February 2nd, 1996.

 

The sounds of her nightmares came to life as she entered Blackwater Correctional Facility. She stood before a barred door as a guard swept a handheld metal detector over her body.

“Clear.”

He steps aside, and a loud buzz preceded the clang of the door mechanism unlocking. The door slid open, and she forced her feet forward, propelling herself into the prison. She tucked her folder under her arm, thankful that this section of the facility wasn’t near the general population, where the catcalls used to welcome her.

 

She’d requested a private session with her patient before his trial. The warden had no qualms in granting her that privileged access. She was led to another barred door, where a second guard swiped a keycard to gain entry. The door opened to reveal Ethan on the other side. Her heart leaped to her throat, the whoosh that filled her ears momentarily disorienting.

She wasn’t expecting him to be there already. She wanted more time to…prepare. She stepped inside the room and turned to the guard. “I won’t be needing you. Thank you.”

 

He gave her a disdainful look, then glared at Ethan. “I’m required to be within seven feet of him at all times. I’ll be posted right outside this door.” The guard adjusted his belt, making a production of arranging the Taser he has at the ready.

 

Once they were alone, the door closed, barring them together, she faced her patient. Within the heavily guarded confines of this room, he was not mandated to be shackled to a restraint bench, but his ankles and wrists were cuffed and chained. He was seated in the center, his hands hung between his legs. Watching her.

The space between them felt tenuous, the air too thin, the distance too easy to close.

 

“There are no cameras here,” he said. “No one watching. If you thought that would keep you safe from me.”

 

She laid the folder on the table, the only shield she had. “I know we’re alone. I requested as much. But being here…I’m held more accountable for my actions.”

He smiled. “Didn’t take long for the guilt to set in. Huh, baby?”

 

She adjusted her blouse, ignoring his baiting comment. “I’ve come to see you today, not as a doctor, not for our last session, but as a woman to tell you that this—whatever this is between us—is over. It got out of hand, and maybe that’s my… No, I’m the professional. The fault lies only with me. I was unethical, and what happened in my office…it was inappropriate.”

His smile stretched, meeting his cool green eyes. “Inappropriate? I hardly think that expresses it. It was fucking shattering. You want romance, go find yourself a nice little do-boy. But you don’t want that—I tasted what you crave. I can feel it in you now. That dark obsession that twists you, makes you mine. ”

 

Marlena braced her hands on the edge of the table. Touching him will send her right over sanity’s edge. She has to be free of this, of him.

“At the trial, I’m going to advocate for clemency, Ethan. Taking into account the abuse you likely suffered as a child, along with the conditions of your upbringing, you had an ideal—that is textbook—environment for the development of a psychotic disorder.”

 

“Is that your professional or personal opinion?”

“Both. With the proper medication and counseling, you may be able to assimilate a normal life.”

“A normal life…behind bars.”

“Of course.”

“That’s downright sadistic. And you claim you’re nothing like me. Why don’t you neuter me in the process? That would be less cruel, and far less torturous.”

“I’m not sure what else you want from me. That’s all I have to offer in way of helping you.”

“I want you. You’re my doctor. So be my fucking doctor.”

“That’s not possible. I’m only here as a courtesy before trial. After my testimony, you’ll never see me again.”

 

He bounded to his feet. Her reaction was delayed, recalling too late that he was not completely restrained. She stepped backward as he moved toward her.

“Ethan, this is over.” She held up her hands. The ankle shackles slowed his advance, but didn’t stop him.

“It’s never over.” He positioned himself between the door and her. “For this to be over, one of us has to die.”

 

Fear snatched her breath. “Let me leave.”

“We both can’t carry your secret around, Marlena. That is, unless we can work through it during our sessions.” He traced his knuckles down the curve of her breast.

“What are you talking about?” she had to angle her head back to meet his eyes. The closer he got, the smaller she felt in comparison.

He caged her in against the wall. “It might be difficult for small towns to be open-minded enough, to be objectionable about one of their own. No one wants to think a killer hides among them.”

 

Her back flattened against the brick as he towered over her.

“But you knew the truth, and you did what you’re so good at doing. You lied. You’ve been lying ever since. Even to yourself.”

 

Marlena swallowed. “I’m going to scream.”

“Go ahead,” he dared. “I’ll snag the first reporter interview I can to announce that you pushed Stefano DIMera down to his death.”

