All she tasted was blood. All she saw was red. Somewhere between the multiple stabbings, her thoughts had turned not to her husband but to Logan Fox. Helen had given her all to save him, but it just didn’t feel like enough. How could it be, after what she’d done to him?
Three gunshots reported below. They each came with a crashing sound, like raining crystals. As things grew hotter in the midst of all the action, Helen removed the pen from her chest and crawled on her belly toward the railing. Blood seeped from her many wounds as she painfully dragged herself across the floor. The thick fluid squeaked along the marble as she gave it her all. Another gunshot came from nowhere. She had to hurry.
When she reached the railing, she was just in time to see Logan diving out of cover and behind a pillar. Max’s voice echoed something about cleverness. Or had that come before the gunshot? It all seemed to ooze together, her thoughts colliding like in some kind of fever dream. This was what it felt like to die, wasn’t it? Her time on this earth was limited, but she would be damned if she went out as a monster.
Max gave away his position. Helen followed his voice and found him almost directly below her. Trying not to make a sound, she climbed to her feet. Her bloody hands struggled to find purchase on the chrome rail. She wiped them and tried again, this time getting a solid grip.
There was only one thing left to do. Overlooking the entire dance floor, focusing solely on the man who had killed her husband, Helen lined up her shot. It was the last thing she would ever do, so no matter what, she couldn’t screw it up.
Thinking of Scott and the angels who were taking care of him, she closed her eyes and said a short prayer under her breath. She’d be up there soon enough, she assured herself, also making her final promise to the man she’d married. To the man she’d given her heart and soul.
When she was ready, Helen did what had to be done.