And then the wall explodes.
Wood splinters.
Glass shatters.
Dust and debris fill the air.
A figure comes through the hole like something out of a nightmare—like vengeance given form—covered in dust and blood, gun raised, eyes blazing with a fury that makes Virgil look like a child playing pretend.
Garrett.
His eyes sweep the room, taking in everything in an instant—the filthy mattress, the scattered syringes, me curled on the floor with my hands bound and my face beaten.
I watch his expression shift as he processes what he's seeing.
What was done to me.
And something in his face dies.
Not the love—I can still see that, burning like a star.
But something else.
Some final restraint, some last boundary between the man and the monster.
It's gone now.
Burned away by the sight of his wife broken on the floor of this hellhole.
He turns to Virgil.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that the monster who hurt me is about to die.
"Garrett," I whisper.
He looks at me.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to see that I'm alive, that the baby's alive, that we made it through the darkness.
"I've got you," he says. His voice is steady. Calm. The voice of a man who has already made peace with what he's about to do. "It's over, Van. It's over."
Then he turns back to Virgil, and the last thing I see before I pass out is my husband raising his gun.
I hear the shot.
And then nothing but peace.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bloodhound
She passes out before I pull the trigger.
Maybe that's a mercy.
Maybe it's better she doesn't see what I'm about to become.
