I stumble backward, shaking so hard I slam into the vanity. My breath tears ragged through my throat as the truth detonates in my chest.
Jacob isn’t here.
My fingers scrabble for the lock, twisting it hard enough to bite into my skin. The bolt slides home with a loudclick.
I sink down against door, pulse thrashing. My body curls in on itself, rocking, rocking, as I press my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
Because now I know. This house isn’t impenetrable. Not without him.
The first slam rattles the frame. The second makes the mirror over the sink jump against the wall. By the third, my heart is beating so hard I’m convinced it’ll burst through my ribs.
The window. It’s small, too small, but it’s the only chance I have. I grab the chrome counter mirror, hands slick with sweat, and hurl it against the glass. The mirror explodes in my grip, shards biting into my palms, skin splitting. Blood slicks my fingers instantly, dripping down onto the tiles. I don’t feel it. Don’t care. I snatch what’s left andsmash again, and again, desperation pounding through me harder than the fists at the door.
Another slam. Another crack of wood splintering.
I scream as the bolt tears free, the door flying open with a violence that shakes the walls.
“No, no, no—” The words tumble out broken, useless, as I turn toward them.
And then I see them. Three men.
Two of them with their fists wrapped tight in hair, yanking heads back. Knives pressed to pale throats.
Constance. Adelaide.
The world tilts. My stomach twists so violently I choke.
Constance’s face is a mess, smeared red across her cheek, her lip split and swelling.
Adelaide’s hair is wild and tangled, strands wrapped through the fingers of the beast who holds her there. Their eyes are wide, wild, locked on me—they make my soul splinter.
They fought. God, they fought. And now they’re here. Held like offerings.
The third man steps forward.
Long, dark curls hang damp around his face, shadowing eyes that gleam with something colder than death. His lips twist, slow, deliberate, into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
He doesn’t need to speak. His presence alone fills the room, crawling over my skin like oil. Every instinct in me screams to back away, but there’s nowhere to go. The broken window behind me is jagged teeth, the air reeking of blood and fear, and the only thing standing between me and them is distance—and distance means nothing.
I press my bleeding hands to the counter, shaking so violently the shards grind deeper into my skin. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of Constance’s choked whimper, Adelaide’s gut-wrenching gasp as the knives press harder. And still—he walks closer.
The man with the long dark curls and a devastating jawline. But it’s his eyes that finish me.
Blue. Not just blue—scorching, searing, the hot side of a flame. Eyes I’ve seen before. Eyes that danced when they looked at me, that pretended to care. Eyes I trusted.
Benny’s eyes.
My breath tears out of me like I’ve been punched.
“Summer,” he says, and the name sounds wrong in his mouth, twisted, cruel. He spreads his arms, as if this is some long-awaited reunion. “We finally get to meet in person.” His grin widens, merciless. “I’m Jackson. These delightful gentlemen are Donnie and Vince.” He jerks his head at the men restraining Constance and Adelaide. Their knives glint under the bathroom light, pressed tighter to the girls’ pale throats.
My heart detonates in my chest.
Jackson.
It’s him.
Alive. Here. In my house.
