Chapter 4

Holly Stevenson's POV:

Instead of answering, Janna kicked me. The blow landed squarely in my stomach, sending a shockwave of pain through my body. I doubled over, coughing and gagging, the metallic taste of bile in my mouth.

"You got the words wrong," she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "It's not 'my boy.' It's 'my bastard.' Graham's bastard. Say it."

"He's not!" I screamed, the truth a useless, desperate cry. "He's my brother! I swear to you, he is my brother! I'll do anything. I'll leave Graham forever. I'll disappear. You can have him. Just save Joel. Please!"

She laughed, a high, unhinged sound that echoed in the quiet park. "You think I need your permission to have him? He's mine. He always has been."

She kicked me again, harder this time, in the same spot. Pain exploded behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. I collapsed onto my side, my body a knot of agony. Through a haze of pain, I could see Fred and his friends recording everything on their own phones, their faces alight with cruel amusement. I was a spectacle. A show.

I was exposed, humiliated, and utterly broken. I tried to push myself up, to crawl towards Joel, to do something, anything. My arm gave out, and my hand brushed against the metal frame of his gurney.

My fingers instinctively closed around his.

And I felt nothing.

No warmth. No faint, fluttering pulse. Just a profound, terrifying coldness that had nothing to do with the evening chill.

No.

The word was a silent scream in my head.

No, no, no, no, no.

With a surge of strength born from pure terror, I pulled myself up. I ignored the searing pain in my ribs, the dizziness that made the world spin. My shaking hands went to his neck, searching for the life I had to believe was still there.

Nothing.

I pressed my ear to his chest, praying, bargaining with a God I wasn't sure I believed in anymore.

Silence.

The beautiful, vibrant heart that had beaten in time with mine for ten years was still.

Joel was gone.

He was dead.

And I had knelt in the dirt, stripped myself of my clothes and my dignity, and begged for his life from his murderer.

Something inside me didn't just break. It vaporized. It turned to ash and blew away on the wind. The Holly who loved and hoped and pleaded for mercy ceased to exist. In her place, something else was born. Something cold and hard and empty.

Slowly, deliberately, I got to my feet. The pain was a distant hum, unimportant. My movements were steady. The tears had stopped.

I turned and faced Janna Warner.

My eyes met hers, and whatever she saw there made her take a step back. The smug, triumphant smile slid from her face, replaced by a flicker of fear.

"He's dead," I said. My voice was flat. Devoid of all emotion. It didn't even sound like my own. "You killed him."

"What... what are you talking about?" she stammered, her bravado faltering.

I took a step towards her. "You are a murderer."

"Stay back!" she shrieked, her voice high and thin.

I didn't stop. I didn't even blink. The only thing that existed in the world was her face, the face of the woman who had stolen the only light in my life. I was going to rip it apart with my bare hands.