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C A R T E R
I don't feel the pain as the knife cuts through my palm. All my emotions are focused on the pathetic excuse for a woman who holds the other end of it.
Molly is shaking as she stares at me with widened eyes. Her face is pale, uneasiness masking every part of it. When I grip the blade of the knife tighter, she glances down, following the trail of blood from my hand to the floor.
Anger is boiling inside me. The adrenaline is so high that I feel completely in its control. I know that if I let go of the knife, I will end up killing her right at this moment.
She tried to hurt Amaya. She tried to kill the love of my life.
If the world didn't have a stupid institution for law, this would have been Molly Delacruz's last night.
"Carter..." Molly gasps, letting go of the handle of the knife.
She drags herself on her butt backward, to get away as far from me as possible. I keep holding the blade of the knife as my pulse pounds wildly. I hear the erratic beats of my heart in my ears.
"Carter...I swear, it wasn't my fault..." Molly says, rising from her position on the floor. "It was her. She attacked me first!"
"What the fuck..." Amaya's soft exclamation makes me turn to her.
She is looking at Molly too as her blood-coated hands stay near her chest. She has grown ashen and the scared look on her face makes me want to kill myself for being late.
If the vase hadn't crashed to the floor, I wouldn't have woken up in time. I don't even want to imagine what would have happened then.
I drop the knife to the floor and grab Amaya by her arms, helping her up.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
She meets my eyes with tear stains drying on her cheeks as she nods.
The private elevator pings. The three of us look in its direction as the doors part and a worried-looking Dawson steps in, followed by three security guards from the hotel.
"What in God's name happened here-" He stops abruptly, a few steps away from us when he sees the blood on the floor and the other destruction that Molly has caused.
Horror fills his eyes and the guards look just as shocked by the rampage. Dawson lifts his gaze from the floor and finds Molly standing beside him. Her back is to the couch and there is a wide cut on her thigh.
"How did you get in?" He takes a step back in bewilderment. "I had been on guard all night."
The rise and fall of Molly's chest are fast as she looks between me and Dawson. The bitch has the audacity to pretend to be innocent after what just happened.
"She never left," Amaya answers instead of her.
All the sights in the room turn to her. She is currently hooked to my side in my protective grip. The woman is still shivering in the aftermath of being chased by a mad person.
I rub her arm gently, trying to soothe her nerves. I force her to walk with me as we move near Dawson. Once we are close, I gesture for him to hold Amaya instead. He complies quietly, removing his suit and placing it over her shoulders.
She moves behind him, peeking from above his shoulder to look at Molly.
"Two years ago, you touched me without my permission..." I turn to Molly, taking steps toward the culprit in question. I tower over her petite frame with my height and as she looks up, I can clearly see the apprehension she is trying to hide. "I let you go without consequence because you made me believe it was my fault for not stopping you. You gaslighted me into feeling guilty."
"Carter, please...I can explain. I love you, baby. Believe me, it was all her fault!"
She points a finger at Amaya and I swear to God, I have the urge to break that finger right in front of these people.
"Shut the fuck up, Molly!" I rage, fuming from within at the way she is still trying to defend herself. "Guards, take her to my private jet and make someone escort Miss. Delacruz back to California, straight to her father. Immediately."
"No, Carter...please..."
The guards do as I ask them to, two female officers grabbing Molly by her arms. I texted Dawson to bring whoever was on duty because I knew something was wrong before I left my bedroom.
Molly struggles against their hold while.
"Carter, you'll regret sending me back," she says. "Your grandfather will be furious. He wants you to marry me."
"My grandfather is my blood, Molly. He'll stand by me when I let him know all the charges I'm suing you with."
She stops struggling at my words.
"What? What charges?"
I can't stop the smirk that gets on my lips as I watch her desperation. Bold of her to assume I would let her go this time after what she did. The only reason I don't trust the cops when it comes to her is that I know they won't do anything because of the surname she carries with her. Her father is one of the most renowned businessmen. He has the law in his pockets.
"I gave you a chance, Molly. Once, two years ago. You took advantage of my situation and I let you go but not this time..." My words are a declaration, a promise and she knows the rage that guides them very well. "I thought I would keep this between our families. Take the matter to your father and end it there because I respect that man, but no, you decided to hurt the one who is most precious to me, and that Molly...is where you screwed up."
"Carter, I...I'm sorry..." she pleads. "I just wanted you. I...I...didn't mean to do it."
