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"Changed your mind?" My voice becomes squeaky as my throat closes up. The idea of losing Elijah makes my head spin and my heart ache. "A week? You can't—"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want." His eyes narrow and he steps closer. "Who is going to stop me? You?" I can't wait to make him cry and beg for mercy.

I dig my nails into my palms, forcing myself to stay in place. Firstly, Elijah can't see me fight and kill Antonio. And secondly, I have a plan, and attacking him in a parking lot is not part of it.

"Please, it's too soon. I won't be able to—" He cuts me off again.

His hand grabs a fistful of my top and forces me closer to him. "I've been fair, Bree?" Fair?!? "You could have completed your task a long time ago. You're wasting my time and I hate it when people waste my time. Get it done." He shoved me backwards and I trip on the gravel, landing in . . . a pair of muscular arms?

I turn. "Elijah, go back to the car! I've got this."

He doesn't seem to hear me. His eyes are narrowed at Antonio. "Didn't your mom teach you not to hurt women?" His jaw clenches.

"What are you going to do about it, mama's boy?" Antonio taunts. He clicks his neck. A satisfied smile on his face, knowing Elijah won't do anything.

I take Elijah's hand and squeeze it. "Let's just go," I say and start pulling him away. He lets me.

"You're pathetic," Antonio calls after us. "You do everything she says. That little slut has got you wrapped around her finger!"

Elijah pulls away from me and, in an instant, punches Antonio on the jaw. Oh no! My hands cover my mouth. Antonio's head swings to the side from the impact. Shit, shit, shit!

Antonio has serious anger issues. There is no way he is the 'forgive and forget' type. Something bad is going to happen. He's going to fight back, and he is going to win. If I can't win against Antonio yet, Elijah doesn't stand a chance.

As Antonio acknowledges what happened. Amusement flashes in his eyes. He wanted this to happen. He planned it.

He knocks Elijah over with the swift motion of his leg, pins him against the ground and starts throwing punches. Elijah fights back as hard as he can, managing to throw a few punches back at Antonio, but he is no match.

Antonio starts to strangle Elijah and he coughs, not able to breath. He holds onto Antonio's wrists.

"Stop! Please," I beg and try to pull Antonio away. He doesn't budge. Elijah's eyes flutter shut, and my heart skips a beat.

I kick Antonio's side and punch him as hard as I can. He releases Elijah and stands up. "Bree, I knew you were stupid but did you really fucking punch me?" He slowly starts walking towards me and I back away because I know what he is capable of. He pulls out a knife.

I know I'm not the best person, but I don't deserve to die in an empty parking lot. I continue stepping backwards, hoping nothing will block my path, but refusing to take my eyes off my boss. "I had to do something. You were going to kill him!"

"That's the point, isn't it?" He tilts his head to the side.

I open my mouth to reply, but I can't. He is right, the plan was to kill Elijah. I can't argue. What would I say? That I changed my mind?

"He's a good person," I try to reason. "He doesn't deserve to die."

I stop moving backwards, but Antonio continues to advance. I am not scared anymore. It's okay to have a soft heart, but it is not okay to be weak. I have to fight for what's right, even if it scares the shit out of me.

He stops right in front of me and presses the knife to my neck. "That was my wife that he fucked. He's going to die for what he did."

His revelation shocks me into a moment of silence. "You . . . You're married?"

"Not after she left me. Not after I walked in on her with that weasel, and she walked out." The cold metal of his blade digs into my skin. I feel a trickle of blood trail down my neck. I wince at the stinging sensation. "I hope you're not backing out of your task, my little killer," Antonio says in a sickly sweet voice.

He can't know that I am. "I-I'm not, but—"

"But, what?" The knife goes deeper.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. You're strong, Bree. No matter what anybody says.

"You have a week. Kill him, or I'll ruin both of you," he threatens and then walks back to his car. "I'm watching you! Every second, I'll be watching."

As soon as his car is out of sight, I rush over to Elijah in a daze. It was Antonio's wife that Elijah slept with. He really screwed himself over by jumping into bed with a married woman.

I press my finger to his neck to check his pulse. He's still breathing. "Elijah?" I whisper. I shake him to try and wake him up.

He groans. "What happened?" he mumbles. He squints up at me, pressing a hand to his head.

"Let's go inside. Can you get up? I'll help you." I hold onto his bicep, trying to tug him up. But he doesn't move.

"You're bleeding."

"I'm fine." I tug at his arm again.

He shifts his weight and rises with my help. We make our way, painfully slowly, into my apartment.

He leans his weight on my shoulders. Even though I've had a lot of training in carrying dead-weight bodies, Elijah is hard to carry.

I lower him onto my couch and he throws his shoes off and lies back. "Holy shit, my head hurts."

I quickly fetch my first aid kit from under my bathroom sink. "What do you remember?" I ask.

"I-I drove you home and the Tinder guy was waiting for you. You went to speak to him and my gut told me something bad was going to happen, so I got out the car and . . ." He glares at the wall. "And . . . there was more, but I can't remember. Did he do that to you?" He motions to the cut on my neck. I don't reply.

I kneel down beside Elijah and wipe his face with an antibacterial wipe, to get the blood off. I put ointment on it and then put a plaster on the cut on his forehead.

I assess the rest of his head and body for any injuries, but there are none. Then I clean up my wound. It went quite deep—and could need stitches—but it'll be fine. I'll just slap a plaster on it and call it a day.

"Go to the hospital tomorrow to make sure you don't have a concussion, okay?" I tell Elijah.

He stares at me and nods slowly. "Did he do anything else, Bree?" Elijah asks and slowly stands up. He walks over to me slowly, eyeing my now covered cut. "Promise me he didn't do anything else to you."

"He didn't do anything else. I promise."

He sighs in relief and then pulls his phone out of his pocket. "I'm calling the cops."

"They will say there isn't enough evidence." I know from experience.

The first year I started working for Antonio, he hurt me really badly when I didn't hide a body correctly. I tried to go to the police, but without any proof that it was him, it was useless.

It could have been anyone, they said.

My lip shakes and I close my eyes, remembering that night. He beat me until I could barely keep my eyes open. My hand brushes over my ribs, which were once bruised and nearly broken.

He didn't stop, no matter how much I apologised. He said he is 'training me' to do better next time.

That was the time I felt the most alone. I didn't have anybody to tell. I sat in my room and re-lived it over and over again. Nobody knew; nobody cared.

A tear slips down my cheek when I remember the pain I felt. The way I screamed until I couldn't breathe.

I turn away so Elijah doesn't see, and wipe the tear off my face. "Breathe," I whisper to myself. I'm safe. Elijah's here. Nothing serious happened this time.

I won't let it escalate. I am going to train in every spare minute I get. He messed with the wrong woman.

•<•>•

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