“Listen, you don’t have to come back here,” I say. “I don’t want to draw attention to your absence. It’ll raise questions.”
“Maybe.”
I lift a brow. “Maybe? My father is going to slaughter everyone to get to me.”
“What did you do?”
“I’ll explain when this is over.”
Declan nods. “There’s a black jeep outside for you. Happy hunting, crow.Mors solum initium.”
“Mors solum initium.”
I glanceat the first name on the list. Declan, the sick fuck, drew a smiley face next to it. Either this guy is the most promising donor, or he’s a motherfucking asshole. Or both.
Nicholas Crenshaw at 3236 E. Pinewood Rd.
Here we fucking go.
The drive to his house is quick and quiet, the evening still and the moon a crescent sliver in the night sky. I park the SUV down the street and cut the engine, staring at the two-story house with its wide, manicured lawn and large bay windows. There’s a Mercedes in the driveway, and soft lights from the living room filter through the front curtains, illuminating a section of the sidewalk.
I put my mask on, embodying more than an assassin. Tonight, I’m the Grim Reaper.
The second the driver’s door shuts behind me, a chill wind sweeps through the yard, and the streetlight overhead flickers. A bird caws, the sound eerie, and my skin prickles with anticipation. It’s an omen, a foreshadowing of what’s to come. Of the rules I’m about to break. And the life I’m about to take.
To save another.
The back porch light comes on, bathing the steps in a warm glow. As I walk, my boots crunch on the gravel, the only sound other than the rustle of leaves. Everything else is still, even the air.
When I reach the back door, my pulse quickens. With a quick glance, I scan the yard and the side of the house, but there’s no one, no movement other than the swaying branches. The darkness is empty.
The feeling of unease doesn’t abate, and as I stare at the wooden surface before me, a sense of wrongness fills my veins. It’s a sick dread that has nothing to do with the task at hand. I don’t dismiss the feeling. I embrace it. My instincts have kept me alive, and I will always listen to them.
The door is locked. No surprise there. I’m quick to pick the locks before twisting the doorknob and stepping inside, my pistol in my hand. Declan not only provided me withtransportation, but he also made sure I was equipped with some ammunition. I suspect he did it out of friendship, but also because I helped get him through the last Trial.
The inside of the house is cool and quiet. Not the silence that follows a storm, but rather a stillness that speaks of an absence of sound, an unnerving emptiness.
There’s no one downstairs.
No one is upstairs either.
Fuck.
I’ve searched the entire house and found nothing. Every second I’m here increases the chances of getting caught, which is something I can’t afford.
A loud clap of thunder makes me stiffen. Or is it a gunshot?
It’s the latter, followed by a muffled scream.
I’m running, heading straight for the source of the sound. Downstairs. The basement.
I open the door and the faint light spills onto the hardwood floor. As I descend the steps, the voices become clearer.
“Where is she?!”
“I don’t know.”
Another shot echoes in the basement.
