“It’s your turn,” he finally says, his dark eyes glittering and wide. “The fives have turned. Five to the day, to the hour. You lose. Time’s up!”
He lifts the knife, brings it down, and I do my best to block with my arm. Blinding pain makes me cry out, and then he pulls the knife back and plunges it into my chest.
Holy shit, he’s real, and fucking crazy, and Christ, it hurts like a bitch. I stare down at the knife protruding from my chest, blinking dazedly. My pulse is drumming in my ears, too loud.
Loud noise filters through the pounding, and light pours into the alley. He lets go of my shoulder, steps back—and I go after him, grabbing his arms. He shrugs me off, but I grab at him again.
No idea why, but I can’t let him go. He killed my mom. He just killed me, too. He’s dangerous. Candy is out there. Joel, too.
“Jethro?” a woman’s voice calls out, and then a guy cursing. “Oh my God.”
My father pushes me off, and I stumble a few paces back, falling against the dumpsters as he turns and hurries away.
I’m cold. So cold my teeth are chattering. And it’s getting hard to breathe.
“Call an ambulance,” someone shouts. “And the police.”
The alley is darkening. A shadow bends over me.
“Candy,” I tell it. “Joel. Make sure they’re safe.”
And then the blackness closes over me.
Chapter Thirty One
CANDY
Title: Little Truths
From Candy Boys (Blog serial)
“I love you,” I tell them. “Did I tell you? Did you know?”
Did you know you have the power to break my heart?
Because it’s true.
“What do you mean he’s in the hospital? Di
dn’t you just say he was fine?” I’m clenching my cell phone so hard my knuckles ache. “Bry?”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s crazy over here. Someone stabbed Jethro in the chest.”
“Bry, are you serious right now?” I wait for her reply, heart in my throat. “Bry!”
“I’m serious. There’s a guy trying to stop the blood. Holy crap, Candy...”
“Jesus Christ.” I push away the laptop and jump to my feet, scanning the room for my jacket and purse. “I’m on my way.”
I don’t wait for her to reply. I throw the phone in my purse, pull on my shoes, grab my jacket and I’m out of here like a shot.
My fingers feel numb as I stab the call button for the elevator. I’m in shock, I think hazily. This can’t be. Stabbed. Jet was stabbed.
Shit.
I can’t think until I’m seated in my car and driving toward the bar Brylee called me from. Then, as I approach, I remember Joel and fish out my phone to call him.
He doesn’t answer, so I shoot him a text while waiting at the traffic lights, my finger shaking as I type the words.