The air in the room was sucked out. The fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed, her breaths too loud as she gasped past her constricted lungs.

He licks his lips, his body pressed close to hers. “The puzzle pieces were all there…they just needed to be linked together.”

“You’re mad. You’re delusional. You’ve built an alternate reality around me that is as far from the truth I was poss—”

 

His lips captured hers, silencing her. The kiss was hard and carnal and raw. She moaned into him before she braced her palms high on his chest and pushed, breaking away.

“I wanted to taste the lie on your lips,” he said. “Tastes bitter. Nothing like that sweetness I experienced yesterday.” Then he backed farther away, allowing her to breathe and straighten her blouse.

He took his seat again, his gaze never leaving her face. “All those missing years. Locked up on an island, acting as his sex slave. When have you decided to make one with the devil himself before you decided to kill him?” 

The walls of the white room wavered in the corner of her vision. Red seamed the edges. She sealed her eyes closed. The scars on her wrists burnt. She cupped her wrists and rubbed at the searing flesh. “Three months.”

 

A sense of relief crashed over her with the admission. The pressure in her head eased a fraction. She opened her eyes. She expected to see the arrogance on Ethan’s face, having stripped her down to her black and tarred marrow, but he was somber. Looking at her with a frightening wonder in his eyes.

“Lucky for you the coroner was a drunk. Couldn’t tell the difference between peri- and postmortem injuries. That fall didn’t kill Stefano. He was already dead when you decided to push him down the balcony.”

 

She glanced at the door, anxious. “Nothing you have is fact.”

“It doesn’t need to be. The speculation alone will be enough to destroy you.”

He was right. 

 

“What did he do with you there, on that island?”

“What did you do with the bodies?” she counter.

A brutal smile slanted his face. “I buried them, of course.”

 

Her hands trembled. 

“You should tell the families where their loved ones are located, Ethan. The court would be more prone to clemency if you did.”

 

He craned an eyebrow. “I will if you will.”

She pushed off the wall. Shoved her hands in her hair. “This is crazy. I won’t be threatened.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“No. We’re not done.” His features hardened. “Come here, Marlena.”

 

All she had to do was bang on the door. She glanced between Ethan and the door, and fear rioted through her. How big of a disaster could Ethan create out of her life?

 

She walked toward him slowly. “Turning my life into a media circus would get you off, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s tempting—” he grabbed her waist and hauled her to him “but I have bigger things in mind.”

“Let go—” she wriggled off his lap.

“I need to know how you felt,” he whispered. “In that moment. When you killed him…how did it feel? What did you use?”

 

Stunned, she stared down at him. “You’re a monster.”

“I’m your monster. Tell me, and you’ll own me. Completely.” He stroked the side of her hand. The rattle of his chains forced her eyes closed. Memories awakened. “You want to tell me.”

Her body tensed, he expertly guided the confession forth. Her mind clicked off, like a switch he could toggle at will, and she allowed him to pull her down against him. She straddled the man who threatened everything. 

Her freedom. 

Her morality. 

Her sanity.

 

“A whiskey glass,” she whispered with trembling lips. “He sat next to my bed while I was tied up. He said he was sorry, I remember bits and pieces. I remember he started touching me. I couldn’t get away. The demon helped me to get myself free. I tore the glass free from his hand and drove it into his temple.”

 

His fingers softly brushed her hair from her eyes. His gentle touch a stark contrast to the hardness she felt beneath her. 

He was aroused.

“What did you feel?” he asked. His mouth hovered near hers, tasting her desperate breaths.

“I felt…free,” she admitted. “Disembodied. Like I could do anything.”

“You can,” he coaxed. “It’s in your nature.”

 

A sharp pain thorned her chest. 

No. 

Her internal alarm sounded, signaling her departure from reality. She attempted to stand, but he anchored strong hands to her thighs. The feel of him so hard, so wanting, pressed to her most intimate body part. Desire burnt away any grasp she had on reason.

She shook her head. “We don’t get to do anything we want. There has to be boundaries, rules.”

He touched his forehead to hers. “We can make our own.”

 

Her hands glid over his forearms. Tenderly feeling the scars he wore outside that matched her inside. It was intoxicating, the way he seduced her pain away, as if they really did command their own world.

 

No pain.

 

She was there with him, and it would be so simple to fall all the way. 

Just let go. 

