won’t stay down. Anna Jean pushed up to her knees. “B-bitch, you’re done!”