37. Evan

                                    

                                          


                          
"I suppose he would like to finish this himself," Colton mused. He raised three fingers in the direction of the camera above us, a malicious smile curved the corners of his lips. The door opened. 
                          
Dad slipped through. His normally neat hair was disarrayed, but he looked otherwise the same as he had in New York. As soon as he was close enough, I bolted forward. Damion shouted something that I didn't hear. Holding him didn't make it feel any more real, but a wave of relief crashed over me and I had to bite back the urge to cry because he was okay. Dad held me back tightly and leaned down. 
                          
"Evan, move!" Damion shouted behind me. I pulled back, concerned, but dad tightened his grip on my shoulders. 
                          
 "Oh, Evan, I was hoping you would fail." He whispered. His voice broke and I craned my neck to look up. 
                          
At the same second, a blinding pain seared through my back. I screamed while my arms were pried away. Without the support, I fell to the ground, more pain shattering through my body at the impact of the concrete. My mind went filled with white noise as he stepped over me. 
                          
Damion was screaming. Or was that Madix? It didn't matter really. Had he stabbed me, or had Colton done it? Damion told me to move, it couldn't have been dad. I reached my hand back and felt a hilt right at my left shoulder blade. Don't pull it out. Hadn't Gemma told me that? I would bleed to death faster if there wasn't something blocking it in. My fingers were stained with blood. The ringing in my ears got louder when dad spoke. 
                          
"Perhaps if you would have cooperated, you all could have lived," He said. His voice sounded so far away. It hurt to breathe; I stared at the door in horror. 
                          
No, no, no, this couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be, he couldn't just do this. He couldn't. Colton had to be doing something. 
                          
"Let him go, Mr. Lucille," Colton's voice rang out. "Let him get a taste of what it's like for the person you love to die in your arms." 
                          
I heaved onto my stomach and tried not to scream as my arm moved. Madix dropped to his knees beside me and I could see the tears running down his face. I wanted to say that it was okay, that I was okay, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was another sound of pain. He grabbed one of my arms and pushed me down flat. 
                          
"Don't move," he cried. "Just keep laying down. It's going to be okay." 
                          
How had the knife gone through the suit? We had tested it; we got away with being shot. How just kept bouncing around. 
                          
Guilt ripped through me, sharper than any pain I would ever feel. We were going to die here, and it was my fault. I turned my head to look at Damion. His eyes were wide, chest heaving. Madix's fingers dug into my arm when I pushed myself up to my knees. 
                          
The world blurred, and when it came back in focus, Colton was facing us with a large knife pressed against Damion's throat. Madix and I both shouted.
                          
I got to my feet with Madix's help. "What are you doing?" 
                          
"Check your belt." Colton smiled again. I could bend my neck, barley, so I ran my fingers along the leather, heart jumping at Madix's gasp of fear. 
                          
My hands curled around something solid. I lifted it into my view. 
                          
A gun. 
                          
"Since you think you the last trials were so hard, welcome to your second round," Colton said. "You get to choose who lives and who dies. Your friend or your father."