No hiding, no shame. 

He found her. He discovered her vile secret, and it excited him.

But that was the trade. She risked losing what made her human. Pain was human, and it meant she still felt.

“No. I’m not damning myself again.” she broke his hold and stood, backing up until her shoulders hit the wall.

“I’m not giving up,” he said, but he didn’t pursue her. “We were designed for each other. Don’t you feel the pain when we’re apart? Don’t you want it to stop?”

 

She swallowed. He was too inside her head; she had to get away. “Guard.”

“You’re mine, Marlena. We can dance this violent dance until we bleed each other dry, or we can surrender. Your choice. But I will have you.”

“That monster died. It’s gone.”

“Then it’s my mission to resurrect her.”

 

She pounded on the door until it opened. Marlena threw herself through the doorway, past the guard and his questions, and out into the open. The fresh air doused her heated skin, but the pain latched on to her, driving a searing iron into her back.

She screamed.

 

February 2nd, 1996. Later that day.

 

Marlena picked up her teacup and briefcase, and headed into the courthouse, where she waited to be called. Her suit felt warm on her skin from the sun, the air-conditioned room causing her to shiver. She drained and tossed her cup as the bailiff called her name.

She sensed his eyes on her the moment she entered the courtroom. She aimed her gaze ahead as she followed the bailiff to the front. He held the gate open for her, and she gave a curt nod before she stood next to the judge.

 

“Raise your right hand.”

She was sworn in and took her seat at the stand. She had done this same action so many times it was habit. Formulaic. Yet everything about it this time was different. She could sense the judgment from the prosecution in a way she’d never felt before. She was tethered to the defendant, tied to him with a connection that screamed to be severed.

The lights were amplified. The sounds too loud. The air too thick.

 

“Hello, Dr. Evans.”

The defense attorney blocked her line of sight to Ethan before she tempted to look.

“How are you today?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good. Glad to hear.” After a brief rundown of her credentials, he asked, “Can you tell us how long you evaluated Mr. Cox?” The lawyer was youthful and attractive. She noticed the way the jury leaned forward, attentive to him. His fresh face and amusing mannerisms were a welcome distraction to the heaviness of this trial.

 

“Nearly two months,” she responded.

“And is this a sufficient amount of time to diagnose a patient?”

“Yes. Generally, I’m able to provide a full diagnosis and treatment plan for patients within a two-week period.”

“Then why did Mr. Cox require a longer evaluation period?”

She straightened her back. “Midway through my initial evaluation, I noticed signs of severe delusion that I felt needed a closer assessment.”

 

She was going off-script. 

Mr. Clark stared at her curiously, then walked to the defense table and grabbed the folder that contained Ethan’s evaluation.

“What is Mr. Cox’s official diagnosis?” he asked.

“Mr. Cox exhibits antisocial personality disorder. He scored on the extreme high end of the spectrum for this personality disorder, which classifies him as a dangerous personality. He suffers from sadistic symphorophilia, which means he derives sexual gratification from staging and watching brutal disasters. As a sadist, Mr. Cox gleans pleasure from the suffering of others, and his particular psychopathy allows him to be a highly skilled manipulator.”

 

The attorney blinked, looked at the prosecution, as if he was awaiting an objection. There will be no objection from that side of the courtroom during her testimony.

Mr. Clark started again, trying to find a thread of their original correspondence. “Dr. Evans, did you not verbally state that Mr. Cox is a model inmate. That despite his disorder, he was not a threat to anyone in prison, as it lacked the chaos to feed his particular psychopathy?”

 

She smiled. 

He had a good memory, recalling what she relayed to him of her conversation with the Attorney General. “Yes, that’s correct. I did say those words to the prosecution. But that was in the middle of my final evaluation. As I’ve stated, Mr. Cox is an expert manipulator, and thus more time is needed to effectively diagnose him and determine the level of danger he presents.”

The lawyer flipped through the evaluations he retyped only the night before. He was so confident in her verbal assessment that he never asked to receive the report prior to the trial.

“The treatment plan you originally thought best tailored for Mr. Cox was to be medicated under your care, to receive continued therapy sessions, and to slowly integrate him into general population where he can be a productive member of the correctional society.” He glared at her, a threat in his eyes. “Do you still feel that Mr. Cox can benefit from this treatment?”

