“You bitch,” he growled, turning on me. Clawed hands shot at my face, scratching my skin and reaching for my eyes. I looked around desperately for something that could subdue him. The wine bottle. It would mean releasing him, but at least then I would have a weapon.

I slapped him hard across the face to distract him, and then jumped to my feet and snatched the bottle from the counter. I whirled around and brought it down on Max’s head with all of my strength. The bottle didn’t shatter as I had envisioned, but it did make a satisfying thump as it connected with his skull. He collapsed, blood trickling from the contact point.

I sagged against the counter. With the scratches on my face and the bloody scene at the base of my stairs, no one would question me if I claimed I hit him in self-defense. He murdered my best friend, and then he came for me. I had no choice. The partners might be displeased with the attention it brought to the firm, but they wouldn’t fire me over it. I was the victim, after all. And there would be no one to tell them about Emily Snow.

I turned my attention to Audrey’s motionless body. My heart twisted, and I was surprised to feel a flicker of relief. I would never find myself under Audrey’s manicured thumb again.

“Rest in peace,” I whispered.

Then I saw her chest rise shallowly. I blinked. So Max hadn’t been delusional; she was still alive. I crept closer to her and peered down at her waxy face, shockingly pale and surrounded by blood. Her lungs were still working, but what about the rest of her? How could she ever be the same after a head wound like that? I knew Audrey. She wouldn’t want to be a vegetable, to have to be spoon-fed and wear diapers for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t want to live like Emily Snow.

Killing her would be a mercy, the last thing I could do for her as a friend.

In a daze, I crossed to my couch and selected one of my plumpest throw pillows. I remembered how Audrey had admired the gray-and-cream-striped fabric, had complimented me on it. I returned to her body and knelt over it, holding the pillow in my lap.

Even smeared with blood, she was beautiful.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dull. She rasped, “Help me.”

My throat closed. God, she was awake. How long had she been conscious? Had she heard me telling Max not to call for help? Had she heard the truth about Emily Snow? Had she seen the scuffle between Max and me, seen me crack him over the head to stop him from calling 911?

I fingered the fringe on the edge of the pillow. I could still end this. I could still walk away a victim.

“I need your help, Cat,” she whispered. “Please.”

I need your help.

How many times had Audrey said that to me before? How many times had Audrey asked for my assistance with no regard for how it would impact me? Hadn’t she done that that very morning? Hadn’t she ruined my career prospects without a second thought? The truth was that Audrey wasn’t a very good friend. She never had been. She had hurt me, casually and without remorse, time and time again, and I knew she would never stop.