You can do this, Kiarra. Finish it. With her next inhalation, she pulled the blade a fraction more down toward her wrist. This time she bit her lip hard enough she could taste iron on her tongue.
While her brain screamed for her to stop, she ignored it and gripped the handle of the blade until it bit into her palm. Only when her heart stopped beating would the other first-borns be safe—at least from her.
An image of a little girl crying, reaching out her arms and screaming Kiarra’s name, came unbidden into her mind, but she forced it aside. Her sister had abandoned her, just like the rest of her family. Her death wouldn’t cause anyone sadness or pain. Rather, through death, she would finally have a purpose.
This was it. On the next inhalation, she moved the blade a fraction. But before she could finish the job, the door of her cell slid open.
Kiarra loo
ked up and saw a tall man, dressed head to toe in black, standing in her doorway and pointing a gun straight at her.
Shit. She’d been discovered.
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