Free Dancer by Emma Clark

Couldn't. Stop. These words repeated no matter how hard I tried to block them.
    Slim phone snapped, for I'd been squeezing it. Plastic pieces tumbled to my bare feet.
    Allison's memorial would take place in two days. There'd be nothing left but a pile of ashes to remind me of a beautiful personality; a pretty urn to replace her pretty face.
    Okay.
    Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth.
    Life for a...
    Time to pay the ultimate price for taking Allison's life. I'd also hunt down Chase's precious wife.
    I wouldn't be stopped. Pervasive determination compelled me to execute vengeful plans. Rage was no longer in the equation. Only calmness and a resolute need to destroy.
    Fuck that earlier guilty conscience. Your ass is mine.
    I gasped upon entering Chase's room, however.
    An empty bed. No Chase.
    I flew downstairs. Stumbling in my haste, I grabbed the banister to regain balance.
    How did he do it? How did I not hear him moving about?
    Stifling panic, I scanned the dim living area. Curtains puffed on one side, fabric suspiciously distended as if he'd used them as a hiding spot.
    Ridiculous.
    Faint sounds emanated from the bathroom. Cautious with each step, I advanced and peered past the doorway.
    Chase, are you in here? Ashen tile and a large rectangular mirror lined the wall.
    In the reflection ahead, I found him lurking beyond the same door I was holding open.
    He saw me.
    My heart skipped.
    "Hey Samantha," he said, gazing at me in the mirror. "Guess this means I have the upper hand." His vivid eyes challenged. "Sucks for you. Doesn't it?"
    A flash of metal. He has a knife .
    Should I fight, run or plead for his forgiveness? Indecision locked my feet in place and paralyzed my legs.
    I ran. Heavy footsteps trailed after me in a sick reversal of circumstances.
    I was totally screwed.
    Front door's only a short distance. As I reached for the knob, he tackled me from behind and easily threw me aside. Plush carpet cushioned my spine as I landed.
    No contest. I didn't have a chance.
    He was The Dancer. Powerful, he moved with consistent grace, magnificent, fluid and ruthless. He pounced on top, straddled my thighs, used one hand to pin my wrists high above my head.
    In two, three effortless motions, Chase rendered me completely helpless and at his mercy.
    Snared beneath him.
    "What's wrong? Don't you like being on the receiving end, you fucking psycho bitch?" His eyes flared, attractive features skewed, turning various shades of scarlet. His nose, lips hovered near and practically touched me. Our breaths mingled.
    "Haven't you done enough?" I said in a weak voice.
    "Samantha, I haven't done a goddamn thing !"
    Suspenseful silence.
    "What the fuck did I do? Huh? What horrible thing did I do to you? What did I do to deserve being tied to a bed? To be cut up? I wanna fucking know."
    "You used me and my life's been shit ever since. Then you got Allison killed. Sh—she died a few hours ago."
    "I fucking told you it wasn't my fault. I didn't..." Suddenly he was at a loss for words. A definite first.
    "I hate you. Let me go ."
    "Why should I? You never let me go, and your reasons for torturing me aren't good enough." He lazily wielded the knife, gliding it this way and that. "You know damn well I wasn't the one who shot Allison."
    His eyes glazed; he no longer saw me. He only saw his own fury.
    Just like I'd been blinded by mine.
    Nevertheless, I reached up and scratched his cheek. A useless effort at self-preservation. Something that could get me killed.
    "I wasn't going to kill you before, but now..." He brought the cold tapered blade to my throat. I flinched.
    In those quiet seconds as I awaited death, I remembered my son. "Please, Chase. If I die, our baby dies. Don't forget he's inside me. Living. You know he doesn't deserve to die. I was going to name him—Cole. In a few months he'll be born. Please allow him his first breath, first cries."
    His grip loosened on my wrists.
    Chase held the blade flat on his chest. His gaze