Page 132 of Touch of Hate

His face becomes a mask of stony loathing, eyes hard and sharp as flint that glows with a murderous light.

“You’re in the way. You’re the problem.” He says it like he’s finally figured out something plaguing him. “It’s all about you. Things were fine before you came into the picture. Once I’m rid of you, he’ll be mine again. And we can do this together. We can hit our goal.”

“Who?” I squeak out, my heart fluttering and my body screaming to run, fight, escape.

Leaning in, he growls in my face. “Who do you think? Ren. Your precious fucking Ren.”

One moment, my heart beats heavily against my rib cage; the next, it simply stops beating. I can hardly breathe. I almost forget everything in favor of searching his once familiar eyes, looking for the truth.

That can’t be right. I must have misheard him. That’s the only explanation. It’s Ren’s hand around my throat, and Ren’s body pressed against mine. His presence, his scent, the depth of his eyes, and even the tiny freckle on his nose. This is Ren.

“But you’re Ren,” I whisper. “You are.”

It hits me all at once, cold certainty settling into my bones before he even says a word.

“Are you fucking blind?” He barks out an unhinged laugh. “I’m sorry, princess, but Ren isn’t home right now. All you get is me.”

Oh my god.

All this time.

I missed it all this time. How could I have missed it?

Every clue, every hint. The mood swings, all of it, every memory comes rushing back at once, flooding my fragile mind. It’s all so clear. I could give up here and now and let him do what he plans because, dammit, I’ve been so stupid. But I can’t. I won’t. I’m stronger than that.

“You’re River,” I breathe, and it isn’t a question.

He smiles and even inclines his head. “In the flesh. And once you’re out of the way, he has no reason to fight me anymore.”

Then he squeezes, his fingers pressing hard. The force bruises, and there’s no question where this will end unless I do something. Now.

I flail, running my hands over the couch, pounding at his shoulders, clawing at his face, but I might as well be fighting air. Air that’s now in short supply. My lungs are burning, the pressure building in my head until I know it will explode; there’s no way it won’t.

I’m dying. He’s going to kill me and my baby.

Our baby. My poor Ren.

But this isn’t Ren.

And I’m not dying here today.

In a last-ditch effort, I throw my arm behind me, my hand flailing around in search of something, anything before I lose consciousness.

I’m already starting to, my vision becoming hazy and spotty.

“I should’ve got rid of you earlier.”

My fingers close around an object. Something heavy, solid. There’s no time to be indecisive. Maybe that’s what gives me the strength to swing my arm up, the lamp firmly in my grip, before bringing it crashing down against Ren’s skull.

It’s like magic. All at once, the pressure is gone, the world coming back into focus as I suck in as much air as my lungs will hold. He groans, then tumbles off the couch and lands on the floor.

A trickle of blood runs from the side of his head and onto the wood beneath him. Coughing, I sit up, rubbing at my throat.

He’s out cold, but his chest continues to rise and fall. Even now, having come so close to taking my last breath, I don’t want to kill him.

Ren is still in there somewhere.

But I can’t afford to wait around for him to show up again.