Page 118 of Crash

Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. “Fine. I … I lost count.”

“You lost count?” The words came out as ice.

“I … I don’t want to do this. It’s … I can’t help it, okay? But I never hurt them.”

He means stabbed them.He just used this knife to scare them, to force them into compliance. This was probably his knife. And this woman, bless her soul, turned it against him.

“So, it’s okay, is that it? Because you don’t kill them?”

“I never meant to?—”

“Death isn’t always about stopping a pulse. Sometimes, it’s about shattering someone so completely that the person they were dies. You didn’t just attack her body; you murdered the woman who used to walk home alone at night without checking over her shoulder. The one who didn’t flinch at shadows or wake up screaming. That’s the real death sentence you handed out. And for that? Your pulse is a fair trade.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“Any other victim, I’d have handed you to authorities. But the day you laid a hand on Tessa?” My fingers found the knife’s handle. “That was the day your tombstone was engraved. The day I became your Grim Reaper.”

Recognition flooded his face. “You’re one of them. The ones who destroyed my company.”

“We buried you, Eric Voss.” I twisted the knife, just slightly. Just enough. “And my face will be the last one you see.”

I watched blood pool beneath him, dared him to scream. If he did, he’d just confessed to multiple sexual assaults, and with everything Axel’s PR company had dug up, he’d go to prison for the rest of his life.

“Consider yourself lucky,” I added as his terrified eyes began to fade. “If I’d found you outside these walls, your end would have been much messier.”

His breaths became shallow, desperate. I stood there, watching his face go pale, until his pulse faded to nothing.

Only then did I reach for the code blue button, when I was certain it was far too late.

“Time of death,” I murmured, “is when I say it is.”

59

BLAKE

I sat across from my sister in the corner booth of the busy coffee shop, wrapping my hands around my latte. The rich scent of espresso mingled with the sweetness of freshly baked pastries.

“Look,” I started, tracing the rim of my cup, ready to move on from the small talk to the point of why I’d asked her to come. “I think it’s time we talk about what happened that day.”

Faith’s eyes widened, but I caught something else: shock giving way to relief. Like maybe she’d been wanting to talk about this too.

“I feel like everything changed after that,” I said.

“We got separated,” she murmured, fidgeting with her cardigan sleeve.

“It was more than that.” The espresso machine hissed loudly. “We always had each other, and then something shifted. When they were finishing the investigation, you seemed a million miles away.”

She frowned at the untouched muffin between us. “I suppose I was processing everything.”

“When we’d see each other, I got the impression talking about it would only upset you more. So I kept quiet, but lookingback, I’m not sure that was the right call.” Because look at her. I could still see the shadows trying to claim her.

“That’s what we do, isn’t it?” Faith tightened her grip on her cup. “Put the big stuff in a box. Pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Trauma has a way of silencing people,” I offered.

She nodded. “Having someone try to kill you, then witnessing you kill him instead…” The coffee grinder whirred during her pause. “Not exactly casual conversation material.”

The memory of it sliced through my gut. “I did it to protect you.”