The scissors slipped.
In her frenzy, Harper's hand jerked. The blade sliced across the pad of her index finger.
"Ah!" She gasped, dropping the scissors.
Blood welled up instantly, bright red against the black silk and white porcelain. It dripped down, mingling with the shredded remains of Mia's expensive lingerie.
The pain was sharp, clarifying. It cut through the fog of her rage.
She stared at her blood. It was real. She was real.
She wasn't a ghost. She wasn't a dead fish. She was a woman who was bleeding.
She turned on the faucet, thrusting her finger under the cold water. The water swirled pink down the drain.
She looked at the mess in the sink. She couldn't leave it there. She grabbed a handful of toilet paper and scooped up the wet, bloody, shredded nylon. She shoved it deep into the bottom of the trash can, burying it under used tissues.
She wrapped her finger in tissue, holding it tight to stop the bleeding.
She walked back into the guest bedroom. The room was dark, lit only by the streetlights outside.
She saw Julian's card on the nightstand where she had left it.
If you need anything.
Harper looked at the door blocked by the armchair. She looked at the bloody tissue on her finger.
She picked up her phone. Her fingers were trembling, but her resolve was iron.
She dialed the number.
It rang once. Twice.
"This is Van Der Bilt."
His voice was deep, alert, despite the late hour. Professional, yet guarded.
Harper swallowed the lump in her throat. She leaned against the window, pressing her forehead to the cold glass, looking out at the city that felt like a prison.
"It's Harper Quinn," she said, her voice raspy.
There was a beat of silence. A shift in the atmosphere on the other end of the line. "Ms. Quinn."
"That offer for help..." Harper started, her courage wavering.
"Yes?" The word was immediate. Urgent.
"Does it include getting me out of here?"
There was a pause. A heavy silence on the line. Then, the sound of movement. Sheets rustling. Feet hitting the floor.
"Where are you?" Julian asked. "Tell me the address."
Harper gave him the address. It felt like giving him a key to her shame.
"Pack a bag," Julian commanded. His voice was a lifeline in the dark. "Don't wake him. Just pack. I'm in the city. I was finishing up some business nearby."
"Nearby?"
"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Meet me on the corner. Don't let him see you leave."
Harper's breath hitched. "Why?"
"Because," Julian said, his voice dropping to a whisper that shivered down her spine. "You deserve a clean exit."
