CHAPTER 6

Patra stood outside Dolph’s apartment door and Dolph opened the door. He didn't even smile.

“You are late,” he said.

He stepped aside to let her in. Patra walked in.

“Put your bag down,” Dolph ordered. He was already moving toward the bedroom. “Come here.”

Patra followed him. She left her purse on a chair in the living room. That was a mistake. The scissors were inside.

In the bedroom, Dolph pointed to the bed. “Take off your clothes.”

Patra stood still. “Dolph, please. Can we just talk first?”

He turned and looked at her. “No. I don’t want to talk. I want what I paid for.”

“Paid for?” Patra whispered.

“Your mother,” Dolph said. He smiled a little. “She is very easy to work with. Money makes her agree to anything. She sold you to me. For the weekend.”

What!? My mother had taken money for this? she was just confused.

Dolph moved closer. He grabbed her arm. His grip was tight. It hurt. “Now, do as I say.”

Patra pulled her arm back. “No.”

Dolph slapped her.

“You will do as I say,” he said, his voice was dangerous.

He pushed her onto the bed. Patra struggled. She kicked out. Her heel hit his knee. Dolph grunted in pain. He climbed on top of her, using his weight to pin her down. He was much bigger. Much stronger.

Patra could not breathe. She fought harder. She scratched his face. Her nails drew thin lines on his cheek.

Dolph yelled. He grabbed both her wrists in one of his large hands and slammed them above her head. With his other hand, he hit her again. Her vision went blurry for a second.

“I will break you,” he hissed. “You are stupid.”

Patra’s free hand flailed. It hit the nightstand. Her fingers closed around the first thing they touched. A heavy glass paperweight. She swung it with all her strength.

It struck Dolph on the side of his head. He cried out and rolled off her, clutching his skull.

Patra scrambled off the bed. She ran for the living room. For her purse. For the scissors.

Dolph was right behind her. He tackled her from behind. They crashed to the floor. Dolph flipped her onto her back. He was on top of her again. Blood trickled from the cut on his head. It made him look terrifying.

He wrapped his hands around her throat. He began to squeeze.

Patra could not breathe. She could not make a sound. She pushed her hand under her body, into the purse. Her fingers found the zip. She pulled it open. She felt the cool metal of the scissors.

Dolph’s eyes were wild. “You are dead,” he whispered.

Patra brought the scissors up. She did not think. She just stabbed.

The pointed tip went into the side of Dolph’s neck.

He made a gurgling sound. His hands fell from her throat. He looked shocked. He touched his neck. His fingers came away red.

He collapsed on top of her. His body was heavy. Patra pushed him off. She crawled away, gasping for air. She looked at Dolph. He was lying on the floor, his hand pressed to his neck. Blood seeped between his fingers. His eyes were open, but they were not seeing anything. He was fading.

At that moment, there was a loud bang on the apartment door. “POLICE! OPEN UP!”

The door burst open. Four police officers rushed in. They stopped when they saw the scene.

A woman was on the floor, crying, holding a pair of bloody scissors. A man was bleeding from his neck, not moving.

Everything happened at once.

“Officer down! Man down!” one cop shouted into his radio. “We need an ambulance! Now!”

Two officers ran to Dolph. One checked his pulse. “He’s alive! Faint pulse! Apply pressure!”

Another officer pulled out a first aid kit and pressed a thick bandage to Dolph’s neck.

The other two officers focused on Patra. “Drop the weapon! Now! Drop it!”

Patra let the scissors fall from her hand. She was crying so hard she could not speak.

“On your knees! Hands behind your head!”

Patra obeyed. She was shaking too much to do anything else. An officer handcuffed her.

“What happened here?” the officer demanded.

Patra tried to talk. Only sobs came out.

The lead detective looked around. He saw the open bedroom door. The messy bed. The rope on the floor. He looked back at Patra. Her clothes were torn. Her face was bruised. He saw the marks on her throat.

“Get a female officer here now,” he told one of his men. “And get EMS for her too.”

The detective walked over to the officers working on Dolph. “Will he make it?”

“Barely. The ambulance is on its way. This looks bad.”

The detective nodded. He went back to Patra. He spoke more softly. “Did he do this to you?”

Patra nodded, crying.

“We are here with a warrant,” the detective explained. “We are investigating Dolph Jameson for money laundering and cyber crimes. Over a million dollars. We were coming to arrest him.” He looked at Dolph. “But now we have to save him. And you are under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon.”

Patra understood the words, but they did not seem real. She was under arrest. Dolph might die. She had stabbed him.

Two paramedics ran in with a stretcher. They began to work on Dolph. They lifted him and rushed him out.

The female officer arrived. She helped Patra stand. She checked her injuries. “We need to take you to the hospital too.”

As they led her away, Patra picked up a pen from the table. It was Dolph's pen, a storage device containing the valuable information the enforcement agency needed to track his fraudulent deals.

No one suspected.

But Dolph had lost too much blood. Would he survive? And if so, would Patra expose his dark dealings?