My blood freezes.
“What. Choice.”
Constance sobs so hard she can barely breathe. “He said—he said if she didn’t go with them—he’d cut our throats and take her anyway.”
Her knees buckle under my grip. Adelaide sobs harder, covering her mouth.
“She handed herself over, Jacob,” Constance cries, words tearing out of her like flesh from bone. “We tried—we tried—webeggedher not to—but she handed herself over.”
Silence drops like a guillotine. Her words cut deep. I feel it split me down the middle, leaving nothing but blood and hate in the hollowed-out cage of my chest.
Summer. My Summer. Choosing chains over their death. Offering herself up like a lamb to the slaughter.
And I wasn’t here. I wasn’t fucking here.
My grip slackens. Constance collapses against the wall, clutching her throat, sobbing. Adelaide hauls her into her arms, their bodies folding together on the bloody tile.
I stagger back. The room tilts. I press my palm to the wall, my breath tearing, and I swear I can still hear Summer’s voice—her soft, trembling “I love you”—before she was dragged into the dark.
The sound nearly buckles me. But then the rage fills the cracks. Jackson Moore has her.
And I will tear this earth apart until I get her back.
Chapter 29
Hell Has a Door
Summer
Hands tear at me before the word is even out of my mouth.
“Okay.”
That’s all it takes.
My scalp screams as fingers twist into my hair, yanking me down the stairs so hard my knees buckle. My bare feet skid across tile, then scrape raw against gravel. I can’t see Constance or Adelaide anymore—I hear them though, muffled shouts cracking through gags.
Their voices stab into me deeper than any knife. They drag me through the hall, and I see Officer Haywood, slumped against the wall, a gun in his hand and a hole in his chest. Smoke still rises from the open cavity, and the smell— blood, burnt hair, rotting meat all combined into one sour scent.
The night is black and wide and cruel. Waiting at the edge of the driveway is the SUV. Black paint, black windows, a beast crouched in the dark with its mouth open.
I’m shoved inside. My shoulder slams against metal, pain biting up my arm. The stench hits instantly—cigarettes, stale sweat, leather that’s soaked up too much history.
The locks drop down. That sound is louder than the slam of the door. Louder than my heartbeat that booms in my chest.
I’m pinned between bodies, knees jammed into my thighs, a gun resting casual against my side as if it belongs there. The weight of it is worse than the cold. Worse than the stink.
I can’t breathe. My chest tries, ribs wrenching apart, but the air tastes poisoned.
The SUV hums to life. Gravel crunches. My stomach tips as the house slides away behind us, shrinking, shrinking—until it’s gone.
And that’s when the real pain starts.
It isn’t knives or fists. It’s in my head. The moment Jacob pulls into the drive, he’s going to know something’s wrong. He’s going to see Constance and Adelaide bound and gagged. He’s going to see blood smeared on the en-suite tile. He’s going to realize I’m not there.
I see it in my mind—his face shattering.
My throat closes around a sob. I bite down hard, clench my jaw until my teeth ache. I can’t cry. If I cry, they win.
