Chapter 2

I scrambled backward across the wet patio decking, my heels slipping on the slick wood. My spine hit the brick wall of the tool shed.

There was nowhere left to run.

The man in the mask lunged forward. I grabbed a pair of rusted gardening shears from a nearby planter and drove them straight into his forearm.

He didn't even flinch. He yanked the metal shears out of his own flesh and chuckled.

"Feisty," he rasped, stepping closer. "But you gotta be careful with that pregnant belly, rich girl."

I threw myself at the sliding glass door. Silas was standing mere inches away on the other side of the glass.

His hands rested heavily on Ronan's shoulders. They were safe inside the brightly lit living room.

I slapped my bloody palms against the pane. "Silas! Open the door! Please, think of our baby!"

Silas watched my blood smear against the pristine glass. His face was completely blank. He didn't reach for the lock.

The butcher knife tore into my back.

I screamed, collapsing against the door. My knees hit the wood. The killer pulled the blade out and drove it into my shoulder.

My vision tunneled. Through the red-stained glass, I watched Silas drop to his knees.

He kissed Ronan's forehead. He pulled the boy into a tight hug.

"Thank God I kept it locked," Silas muttered to his son. "We would have died too."

He didn't call an ambulance. He didn't grab a weapon. He just justified my murder to a child.

The blade sliced into my neck, and the world went pitch black.

Concrete scraped my knees. The suffocating smell of diesel exhaust filled my lungs.

I gasped for air, standing at the exact same downtown intersection.

I yanked up my sleeve. The glowing red 3 perfectly burned into my wrist flickered. It melted into a 2.

The delivery truck roared to life. It barreled around the corner, jumping the curb.

This time, I didn't wait for instinct. I calmly stepped backward. The metal beast obliterated the barrier exactly where I had stood seconds ago.

My phone buzzed. Silas.

I hit decline. I turned around and ran down the block.

I hailed a passing cab and threw myself into the backseat. I wasn't going back to his suburban house. I was going to the only place I actually owned.

I punched the access code into the private elevator of my downtown high-rise. This penthouse had been mine long before I met Silas.

I stepped inside and slammed the door shut. I threw the steel deadbolt, engaged the chain lock, and armed the digital security pad.

It was exactly 11:00 PM. The penthouse was silent. I was safe.

My phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. I picked it up and hit accept.

"Where the hell are you?" Silas shouted through the speaker. "Ronan is screaming for you. If you aren't home in ten minutes, I am calling the police!"

He used the kid as a weapon. Always.

"I'm at the ER," I said, keeping my tone terrifyingly flat. "I'm bleeding. The doctor says I might lose the baby."

Silence filled the line.

"I need twenty grand wired to my account right now for the emergency procedure," I pressed on. "Do it now, Silas."

I heard him aggressively exhale. "You know the daily transfer limits are strict, Celeste. My cards are tapped out. I only have three hundred bucks in checking."

He bought vintage watches every month using my trust fund. He drove a car I paid for. But right now, to save my life and his unborn child, he wouldn't give up a single dime.

"Right," I whispered.

"We'll handle this tomorrow," Silas snapped. "Stop making up excuses to avoid your stepson."

"Lock the patio door, Silas," I told him. "There's a maniac with a butcher knife walking around the neighborhood."

He scoffed loudly. "You seriously need psychiatric help."

Click. He hung up.

I tossed the phone onto the counter. My entire body ached from the phantom knife wounds. I walked into the bedroom, checked the window locks, and crawled under the heavy duvet.

Exhaustion dragged me under almost immediately.

A searing, white-hot pain ripped through my right thigh.

My eyes snapped open. I tried to scream, but the sound got trapped in my throat.

The masked man was standing at the foot of my bed.

I glanced frantically past his shoulder. The heavy, electronic bedroom door was wide open.

There was no splintered wood. The digital keypad wasn't smashed. The advanced security system was completely silent. Someone had simply unlocked the door and let him inside my fortress.

He yanked the bloody knife out of my leg and raised it high over his head.

"Die."