"You can take those excuses to court," I state flatly. "Because the next time we see each other, you'll be behind bars with charges of sexual assault and attempted murder."
The horror that casts over her is distinguishable. The room falls silent as Molly shudders.
"Take her. Make sure she is dropped straight to her father," I order the guards. "And Molly-say hello to your Dad for me. We'll see you in court."
"No! No! No! Carter, don't do that. Please..." she cries as the guards drag her back to the elevator.
Dawson is perhaps the most startled by this unexpected turn of events. He stays with his lips firmly pressed while Amaya slowly comes out from behind him. We all watch as the guards drag Molly into the elevator and as the doors shut, her cries of mercy are shut down too.
Silence falls over the penthouse. For seconds, none of us can speak. We all have been thrown off guard in some way by what unfolded tonight.
My body aches, making me recall that I am still sick and am supposed to be in bed.
"Carter, your hand," Amaya says, making me turn to face her and Dawson.
She immediately steps towards me, taking my bloody hand in hers. She looks from my hand to me, her eyes glistening with tears.
"I...I'll get the first aid kit," Dawson utters in a low voice.
His expression is extremely disturbed as he steps over the broken vase, the trail of blood drops and prints on the floor as he heads to the kitchen.
Amaya stays there, sobbing quietly as she blows air over my cut like she can heal me with just her love. Out of all the lies we have drowned ourselves in, that is true indeed.
Dawson comes with the first-aid box from the kitchen and he makes us both sit on the couch as he tends to our injuries one by one. We are still quiet the whole time and I know that he is blaming himself for the mess. He has always prided himself on being my soul companion. He must feel like he let me down.
"I should go," Amaya says as soon as Dawson finishes her dressing.
She drops his suit from her shoulders and passes it to him. I watch as she rises from the couch, and heads straight for the elevator. Dawson looks at me as if expecting me to stop her and I cannot help but do just that.
"Where are you going?" I ask, getting up from the couch.
She stops in her tracks, her shoulders dropping. She turns to face me with her hands crossed over her chest.
"Home, Carter," she replies. "I don't know what just happened tonight but I need to leave. I have had enough of this."
"Enough of what, Amaya? You still don't believe me? You still think I cheated on you?"
"It's not about cheating, Carter, and I do believe you."
"Then what is fucking problem!?"
I storm out of the sitting area, walking towards her at a brisk pace. I stop just inches away from her.
I hate the power she has over me. I hate that I am ready to do anything to know how to get her back. I am going crazy, not knowing what I am doing wrong. Probably everything. The more I think I am closer to getting her back, the further she goes away.
"The problem is you, Carter. How many times do you need me to tell you that?" she retorts with her jaw fixed. "I was just attacked by a strange woman I don't even know properly. All because of you."
"I am the problem? How? Tell me, baby...please..." I am down to begging if she asks me to but I have to know. "I thought things were mending between us and now you know I didn't do anything to hurt you. Tell me, love. Please tell me what I have to do. I'm going crazy!"
"And I have been going crazy for five years, Carter!" she yells. "I have been going crazy wondering what happened that day. I'm going crazy wondering why you left. I thought we were getting somewhere but you still haven't found the courage to tell me the truth. You keep lying, keep avoiding the question, and then you expect me to take you back along with all your bloody problems. I'm not your emotional dump. I'm a human too. I can't live in doubts. I can't live with you knowing that you will always keep secrets hidden behind your walls. I'm tired of having to break them again and again and still get nothing in return..."
She is crying now, weeping so loud that her sobs echo through the walls of the penthouse. My hands lie immovable on both sides of my body, not knowing if I should reach them out to touch her or whether she would let me do that.
"Amaya...you need to know that I didn't want to leave that day," I say.
"Then why did you? Why did you leave like that? What happened? Give me something, Carter..." Her hands move to fist my shirt like she is trying to knock some sense into me. "Just tell me the truth. I only need the truth."
This time when our eyes meet, I know I am done for. I cannot keep the incident a secret anymore. This time, I have to choose the strength of our love over her mental health. Even if it is the worst thing she will ever hear, she needs to know.
I am tired of losing her. I need her and she needs me. We both know that and yet my secrets are the reason that we are still apart.
"I didn't leave. I was made to leave."
She sucks in a breath. Her gaze on me softens as her lips part in surprise at the revelation.
"What?" she breathes. "Who made you leave?"
"It was Mark," I confess, after five years of carrying the burden of the truth. "Mark Black Gonzales, Panther's brother."
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