“I built every inch of this place. Including the way out.”
She turns toward my voice, but she’s too slow. My hand snaps across her face, the impact cracking through the room as she stumbles and drops to the floor. Her phone shoots from her pocket, skidding across the concrete in a clatter. She scrambles instantly, crawling toward it with a pitiful instinct for survival.
I trail after her, letting her get close—close enough to believe she has a chance. Her fingers stretch, trembling, reaching for thephone. The moment they twitch to curl around it, my boot slams down. The device shatters under my heel with a sharp, final crack.
A broken sob wrenches out of her. She whips her hands toward my leg in a futile strike, and I kick her sideways, sending her sprawling.
“No,” she chokes out, the single word collapsing under its own despair. She rolls onto her back, pushing herself away, face streaked with tears, snot dangling as she sobs. “Oh, God?—”
“No, no,” I interrupt, waving my finger in disagreement. “No God, Lucia. The only authority over your fate isme.”
Her cheek is already swelling, painted red with the shape of my hand. “I should’ve known it would always end like this?—”
“No. NO, it didn’t fucking have to!” The words rip out of me as my fists cut through the air, fury spilling unchecked. “You and Jason are too fucking blind! Ungrateful, spiteful—every one of you!”
I step closer, voice sharp enough to cut. “I made youspecial. I gave youpurpose. And you were too arrogant, too selfish to see what you had when you followed my orders.”
I climb onto her, pinning her down, her body trapped beneath mine. She swings at me, still fighting, still delusional. Seizing her wrists, I slam them above her head, the bones jolting under my grip as I pin them against the floor.
“You wanted to know how I killed Jason and the others?” I murmur, leaning in until my breath grazes her cheek. “I’ll send you straight to them.”
My mind tunnels, vision narrowing as darkness floods my body. My hands close around her throat, fingers locking tight. She thrashes, slaps at me, drives her nails into my skin, but nothing reaches me. Nothing matters. I squeeze, harder, harder, until her resistance falters, until her movements quiet, until hereyes go glassy and hollow as they stare into mine—then drift away as her head lolls to the side.
The walls shudder beneath the scream ripping out of me—a raw, animal sound that tears my throat open. The agony scorching through my body is nothing compared to the pain detonating in my chest as I sit hunched on the bed of hot coals and scattered ashes beneath me.
Heat devours my skin. Muscles convulse, straining against themselves. My lungs shatter with every gasp.
I rise on shaking legs, my entire body vibrating with poisonous, directionless rage. It leaks through my pores, coils through my veins, and pushes me upward. I climb the stairs, each step trembling under the weight of what I’ve done and what’s been done to me, until I burst out of the basement.
The sight that welcomes me steals the last air left in my lungs. The base—once loud, alive, a nest of voices and movement—is now a carcass. Dust clings to the corners. Bodies lie twisted on the floor. Blood streaks across the walls in uneven splatters, drying in rusty patterns that look almost deliberate. A graveyard masquerading as a home.
An engine roars nearby, slicing through the silence. Two gunshots crack a second later, sharp and immediate. Before I can even string a thought together, the door slams open, and every emotion inside me halts. Stillness falls through me like a stone when I seehim.
Fuck. Me.
The bastard is alive.
Cane stands framed in the doorway, eyes widening as he takes in the wreckage of me. His gaze sweeps from my blood-soaked clothes to the ash smeared across my skin, and he lets out a breath that sounds like disbelief twisted with fury.
“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” he says, voice flat and cutting. “Two reasons. One, it’s a stupid fucking question. And two, you don’t deserve it.”
I close the distance between us despite the weight in my limbs and the anger radiating off him. “Is she?—”
“She’s fine.” His answer slices through my desperation. “Come on. I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
He turns, already moving toward his car. I follow, squinting against the bright beam of headlights that pierce the fog rolling through the trees. The storm has died, leaving only a pale, ghostly veil drifting between the trunks, the scent of rain and pine hanging thick in the air.
“Did she tell you what happened?” I ask, tone sharp with impatience as I yank the car door shut.
Cane drops into the driver’s seat. “Not much. But she’s pissed. Prepare yourself—she’ll probably grab the kitchen knife the moment she sees you.”
Warmth stirs beneath my skin, curling in my stomach, and a laugh escapes me despite everything. My hand drifts instinctively to my abdomen, pressing over the stitched spot.
Cane’s gaze snaps to me. “What?”
“She already stabbed me,” I admit.
His laughter erupts before he shakes his head, amusement rolling off him in waves.
