Page 42 of Duress (Birch Falls #3)

EVERLY

“ Y ou backstabbing little bitch!” Bryce’s face, bloody and battered from Dane’s furious beating, morphs into a terrifying mask as he lunges for me.

His body collides against mine, slamming me against the wall with force.

There is a loud snap of glass cracking as my head smacks against the large framed wedding portrait of us hanging on the wall.

Stars explode in my vision, and something sharp slices into my scalp.

Our bodies tumble to the floor, the portrait coming loose from its place on the wall follow us, raining shattered glass down everywhere.

Bryce’s hands are wrapped around my throat, squeezing so hard it feels like he is going to crush my trachea.

“You’re going to pay for that!” His outraged yell is muffled thanks to the blood pounding in my ears.

My hands claw and scramble, searching for something, anything to use as a weapon to get him off of me.

His eyes are black with rage, his face twisted in demonic fury that makes him unrecognizable from the man I married.

From the man I once loved. Tears slide down my face as my vision darkens once more, and I think this time he might succeed in killing me.

All I can think is that at least he won’t be able to get away with my murder. Not with Dane here to witness it.

There is another furious roar and then Bryce’s crushing weight is gone. I suck in some air and immediately begin coughing and choking as my lungs remember how to breathe.

Bryce and Dance roll away until their bodies crash against the other wall, where Dane has Bryce in a headlock. “Everly, run! Get away from him! Call for help!”

Gasping, I get on my hands and knees slowly, trying to follow Dane’s orders.

Then in terrifying slow motion, my eyes lock on Bryce’s arm as it swings up wildly, holding a deadly looking shard of glass in his fist. Blood drips from his hand where the glass cuts into his flesh, but Bryce doesn’t seem to notice.

I watch, horrified, as his arm descends, plunging the shard into Dane.

“Dane! No!” I crawl backward, scrambling to my feet as Bryce staggers to his feet, Dane clutching the wound on his side as blood pours from it entirely too quickly. Oh, god. He’s going to die.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Bryce lurches at me, his face unrecognizable, contorted by demonic fury.

Gone is the man I used to love. Gone is the boy who saved me and made me feel safe.

The young idealistic lawyer who charmed my dad and took me to Paris.

The doting husband who carried me across the threshold of our first home is nowhere to be found.

No trace of him remains in monster standing in front of me. I don’t know if he ever truly existed.

When he lunges for me, I don’t think. I only react.

“Go fuck yourself, Bryce! I am sick of your shit!”

Reaching for the closest thing I can find, my hand lands on a heavy ceramic vase I made him as a gift for our ten year anniversary.

I painted scenes from our honeymoon in Italy on it, and suggested he take it to his office and put a plant in it.

It has sat unused on this hallway table for the last five years.

It’s so heavy it jerks my arm down, pulling my shoulder, but I swing it anyway, aiming for Bryce’s head.

The momentum of the swing sends my body turning away from him just as he reaches for me again.

The heavy vase makes a sickening thud as it makes contact with the side of Bryce’s head.

He stumbles, eyes wide in surprise, then his body pitches forward as he runs out of hallway and meets the top of the stairs.

My own momentum sends me crashing to the ground in the opposite direction, barely missing the same fate Bryce just met.

I don’t wait to see if he gets up and comes back for me. I scramble over to Dane and press my hands against his side, now drenched in a catastrophic amount of blood. He’s barely conscious, his arms going limp as I take over holding pressure

“Don’t you dare die, Dane. Stay with me.

Please stay with me. Staywithme.” I can’t see anything; my vision is so blurred with tears.

Frantically I use one hand to pat at his pockets, praying he has his cell phone on him.

I keep the other pressed against the wound, holding pressure best I can.

I blink away tears, clearing my vision enough for my eyes to lock with his.

I am unable to look away, paranoid if I do, he will close his eyes and I will lose him forever.

His blood is hot and sticky, and it seeps between my fingers.

Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back, forcing myself to hold it together long enough to get Dane help.

I nearly cry out in relief when my hand meets a hard rectangle in his back pocket.

Pulling it out, I hit the emergency call button on the lock screen.

The phone tries to slip through my blood-slick fingers, but I hold on to it as the screen lights up with the outgoing call.

Dane’s eyes take on a distant, glassy look, and his lip quirks up at the corner in an almost smile.

Abject terror clutches my heart in its fist as his face takes on a serene expression.

“I love you, Everly.” His words are so quiet, I’m not even sure I hear them at first, but his hand weakly squeezes my arm, letting me know they were real. Dane loses consciousness just as the call connects.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I need help! He’s been stabbed, and he’s losing so much blood.”

“Ma’am, who’s been stabbed? Can you tell me where you are? Are you currently in danger?”

“Dane. He’s stabbed Dane! 276 Vista Drive. Please send somebody. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop the bleeding. Please help me.” I’m mindless with terror now, as Dane grows paler in front of my very eyes.

“Ma’am, did you say 276 Vista Drive?” The dispatcher’s voice sounds so far away as her question cuts through the fog of hysteria.

“Yes!” I’m sobbing now, in full on hysterics as I beg and plead for Dane to hold on. “Oh god, Dane don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The voice on the phone stays calm as she instructs me to keep holding pressure on the wound, assuring me that help is on the way.

My mind clings to her words of comfort in a desperate bid to hold on to the last shred of my composure.

I can’t save Dane if I fall apart. My head throbs, eyes stinging from tears, and my arms ache from the amount of pressure I am putting on them to staunch the flow of blood.

I lose all sense of time as I kneel there, soaked in Dane’s blood, begging him to live. Eventually, chaos erupts around me, as two large bodies kneel on either side of me. A third person pulls me from my position, and I jerk and fight with them, terrified to remove my hands from Dane.

“Ma’am, we’ve got him. Let us take over.” A young man with blond hair and eyes the most serene shade of blue appears in front of me, stealing my focus as one of his partners scoots into the position he forced me to vacate.

My muscles—no longer rigid with purpose, their only job to keep Dane alive—go lax, forcing my body to go limp in his arms.

“Hey there, I’ve got you.” He guides me gently back until I’m on the floor, the adrenaline that had kept me going flushed out of my system in one blink of a moment. The EMT leans over me, keeping my focus on him as he checks my pupils and rattles off my vitals to someone nearby that I can’t see.

My brain gets sluggish, turning his words into muddled sounds I can’t quite follow. I hear the word bleeding again, but it almost feels like he’s talking about me. I think I should be concerned, but instead I just feel tired, and I close my eyes, letting the darkness take me.