Page 106 of Cain

“If she’s lying, why do you keep moving toward her?” my mom asked, tightening her grip on the knife handle as she crept toward him.

All the while, I kept inching around the table. With Perry following me. And my mom following him.

“Come with me, or I will make your mom suffer for your disobedience.”

“She’s not a fucking dog, you prick,” my mom said, lunging at him.

But he was bigger, younger, quicker.

He grabbed the wrist holding the knife, twisting until I heard a crack.

My stomach lurched as my mother cried out.

But he underestimated her.

Pain would only piss her off.

And he underestimated me as well.

I’d spent my married life trying to avoid Perry. But now? Now, I flew at him, catching him off guard enough to knock him off his feet.

“Run,” my mom demanded.

I wanted to.

But there was no way I could leave her.

Besides, Perry was back up on his feet, his face so red he looked like a cartoon character’s version of rage.

There was no time for thinking as he flew at me, his hands going to my throat.

Panic flooded my system as I clawed at his hands for a moment. But then he whipped me around and slammed me back against the wall—the impact making my vision swim and involuntary tears flood my eyes.

“Get off my daughter!” my mom screamed as she came up behind Perry, grabbing him by the collar with her good hand. The other was cradled to her chest.

She yanked him back enough for his hands to fall from my neck.

I sank down to a squat, gasping for breath as oxygen flooded my system, so intensely it was almost disorienting for a moment.

When my vision cleared, I glanced over to see the fight between my ex and my mom had taken to the floor.

Namely, my mom was flat on her back and Perry was over her, reaching toward her neck.

“Mom!” I gasped, pushing to my feet and rushing forward.

I saw Perry’s body jerk once, twice, then fall forward, his full weight pinning my mom to the floor.

“Mom!” I yelped, rushing forward, grabbing Perry, then pushing him off of her.

“Oh, God,” I yelped when a metallic scent filled the air and I saw red blood covering my mom.

“It’s not mine,” she said, nodding over toward where Perry was now lying on the ground, staring up at the ceiling with a blank look on his face.

Then my gaze tracked down, finding more red soaking through his shirt.

Worse than that, though, was the knife sticking out of his chest.

“Oh, God. Oh, God,” I gulped, whipping away and heaving. But nothing came up.