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My knees hit the ground as soon as I’m near her, and when I look at that blank expression staring back at me, her back covered in blood, I realize it’s not Cammie at all. She’s older. Her mother? Oh, God!
“Cammie, where are you?” I whisper-shout, not hearing anything.
Not footsteps. Nor anyone’s cry.
Dread that she’s gone, that I’m too late, fills me with urgent despair.
She can’t be dead! He must pay for what he’s done!
I scramble on my shaky feet and plod down the foyer, and when I enter the living room…
“Cammie!” I shout, rushing for her, closing the knife and stuffing it back in my pocket.
She’s lying in the corner, blood pooled around her, two more bodies not too far from where she is.
That must be her little brother and father. A fucking massacre. He killed them all and left!
“Oh God, Cammie. No!” I sob, sinking to the ground and lifting her body into my lap.
Rocking her, I cry, the blood from her shirt penetrating mine.
“I—I was too late,” I bawl. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”
Fingers reaching for her neck, I pray that there’s a chance that she’s still in there somewhere.
“Please! You have to be okay!” Tears slip down my cheeks just as two fingers press into the side of her throat.
I gasp, a cold shudder of relief flailing over me when I feel the pulse there.
“Thank God!” I hold her and sob. “You’ll be okay.” My breaths come in whimpering pants. “I’m gonna call an ambulance.”
Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone, and when I start to dial, her hand whips out, fingers wrapping around my wrist.
Her eyes pop open.
With a stunned gaze, my mouth starts to move, but no sound comes out.
It takes a moment for my mind and my body to catch up.
“C-C-Cammie!” I breathe out. “You’re…you’re okay.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” She grins, her grin cold as she flips me down onto the floor, settling on top of me. “But unfortunately for you, you’re not.”
Then, she’s pointing a gun at my throat.
And shoots.
CHAPTER FORTY
KAYLA
I groan,whimpering, unsure of where I am. My arms ache as I try to move them. Voices… They seem distant, but I hear a woman, and that’s when it all comes crashing down.
The moment she pointed the gun at me, the altercation, when I pushed her off and the bullet flew right past me.
That fear—the icy, blood-chilling fear that I was gonna die—is something I can’t even explain.
We fought. I remember that. She pushed me off, and…and I hit my head. I recall the throbbing pain. Remember when she hit me again, and that’s when I stop remembering.