 

“Let me put it as simply as possible,” she said, bracing herself. “Mr. Cox’s victims were, as he believed, guilty of crimes. Crimes he felt were deserving of extreme and disturbing vigilante justice. Does assimilating him into a population full of criminals sound like a good idea to you, Mr. Clark?”

The shock on the lawyer’s face was only topped by the collective wave of agreement that rolled through the room.

“Order,” the judge demanded.

 

Marlena made eye contact with Ethan then. There was no malice on his face, only the hint of a smirk. Those knowing eyes drilled into her.

She rolled her shoulders. “Furthermore, I discovered that Mr. Cox suffers an uncharacterized delusional disorder in connection to his psychopathy. He believes he has grandiose connections with his victims, which develops into a fixation on them where his delusion creates an alternate reality. In other words, the manipulation tactics he deploys on his victims serve to influence his own delusions, resulting in the belief of his own lies. This gives him the conviction to punish, maim, and kill without guilt or remorse.” She took a breath before she pushed through. 

She had to push through. 

“Anyone Ethan Cox comes into contact with is at risk for becoming a part of his delusions and thereby suffering either physical or mental harm. He is one of the most dangerous individuals I’ve come into contact with and feel I’m unable to continue his treatment. I do not feel rehabilitation is a prospect for Mr. Cox.”

 

Silence fell over the court, and Mr. Clark cleared his throat. “Thank you, Dr. Evans. Nothing more, Your Honor.”

After a charged moment, the judge looked to the Attorney General. “Would you like to cross-examine, Mr. Banks?”

 

The lawyer stood briefly. “No, Your Honor. The prosecution rests.”

“Please escort Dr. Evans off the stand,” the judge instructed the bailiff. “Court is adjourned for an hour recess, then we’ll hear closing arguments.”

 

She flinched at the commotion rising around the room as people stood. The finality of it rocked through her, and she grabbed the edge of the stand to help her rise. She passed Ethan on unsteady legs, the need to look into his eyes and unbearable, painful demand. The string tethering her to him snapped taut.

When she gave in to the desire and their eyes met, no words were needed. She saw it there on his face, the understanding of what she’d done. She was secured her lie by misdiagnosing a patient in open court. No one will hear or believe his claims about her.

 

She’d just sentenced Ethan to death.

 

Her secret will die with him.

 

February 2nd, 1996. Later that day.

 

“All rise.”

 

Ethan stood along with his lawyer and straightened his tie, giving it a tug to loosen it from around his constricted throat. “At least there were no videos to defend this time around,” Clark whispered his way. “Good luck.”

 

Luck wasn’t on his side. Marlena made sure of that. His lawyer has lost all of that enthusiastic hope he had early on at winning his shot. Her testimony shocked everyone there. Probably every professional in her field. The only person not surprised by her dramatic shift from savior to condemner was him.

He suppressed a smile. He loved every second of watching her embrace her killer instinct.

As the jury entered, he looked around the room instead of at them. He didn’t need to see their hung heads and grave expressions. He knew the outcome of this trial before it started. He was looking for Marlena. 

She was all that mattered now.

 

She was not here to witness her victory, however. He imagined she was sitting alone in some hotel room, awaiting the verdict. Her guilt keeping her company. Funny thing about guilt; it’s a tricky emotion, often mistaken for shame.

Marlena had nothing to feel ashamed about.

Who wouldn’t defend their life? He was a threat she couldn’t allow. He gave her no other choice.

“In the matter of Salem versus Ethan Cox, for the charge of first-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?”

“Guilty, Your Honor.”

This snagged his attention and he looked at the judge. His narrowed eyes were already on him. He ran down the list of charges, finalizing the jury’s guilty verdict to all, then thanked the jury for their service and dismissed them.

 

“I have my own declarations to proclaim before your sentencing, Mr. Cox,” the judge said. “If not for the painfully slow process of our justice system, I would personally see to it that your execution be swiftly delivered. The murders you’ve been found guilty of are a gross and heinous act of the worst kind. In my thirty years as a judge, I have never witnessed a more blatant disregard for human life. Do you have anything to proclaim to the court before you’re sentenced?”

 

His lawyer tapped his foot, giving him the cue to stand and deliver his practiced plea for clemency.

So he did. 

He stood and lifted his chin. “I do, Your Honor. I proclaim that Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” The courtroom erupted. The judge slammed the gavel, trying to quiet the outburst. His lawyer hung his head.

