Dots swam before my eyes and I reached out with both hands, trying to grab onto something—anything. A couple of times my fingers swept over feet which quickly moved away. I brought my hands up and tried to gouge out Matthew’s eyes. He prevented the connection, using his elbows. Left with nothing else, I clawed at Matthew’s fingers, digging my fingernails into his knucklebones.
“Next to your head,” Disco thought frantically. “Let him go and reach above you.”
What position was I in to argue? Abso-fucking-lutely none.
I released Matthew’s fingers, reaching over my head. I came in contact with a thin piece of wood—one that was attached to a shoe: the heels I’d removed before the fight. It was a miracle, a saving grace. Grasping the heel in my right hand, I gripped the shiny layer of leather and made my decision.
Thank you God and Christian Louboutin.
There was no way to aim with my eyes, so I arched my back and felt for Matthew’s face with my left hand. When I had a pretty good idea of where I wanted to go, I brought my arm to the floor, tried to take a deep breath, and brought the heel around with as much strength as I could muster. The impact was odd, like pushing a spike into sand until reaching the hard earth beneath. Matthew immediately let me go, using the hand he’d had around my throat to keep his balance as he fell forward.
I scooted away from him, searched for and located my other shoe, and rushed for the high heel. After I had the fashionable weapon in hand, I turned toward Matthew. He’d pulled the heel from his ear, creating a fountain of blood that oozed from the shell and down his throat. He was wobbling, as though he’d lost balance. I hated what was coming next, but it had to be done.
Only one of us would walk away, and by God, it was going to be me.
Ripping the heel from the shoe, I started forward. Matthew lifted his head when I stopped in front of him, gazing up at me in disbelief. I didn’t give him time to ponder what was coming, lifting my hand, bringing it down and stabbing him in the left eye with the five-inch heel. I didn’t stop until my palm was flush against his face, despite the fact that the rough edge and nails that were once connected to my shoe cut into my palm.
When he collapsed in a heap at my feet, I remained standing over him. They’d asked for a battle. They wanted death. I refused to make what I’d done anything less. I wasn’t backing down from these pieces of shit. If they wanted to break me, they’d have to try harder. I wouldn’t cower before them. They could only take things from me if I allowed them to.
“Well done,” Revenald applauded. “Excellent.”
“Bitch!” Victoria screamed, coming out of her chair.
The world went into slow motion, but I wasn’t fast enough to avoid her, taken instantly to the ground. Wind left my lungs in a painful exhale, allowing her to drastically cut off my oxygen supply. The way she gripped my throat told me I’d lost; I’d won the fight but not the war. I was going to die, just as Disco and Paine feared. Remorse struck, knowing I was leaving them behind. But behind that sadness was anger. Killed off by Victoria—Victoria—of all fucking people.
Oh, the irony.
Then, unexpectedly, Victoria was gone, leaving me staring at the ceiling. I gagged as I tried to breathe, heaving for air. I heard noises that only came from fighting. Turning on my side, I located the source of the sounds and gasped. Disco had engaged Revenald while Paine had taken on Anton. Victoria was all the way across the room in a heap on the floor, the plastered wall above her cracked from her body’s crash-landing impact.
“Do it,” Paine thundered, circling Anton. “Now!”
“Burn,” Disco whispered, watching Revenald. I felt my strength sap as they clashed in battle and he reversed our mark, taking from me as he yelled, “All of you. Burn.”
Red chaos erupted around me, flames reaching out. The fiery path spread, expanding in waves. I gasped, jumped away from harm, then realized I wasn’t on fire.