He shook his head. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to kill you. I never wanted to kill you. I just wanted to take care of you, Emma, and now you’re going to make me hurt you. Just like she did.” His fingers slid out of hers, tightening instead around her wrist. “It’ll be a really sad story. They’ll all think you committed suicide out of remorse for what you did to Sutton.”
A chill shot through her, and she shook her head furiously. “No, Ethan. It doesn’t have to be like this.” She looked deeply into his eyes, sickened by what she was saying, hoping he’d buy it. “You’re right. I should be grateful to you. I am grateful to you. It’s all just been confusing. But I don’t care what you’ve done. I want to be with you.”
His jaw went slack, all the fury rushing out of him at once. An uncertain frown creased his brow. But she could see that he was listening.
“It’s too late, Emma.” Her wrist ached dully in his grip, but she didn’t break his gaze. “Now that you know, it’s too late.”
“Why?” Emma said softly. “If you really love me as me, not as Sutton, then nothing else matters. We can run away together. Somewhere no one knows us. We can go anywhere.” She twisted her hand in his grip so she could stroke his fingers lightly.
She could see in his face, in the way he leaned just a little bit closer, that he wanted to believe her. But doubt clouded his features. It almost broke her heart, how hopeful he looked, how badly he wanted what she proposed.
Almost.
“You’d do that?” he asked. He let go of the hilt of the knife, bringing his free hand up to hold her face. His hand was cool and dry, but the touch of it made her skin crawl. Somehow she managed to smile and nod.
“Ethan, I love you. I’d go anywhere with you.”
He let go of her wrist then, pulling her into his arms. She rested her head against him, just the way she’d done dozens of times before—right into the crook between his neck and shoulder, in the place that felt like it’d been made for her. She choked back a sob. She had loved Ethan, so very much.
Then she brought her elbow into his ribs with every ounce of strength she had.
His arms flew to his side, a grunt of pain escaping his lungs. She grabbed for the knife as she scrambled away, but her fingers closed on air. No time. Her only chance was to put distance between them. Her fingers clawed at the dirt, her feet sliding across the trail, desperate for purchase. His hand closed on her ankle, and he snarled in fury. She kicked out as hard as she could, but his grip was too strong. Then she opened her mouth and let out a guttural, blood-curdling scream.
I screamed with her, wishing the whole city could hear my cries. I had already died at Ethan’s hands, and now the same thing was going to happen to my twin while I watched, helpless.
Ethan clapped his hand over Emma’s mouth, his pupils wide and dark. “I thought you were different,” he hissed. “But you’re just like your sister. Another lying bitch.”
Emma bit down on his hand, hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. Ethan swore and pulled his hand away, and she screamed again.
“You’re a monster!” she shrieked, her voice ricocheting off the canyon walls. “You think I’d go anywhere with you after what you did to Sutton?”
He gave a wordless roar, his muscles tightening as he shoved her hard to the ground. This time he pulled a bandana out of his pocket, wadding it up and shoving it so far in her mouth she gagged. And then the knife was suddenly at her throat.
Emma stared up at him, tears coursing down her cheeks as he opened a thin, shallow cut on her neck. A white-hot fury coursed through me at the sight, so pure and strong I felt like I could rip straight through the veil between life and death.
And then, somehow, I was Emma. Or I was a part of her—not possessing her, exactly, but somehow joining my soul to hers for a moment, lending her the strength of my anger. With a sudden motion, her right leg broke free from below his, and we brought her knee to his groin with all of our combined might.
He groaned, his grip on her wrists slackening for just as long as it took her to roll out from under him. Then she was on her feet. She gasped for breath, and for one split second she thought she saw something impossible.
Her sister—shimmering and translucent in the moonlight—was next to her, standing fiercely over Ethan with her fists balled up. And then, just as quickly, she was gone.
Ethan was already on his feet again. His face was twisted beyond all recognition, a mask of hatred so utterly different from the boy she’d fallen in love with. She staggered away from him, pivoting on her heel to run—but lost her balance and sprawled forward.
Ethan towered over her, the knife in his hand. A single drop of her own blood clung to the blade. “You Mercer girls are all the same,” he said and lunged toward her, the knife flashing before him.
For a split second, time froze. Emma saw her own reflection, pale and frozen, in the blade.
But then a low snarl sounded from somewhere behind Ethan, and suddenly he was flying headfirst into the dirt. Thayer fell on top of him, clinching his arms behind his back.
From far below, the sound of sirens echoed up through the mountain pass. Thayer twisted Ethan’s wrist until the knife fell out and clattered into the dust. Ethan struggled, spitting blood and dirt out of his mouth.
Laurel stepped out from behind them, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re right. We Mercer girls are all alike,” she said, her voice cold. “We’re bitches you don’t want to mess with.”