He smiled. He had waited a lifetime to quote Shakespeare.

 

“Ethan Gerard Cox,” the judge said over the commotion. “You’re hereby found guilty and sentenced to no more than one hundred years of imprisonment for each life you took. You’re to be incarcerated in maximum security at the Blackwater Correctional Facility, where you’ll await to be executed by lethal injection until you’re dead.” He leaned over the bench. “No god will have mercy on your soul.”

 

“You’re welcome,” he said to him with a wink.

He glared at him, but not in confusion. Judge Rogers had sentenced the majority of Salem’s capital punishment cases to death. “Remove this monster from my courtroom.” He slammed the gavel one last time, the final note in his life.

 

The handcuffs circled his wrists. His blood rushed past constricted arteries, the dizziness sat in. The lights flickered in his vision. His breath wheezed out, and he struggled to pull a full lungful of air past the knot in his throat. 

His lungs were burning.

Clark noticed first. “Cox, it’s all right. We’ll appeal. This isn’t the end—” He was cut off when the seizure started. His jaw locked as the tremor took hold of his muscles. He felt the frothy foam of vomit dribbling down his chin.

 

“We need a doctor!” Clark shouted.

 

The officer allows his body to drop to the floor. The cuffs bite into his skin as his body quaked. But before the world dimmed, there she was. Looking down at him. His angel of mercy to take away the pain. Marlena leaned over him and pressed her soft fingers to his neck. “He’s going into shock. Anaphylaxis.”

Her deep hazel eyes were wide as she stared down. He tried to count the specs of gold. They blued and dimmed until he lost sight of her altogether. He was able to mouth one word to her before the lights went out.

 

February 3nd, 1996.

 

“Penicillin.” She looked over Ethan’s chart. “Care to explain how Mr. Cox was given a medication that his file clearly states he’s allergic to?”

This question was directed to the corrections officer in charge of Ethan’s meals at the courthouse jail. She’d asked this question of all the officers that have come into contact with him over the past forty-eight hours. She was no detective and, officially, she was no longer Ethan’s psychologist, but she demanded an answer from someone.

 

The officer shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know.”

She inhaled a sharp breath. “Okay. Thank you.”

 

Marlena headed toward the hallway to slip the chart back into the ER room, and met with Mrs. Hyde, the District Attorney. She had heard what happened too. “Dr. Evans, I heard what happened. The judge was right to condemn him.” She placed the chart at the nurse’s station.

 

“I don’t feel like talking about it.” She attempted to do just that, but the lady stepped into her path.

“Why are you here?” Mrs. Hyde watched her intently.

She crossed her arms. “One of my patients has been admitted to the hospital. I’m here doing what a good doctor would do, what you are also trying to do: trying to figure out how this happened, and more so, to determine how this affects my patient.”

She nodded slowly. “You know, the visitor log at the jail only lists one person. You. I find that very interesting.”

“Careful, Mrs. Hyde. Someone might think you’re insinuating a respectable doctor poisoned her own patient.”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m very bluntly asking you if you gave Cox penicillin to delay his transfer.”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath. “Mrs. Hyde, I take offense that I not only have to do the doctors’ job in this hospital, but now yours, too. How many people do you think want to see Ethan dead? Family of the victims, police officials…like yourself—”

“He was already being sentenced to death,” she interrupted.

“He wasn’t being sentenced yesterday,” she countered. “When the trial appeared to be going in his favor.” She raised her eyebrows.

 

Hyde huffed a breath. “Don’t head back to home so quickly, doctor. I may need to question you again.”

She threw my hands up. “You’ve got it. Now, can I please see my patient?”

“Absolutely not. Cox is under strict guard. Officials and medical personnel only.”

She escorted her to the waiting room. Marlena found the chair she’d claimed as hers for the past eight hours. A strained tiredness pressed behind her eyes, and she closed them for a moment.

 

It took too long to transfer Ethan to an ambulance. The hospital only being five miles from the courthouse, it shouldn’t have exceeded fifteen minutes to get him into care. Those fifteen minutes cost Ethan his consciousness.

An anxious voice whispered from that dark corner of her mind, mocking her. 

 

You wanted this.

 

She did—she wanted Ethan’s death. She wanted the threat eliminated. Her perseverance was stronger than her feelings. She blinked the dryness from her eyes. She couldn’t will a tear forth if she tried.

