Hating You to the Grave Chapter 6

I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out, looking coldly at Savannah, who was sprawled on the ground a few feet away.

Her arms and legs were scraped and bloody. She looked pathetic.

"You should be glad I hit the brakes," I stated calmly. "Otherwise, you'd be paste on the pavement, not just scratched up."

She looked up, glaring at me with hatred. "Julian Devereaux won't let you get away with this!"

I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat. It was covered in the dust she had thrown at me. I used the corner of the bag to lift her chin.

"There. You look much better when you aren't pretending to be innocent."

I took the bag back and dusted it off with disgust. Jules and his gang rushed over.

Jules frantically helped Savannah up.

I took out my phone, called 911 for an ambulance, and then threw my expensive handbag at Savannah.

"That bag has a resale value of about twelve thousand. That covers your medical bills and the car repairs with plenty to spare."

"Evangeline!" Jules’s voice vibrated with suppressed rage.

I ignored him and turned to walk away.

The taste of iron filled my mouth. I clamped my lips shut and walked faster.

I practically ran. As soon as I turned the corner, out of their sight, I grabbed the wall.

A mouthful of fresh blood sprayed onto the graffiti-covered bricks.

My ears were ringing. My vision blurred. I forced myself to keep moving, relying on instinct to get back to my temporary apartment in the Marigny.

If my body hadn't failed me, I would have gone back to torture Jules some more. I loved seeing him angry and helpless.

I collapsed on the living room floor by the cold coffee table. I poured a glass of water.

But as soon as I drank, I vomited it back up, mixed with blood.

Half a glass of clear water turned instantly crimson.

I lay on the floor, gasping for air. It felt like an invisible hand was wringing out my internal organs. I wanted to scream, but I didn't even have the strength to clench my teeth.

Time blurred. The buzzing of my phone and violent banging on the door dragged me back to consciousness.

I thought I wouldn't survive the night.

The name flashing on the screen was "Julian Devereaux."

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Evangeline! Open the door! I know you're in there!"

His voice came through the wood, threatening.

"If you don't open up, I'll tear this door down!"

He would do it. But I would never let him see me like this—dying, messy, and pathetic. Never.

I used the last of my strength to crawl into the bedroom. I pushed the wardrobe aside and hid in the small secret compartment behind it.

I heard the front door crash open. Heavy footsteps.

His text messages popped up one after another.

[Hiding? You think you can hide?]

[Come out! We need to talk!]

[If anything happens to Savannah, you pay with your life!]

I looked down at my phone. A drop of nosebleed hit the screen without warning, blooming like a dark red flower.

My consciousness sank into darkness again.