The Podcast

Chapter 40

Wednesday Night

A loud thud sounds at the door, the weight of a body slamming against it. Again and again until the sound shifts with the momentum. Now metal against metal. Something breaking.

Ezra's hand is white, gripping the blade at Sumner's throat with all his strength as he swivels his head once toward the door. His mouth is set in an annoyed yet determined line as he focuses his attention back on Sumner.

"Who the fuck is that, Sumner?"

"I–I don't know." Her voice sounds abrasive like sand, the dryness in her throat nearly unbearable.

But as the sound at the door continues, a bloom of impossible hope bursts violently within her panicked chest. It's short circuited as the tip of Ezra's blade is angled into her skin, a whimper of pure searing pain as warm, trickling liquid slides down the length of her neck, soaking into the collar of her shirt.

Before Ezra can press the blade deeper, the door of the recruiting studio blasts open and slams against the wall. A tall broad figure stands in the doorway, Sumner's vision blurring with the fear, the lack of air, the nauseating realization that she's losing too much blood.

"Get the fuck out or I'll kill her." Ezra turns his head angrily away from Sumner, a wild bitter look in his eyes at the disruption. For a moment Sumner fears it's over. That whoever has come to save her has only expedited her last breath. Ezra wouldn't back away from her now. She'd be his if it's the last thing he does.

The figure in the doorway takes a single step into the room. Sumner's vision pinholes, the edges black and fuzzy. But she can make out the overgrown espresso hair, the black shirt stretched tightly over strong, broad shoulders, a pair of full masculine lips tipped downward in a concentrated frown.

Faster than she can comprehend with her muddled vision, Lucas' hand moves to his hip and a sharp, heavy sound cracks through the air. Sumner feels a weight slump against her chest, her body sagging down a few inches with it, a warm sensation covering her chest, trailing down her stomach.

She gasps in raspy lungfuls of air, the pressure of Ezra's forearm no longer at the base of her throat. She lowers her sore, trembling arms, still hoisted above her head even though Ezra's fist is no longer clasped tightly around her wrists. She feels herself falling, the sound of resounding thud hitting or ears before her eyes can take in the scene at her feet.

Ezra's body is crumbled into an unnatural position, a crimson pool now forming around her ankles, the same color streaked down the front of her body.

Sumner's breaths start coming faster, more desperate, a surge of adrenaline as she begins to hyperventilate. She can smell the sticky-sweet metallic tang of blood on her skin, impossible to distinguish hers from Ezra's. Before she passes out, the red glowing edges of the room become swallowed in black, a pair of large, warm hands catch her beneath the arms, hauling her with ease over Ezra's body and around the table taking up the majority of the room.

"Sumner, fuck." Lucas' voice feathers over her face, his hand brushing the hair away from her damp forehead, her body racking in a cold sweat. His rough thumb grazes over her bottom lip, her entire face one color, a pale ashen gray, nearly matching the haunting gray-blue of her eyes.

"Is he dead?" Sumner knows the answer but needs to hear it confirmed from Lucas' lips. She doesn't want to look over at Ezra's body on the ground, a shiver racing down her spine at the realization of how easily that body could have been hers.

"Yes."

Lucas sets her gently on the ground, squatting to the floor with her, cursing a string of taught, expletive commands into his cell phone. He tilts her head up by the chin, his hands fastidious and clinical as he tries to discern if the blood on her body is coming from an injury or from Ezra's body, still slumped and bleeding on the other side of the room.

It's deathly quiet, the echo of Lucas' bullet still singing in Sumner's ears as his face comes into view more clearly, his jaw muscle jumping as he studies her.

"An ambulance will be here soon." He tucks another strand of wayward hair behind her ear, keeping her torso upright with a firm grip on her ribs. Sumner's lashes flutter as the immediate fear leeches from her body, replaced with a dread so incredulous, so deeply ironic, she can't help the chuckle that bubbles past her lips.

"What, Sumner? What's funny?"

She raises her head, the act so simple yet challenging, her limbs as heavy as led. She points to the glass booth, the planes of Lucas' face bathed in red light.

"The recording...it's been recording the entire time." Sumner rolls her head back, closing her eyes, faintly hearing Lucas' frustrated pleas for her to keep her eyes open, to stay with him.

Then she hears the sirens, growing louder and sharper. She might not be dead, but it's all over just the same. She pries her eyes open, looking Lucas straight on, memorizing the look of genuine concern on his face. The last time he will care for her. The last time he will see her as a victim.

"Everything's on that recording, Lucas. Go listen and you'll see."