Psychiatrists were able to diagnose and treat their patients because they care. They have this well of empathy they pull from to give of themselves and help those the world would otherwise shun.

She couldn’t relate.

Not to his deeds, but to the sin her carried.

 

Ethan and her shared a connection…they were bound together by some dark force…and yet she knew they were different. She was better than him. She was better because she was stronger and she deserved to be the one to go on and to continue to help people. And for that to happen, he must be the one to fail.

So yes, she wanted his death. But not like this. She wanted the justice system to kill him. She wanted to be justified and free of blame. She hated feeling this hollow pang in her chest, and she wanted it to stop.

 

“Marlena.”

Her eyes snapped open. Mike stood before her. “Yes?”

“Can I have a moment to talk with you?” he asked.

She grabbed her purse. “Of course.”

Ethan’s medical file still had yet to be transferred. Had the staff wasted time with tests, she was not sure Ethan would be alive. 

She was led toward the emergency wing where Ethan was being monitored. “Don’t worry. I’ve gotten you clearance.” Mike looked her way. “A doctor should be able to see her patient.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s awake,” he said. “I’m sure once I’ve cleared him for questioning, you won’t have another chance to speak with him. He’s been asking to see you since he woke up.”

Her brow furrowed. “Mike, you’re taking a great chance by allowing me access. I don’t think Mrs. Hyde will appreciate your efforts.”

 

He waved a hand dismissively. “Hyde is a hot-head. You just let me worry about her.”

She offered him a smile. “Well, I appreciate this. Cox is a…unique patient.”

He nodded. “I noticed that. His brain scans were impressive. It’s a shame that someone with so much potential resorted to… Well, it’s a shame.”

He lowered his head as they passed the two officers guarding the hallway. “Do we know how he received the antibiotic?” She asked.

 

Once they reached the ER room, he paused at the door and looked at her. “Yes. He administered the drug to himself.”

Her heart knocked hard against her chest. The double bah-dah-bump stole the air from her lungs, and she was able to gain an antiseptic-laced breath before the room door opened.

 

An officer stood guard outside the door, another inside the room stationed near Ethan. His ankles were cuffed to the gurney. A pair of handcuffs secures his left arm to the bedrail.

 

He was awake. And watching her with hazy eyes as she entered.

 

“How medicated is he?” She asked Mike.

“Very,” he said. “A few minutes longer, and Mr. Cox may not have made it. The EMT said you performed CPR until they were able to transport him.” He gave her a tight smile. “He has you to thank for his life.”

 

Her eyes closed briefly. The hollow pang burrowed deeper.

“I’ll give you a moment,” he said as he shut the door.

She stepped forward, and the officer extended his hand. “You have to stay five feet away from him at all times.”

 

She set her purse down, giving herself something to do other than look at the man she betrayed.

“Thank you,” Ethan said, “for saving my life, Evans.”

She sucked in a breath and faced him. “Did you attempt to take your own life?”

“Did it hurt you?”

“What?”

“Did saving my life hurt you?” He nodded at her. “You’re back. You’re limping.”

 

She hadn’t even noticed that she had been coddling the pain. “No,” she answered. “I’m not hurt. Now tell me the truth. Did you—?”

“No, I didn’t try to take my own life.” His accent was thicker with the sedative.

 

She lifted her chin. “The ER doctor said you dosed yourself with over a thousand milligrams of penicillin. One might consider that a suicide attempt. Especially when you’re well aware half that dosage is enough to kill you.”

 

He bated sleepy eyes and shrugged against the prop of pillows. “Maybe I did it just to see you one more time.”

She pressed her lips together. “Cut the shit, Ethan. You wanted to be the one to end your life. I understand that reasoning. If you were going to die, it was going to be on your own terms.” 

 

Not hers. 

 

“Am I correct?” she stepped closer.

“Sorry, Evans. On this one, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

It happened fast. The guard reached out to halt her. Ethan’s free hand grabbed ahold of the guard’s wrist and yanked him over the gurney. He nailed the guard in the back of the neck with his elbow. The gun appeared in the commotion.

 

Ethan had the gun aimed at the officer’s temple. “Uncuff me,” he demanded. But he was not ordering the guard. He was looking at her.

 “No.”

His gaze hardens. “In five seconds, I’m going to pull the trigger. Do you want yet another life on your conscience?”

