Chapter 13: Rex's Hand

Sabine turned her head toward Rex, and the knife turned with it.

That was the only second I needed.

I came around the end of the counter and caught her wrist with my left hand.

She was stronger than she looked.

She twisted, and the blade dragged across my right forearm from the elbow down, and I felt it open the skin.

"Let go of her arm, Weston," Rex said.

"She's cutting me."

"I know. Let go anyway."

I didn't understand why until he stepped in between us.

He took the blade in his bare hand, flat against the edge, and pulled.

Sabine screamed and let go of the handle.

Rex stood there with the knife in his fist and blood running down his wrist onto my floor.

He didn't flinch.

He dropped the knife into the sink, and it rang against the steel.

"There," he said. "Nobody else gets cut."

"You're bleeding," Sabine said in a small voice.

"So's he."

I looked at my arm.

The sleeve of my T-shirt was soaked through, and the cut was long, and it didn't hurt yet.

"Call the police," I said.

"Weston," Sabine said. "Weston, no. I wasn't going to."

"You came in with a knife."

"I only wanted you to listen."

I pressed a dish towel to my arm and reached for my phone with the other hand.

She watched me dial.

Her face changed slowly. The wet, wide look went out of it, and what was left was flat and mean.

"You'd do that to me," she said. "After everything my family did for you."

"Your family never did anything for me."

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