Jack tackles me, both hands pushing down on my mouth so hard I think he'll break my jaw.
Where are the other Lilies?
Why isn't anyone coming?
Domino, Wilson says. His voice is so reasonable. So reassuring. Let him take over. That's all I have to do. But I have to be level-headed enough to get us out of here, too. And if Wilson takes over, there's no telling what will happen.
So I make a decision.
I bite down on Jack's fingers.
He hollers and tears his hand away from my mouth.
"Wilson!" I yell over Jack's complaints. "Help me!"
Wilson steps firmly into my mind, cracks his neck, sets his gaze on Jack. So you want to play rough, tough guy? Well then, I'm your huckleberry.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Animal
Come at me! Wilson screams. I scream.
And Jack does. I spring onto the bed like a wild animal, crouched on hands and feet. I grab the pillowcase and then leap up and over Jack's hunched form. The part of me that's still me makes for the door to escape, but Wilson is controlling my body, too, and he has no plans of leaving quietly.
Jack turns as I wring the pillowcase into a tight stretch of fabric.
"You want to touch me?" I say.
Not my voice.
Not me.
"You want to own me?"
Jack lunges for the second time, and I let him take me this time, keeping my hands above my head. As soon as he closes his arms around me I let my knees collapse and drop to the ground. Surprised by the weight, Jack falls to the floor.
We lay side by side, lovers whispering in the dark.
That is, until Jack attempts to crawl on top of me on the freshly mopped floor. Wilson waits for the opportunity. Wait, wait. Don't panic. Even though Jack's on me. Even though he's tearing at our clothes and panting between gritted teeth.
Don't panic, Domino Ray.
There.
Now.
I shove my hand down fast and hard, a viper strike. I grab onto the same place that burns so badly for me. I watch as his eyes enlarge and spittle flies from his mouth, and I pull with all my might.
He howls loudly. Loud enough that now I'm sure someone must be coming to help.
I know that.
I'm reassured by that.
But Wilson doesn't want anyone coming.
I shoot out from under Jack as he groans in pain and leap to my feet. With breakneck speed, I step on one end of the pillowcase and wrap the rest around Jack's neck. I pull back with every ounce of strength I have.
Jack's back straightens and he gasps at the noose around his neck.
No matter.
I lean away and pull harder, keeping my feet planted firmly on the other end. This is how a hundred-pound girl can kill a grown man in a laundry room. Just one way of many.
My personal favorite, Wilson says hysterically. Look how red his eyes are. Look!
"What's wrong, Jack?" I say, grunting against the effort to end his life. "Do I take your breath away?"
Wilson, stop! I scream inside my head. I won't take another human life!
Then don't. Go away. Let me take over.
Jack's face turns a sickly shade of blue as he thrashes his arms, trying to break my grasp.
That's what's so beautiful about strangulation, Wilson booms. Turns strong, capable adults into raging idiots. Look at him. All he has to do is take out your legs, or grab onto the pillowcase with both hands and pull. But nope! He'll just keep flopping around. Flop, fishy, flop!
You have to stop, Wilson. Please!
No, he answers. Shan't.
Almost as if Jack read Wilson's thoughts, he rolls to his left and shoves my ankle. I stumble just enough for him to inhale a lungful of sweet, merciful air. Wilson tries to regain his death hold on Jack, but now the man is reaching for me, despite his purple face and lack of oxygen.
I leap back, and Jack rips the pillowcase from his throat. He coughs for several seconds as Wilson examines the room, searching for his second option. He remembers the champagne bottle and lunges for the hallway, but Jack grabs me, and I'm thrown back onto the bed.
This time it's his hands that wrap around my throat.
I gasp, claw at his fingers.
Wilson laughs like this is the funniest thing he's ever seen.
You really think that's how easy I'll go down?
Wilson prepares himself for another assault, but before he can do anything, the laundry room door bursts open.
Cain stands in the doorway, chest heaving, fists clenched.
Jack spins around.
"Oh, good," Jack says, speaking to Cain, and pointing at me. "This little snatch-"
Cain hits him. He hits him, and it's the shot heard round the world. Jack's head snaps backward, and he pauses in the air for a fraction of a second, a beast on his heels. And then he hits the floor.
He's out.
No pillowcases or fancy moves or strategizing.