She wet her lips. Ethan has never directly killed a person. That she knew of. Her gut screamed that he won’t do it now—that it went against his compulsions, his beliefs…but then he’d never been in a position like this before.

 

He’d taken his life, and he will make sure he had hers before it was over.

She chose to save the man.

She unclipped the keys from the officer’s belt and begin unshackling Ethan’s ankles from the gurney. 

“Let him go.”

 

Ethan waited until she freed his wrist, then carefully stood, maneuvering the guard with him. The guard slung threats, attempting to alert the officer outside the room about the convict with the gun. Ethan clubbed him over the back of the head. The cop didn’t go down with the first strike, or the second, and she had to look away as Ethan beat him until he finally dropped to the floor.

 

“You’re an animal,” she said.

A smile kicked up the corner of his mouth. “Takes one to know one, baby.”

 

The door of the ER room opened.

She spun around and pulled against Ethan’s chest. She felt the press of the steel barrel under her chin. She was shaking, but the gun forced her head high, and she refused to let fear show on her face.

“Drop the weapon!” the officer shouted.

 

Ethan didn’t obey. He dug the barrel deeper, holding her in place. “I doubt I have more to lose than you, so don’t be a hero for minimum wage, officer. I will kill this woman here, then I will fire off shots until the clip is empty, taking out as many people as possible before I go down.” The cop held his aim on Ethan. “Now, shut the door and lower your gun.”

After a tense standoff, the officer closed the room door. He kept his weapon trained on Ethan and her for another few seconds, then set it on the floor.

“Slide it over,” Ethan ordered.

The cop did so reluctantly. “Backup will be here shortly,” he tried to assure her.

Ethan nudges her back. “Strip the cop,” he said. “Pants and shirt. Now.”

 

Marlena bit her lip as she lowered herself toward the unconscious man, then slowly pulled off his shoes. Her gaze snagged the gun on the floor, but Ethan confiscated it first. He used the officer’s handcuffs to lock him to the bedrail before he knocked him over the head with the gun.

 

She cursed, knowing that it was now—right now. She had to escape. He was completely unhinged. She grunted as she tugged the pants down the man’s legs. “If you kill me, then you’ll never truly have your revenge. You can’t destroy a dead person.”

 

Ethan grabbed the nape of her neck and hauled her up, bringing her close. “I wish you would’ve talked this dirty during our sessions.”

Anger spiked her blood, fueling a rush of adrenaline. She tried to knee him, but he was there to block her attempt. He groaned and gripped her hair tighter. She spotted a syringe on the tray and sprang for it, ignoring the pain it cost her to break out of his grasp. 

She had the needle in shaky hands, aimed at his neck. “I will shred your jugular before you squeeze that trigger, I swear to God.”

 

He watched her intently, his teeth capturing his lip to restrain a smile. “And I know just how good you are at that. I’m looking forward to more playtime later,” he said, then his hand covered hers, forcing her arm back until she dropped the needle. “But right now, I just want you to relax.”

 

She was breathing hard. “Do it fast.”

“All right.” He gripped her face and backed her against the wall. Her heart lurched into her throat as his gaze darkened. Then his mouth closed over hers, the kiss stealing what was left of her breath. He pulled away with a gleam in his eyes. “But I’m not taking your life.”

“What the fuck do you want, then?”

He finished removing the officer’s clothes and dressed hurriedly. He slid on the uniform pants and belt, then threw off the hospital gown before slipping a white T-shirt over his head. She inched backward toward the door, but he noticed her retreat.

 

She stopped.

 

“You assume I want to kill you because of what you did to me,” he said as he snatched the cop’s radio and clipped it to his belt. “But that’s just your guilt. You’ve trained yourself to feel it in order to blend.” He spat the word at her. “Let go of it. It gets in your way. I would’ve done the same to you.”

 

He grabbed her purse and dug out her phone. He dropped the phone and stomped on it, then placed her bag over her shoulder. He then turned her back to his chest and pressed the barrel of the gun to her head.

“Fuck. Ethan, what the hell do you want from me?”

“Be a good hostage and open the door.”

Through the adrenaline, she made the connection. It slid together like a puzzle piece snapping in place. And she was the piece of the puzzle that he had shaped to secure his freedom.

 

“You used me,” she accused.

“To be fair, we used each other.”

 

She opened the door.