★ FL's POV ★
I turned to him, bleeding but not dead. With the remaining strength I had, I drove the knife one final time into his chest.
The light in his eyes flickered and died, as he breathed his final, choked breath.
With a satisfied smile on my face, I
reached for the table, climbed onto it, reaching for the vent in the middle of the room, lacing my blood all over it.
I then moved to the bed and bolted through the opened window, trying hard to contain my blood from trailing along with me, clenching to the mattress I had snatched.
With each inhale my chest burned like a shard of glass slicing through me.
"I have to get out of here. I can't get caught!"
But how was I supposed to manage that, when I couldn't even run properly with this busted left hand, snapped like a chicken wing and dangling uselessly at my side?
Even pressing my side, where that fucker stabbed me, was a luxury.
I cut into an alley from the main street. Dogs and gunshots echoed behind me.
