Chapter 170
Chapter 170:
Elia’s scream was muffled by the car glass, but it pierced Cailin’s heart. She could hear the dull thump-thump-thump of small fists pounding against the window.
Inside the car, Ashley was fumbling with her phone, holding it up with violently shaking hands as the red recording light blinked.
Cailin ignored the pain in her arm. She ignored the warm trickle of blood sliding down to her wrist. She focused entirely on Charla’s wrist.
Charla drew back for another stab — this time aiming for the stomach.
Cailin stepped in. She didn’t retreat. She moved into the danger zone, grabbed Charla’s wrist with both hands, and drove her thumbs into the tendons.
She twisted. Hard.
There was a sickening crack.
Charla screamed, her mouth forming a perfect O of agony. Her fingers spasmed, and the switchblade clattered to the concrete floor.
Cailin didn’t stop. A wave of dizziness washed over her, her vision tunneling as her lungs screamed for air, but she pushed through it. She swept her leg behind Charla’s ankles and shoved. Charla went down hard, her head bouncing off the pavement with a hollow thud.
Cailin dove on top of her. She pinned Charla’s good arm with her knee and snatched the blade from the floor. Her breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. A deep, rattling cough tore through her chest, and she tasted blood.
She held the blade inches from Charla’s throat.
𝗝𝗼𝗶𝗻 𝗍𝗁е c𝗈mmu𝘯𝘪𝗍𝘆 𝖺t ѕ.𝘤o𝗺
“You touch her again, I kill you!” Cailin roared, spittle flying from her lips. She wasn’t Cailin Morton the socialite. She wasn’t Cali the auctioneer. She was a mother protecting her young.
Headlights blinded them.
A car drifted around the corner, tires smoking, and screeched to a halt ten feet away. The high beams cut through the gloom and spotlighted them like actors on a stage.
The driver’s door flew open. Hilliard jumped out.
He looked frantic — tie gone, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He took in the scene in an instant: the glint of steel, Cailin straddling Charla, the dark wet stain spreading down Cailin’s arm, Charla pinned and helpless beneath her.
Charla saw him. The transformation was instantaneous. The manic rage vanished, replaced by a mask of terrified victimhood.
“Help! Hilliard!” she wailed, tears springing instantly to her eyes. “She’s crazy! She’s going to kill me! Help me p>
Hilliard ran forward. “Cailin, stop! You’re hurt p>
Cailin looked up. Her hair was wild, plastered to her forehead with sweat, her eyes dark hollows of adrenaline.
“She attacked us!” Cailin shouted, her voice cracking.
“I see the blood! Just drop the knife so I can help you!” Hilliard commanded. He had received a security alert that Charla had left her monitored residence and had tracked her phone here, fearing exactly this — but what he saw was worse than he had imagined. Cailin, wounded, holding a weapon over a weeping woman. His mind struggled to process the contradictory signals.
He reached them. He grabbed Cailin’s shoulder — not to shove her, but to pull her up and away.
“Come on, get up p>