Page 92 of Claiming Lily

For now. The unspoken words hang heavy in the truck. Clenching my teeth, I weave through traffic, ignoring the honks and middle fingers from other drivers. We have to get there.

Soon. Now. I already feel too late. Like I’ve failed her a million times over. The thought of her scared and hurt and wondering where we are makes something violent and desperate claw at my chest. I press harder on the gas pedal, and the speedometer climbs.

We’re going to save her. We have to.

Because a life without Lily isn’t a life worth living.

Chapter Thirty-One

LILY

“Please.” The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate. “Sarah, please don’t do this. We can work this out. We can⁠—”

Sarah cuts me off with that awful, unnatural laugh. Her fingers trail along the edge of the plastic sheeting covering the wall, almost lovingly. “You still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about working anything out anymore.”

She moves toward the corner where she’s set up a makeshift station. My blood turns to ice as I watch her unroll a leather knife bag, the kind professional chefs use. Each slot holds a different blade, gleaming silver even in the dim light filtering through the plastic.

My heart plummets straight through the floor.

“I brought these from my kitchen at home.” Her voice takes on an almost dreamy quality as she runs her finger along the handle of a paring knife. “I’ve been planning this for weeks. Thinking about which ones would work best.”

“Sarah, no.” Terror makes my voice crack. I pull against the ropes so hard they slice deeper into my wrists, but I don’t care about the pain. Nothing matters except getting away from those knives. “Please, you don’t want to do this.”

She selects a six-inch boning knife, testing its weight in her palm. The blade catches what little light there is and the sharp tip steals my breath.

I have to try to get through to her. What do they say to do? Humanize yourself? I wet my lips, in dire need of water, and try to appeal to her again.

“Remember that lunch we had last month?” My words tumble out in a desperate rush. “At the café? You ordered the salmon salad and complained about how the dressing was too tangy, but then you ate every bite anyway because you said the company was too good to waste?”

Sarah pauses, her grip loosening slightly on the knife handle.

“You told me about your mom’s garden, how she grew those heirloom tomatoes you loved as a kid. You laughed so hard at my story about the client who wanted to buy a house because it matched his dog that you snorted coffee through your nose.”

For a moment, a fleeting torturous second, something human flickers in her eyes. The knife wavers in her hand.

Hope builds inside me. “We had fun that day, didn’t we?” I press on, clinging to that tiny spark of recognition. “Real fun. You said it was the best lunch you’d had in months. That has to mean something, Sarah. That connection we had⁠—”

The knife comes up, pointed directly at my chest. My heart almost gives out right then and there. I’ve had a few tiffs with other women, assholes in high school, but nothing this serious and never with deadly weapons.

“Stop.” Her voice is sharp as the blade she’s holding. “Don’t try to manipulate me.”

Panic zaps through me. “I’m not! I’d never.” The words explode out of me. “What we had as friends was real. You don’t want to hurt me.”

She takes a step closer, and I swear I can see my reflection in the polished steel. She’s going to stab me. Kill me. It’s only a matter of seconds before that’s jammed deep in my body. Bile rises. I don’t want to die. I’m not ready. There’s so much I want to do.

FIGHT!

If only I could. My arms and legs are trapped. I’m completely at her mercy. She has to see me. Has to understand what she’s doing is wrong. “Wait!” The scream rips from somewhere deep in my chest. “Sarah, wait. Please don’t do this.”

“I have to.” But her voice shakes now, uncertain.

The last piece of thread dangled out as I struggle to hold on to a cliff. I grasp at it, praying that doubt will save me. “No, you don’t.” I lean forward as much as the ropes will allow. “You don’t have to do anything. This isn’t you, Sarah. This isn’t who you really are.”

She raises the knife, her arm trembling.

My bladder weakens. “Who’s going to take care of my mom if I’m gone?” The question bursts out of me, desperate and raw. “She’s all alone, Sarah. She doesn’t have anyone else. Please, if you ever cared about me at all, think about her. Think about what this would do to her.”

The knife freezes mid-air. Sarah’s face crumples for a moment, real anguish breaking through the madness.