The third man’s life ends.
I’m covered in blood now.
“She didn’t break me,” he says. “I’m the one who decided I liked the dark.”
He looks at the last two men, both of them weeping.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I’m so fucking sorry.
“Two more, Doc. Or are you full?”
“I’m never full, Valerio.”
I stand. My legs are weak, but I force them to hold me. I walk toward him, stepping over the pooling blood on the floor. His energy is the darkest thing I’ve ever seen, and I want to drown in it.
“Why did you invite me here? Why do you want me to see this?”
“Because,” he rasps, wiping the smeared blood of the men he just killed from my cheek, “I want to see how you’ll react when I finally show you what’s at the bottom of the cellar.”
He drops the gun. It clatters on the concrete. He turns and walks back into the darkness where he belongs, leaving the last two men alive, shaking on the wall.
My brain tries to categorize the last twenty minutes, trying to slot them into a reality that makes sense, but the data won’t fit. I reach out, gripping the back of the wooden chair to keep from collapsing onto the gore-slicked floor.
The two men left on the wall make a sound—a whine of pure terror.
It snaps me out of the trance.
I move toward them. I don’t look at the three who are still. I can’t. If I look at their faces, the reality of what I’ve done will crush me. Yes, Valerio’s hands were on the gun, but I was the one who pulled the trigger.
“Don’t move,” I whisper to one of the men still alive. His eyes are rolled back in his head, his body shaking so hard the rusted ring in the wall rattles.
I reach for the Glock on my thigh to use the serrated edge of the tactical knife I keep in the holster’s side pocket. My hands are trembling so badly I almost drop it. I saw through the zip ties, the plastic snapping with a sharp clack.
The man falls to his knees, sobbing into his gag.
I move to the second man to cut him loose. He doesn’t even wait for me to finish before he’s scrambling toward the exit, crawling on all fours.
I’m alone with the dead.
I grab my trench coat from the crate where I left it, buttoning it all the way to my chin and turning the collar up to mask the smear on my jaw.
I push through the heavy side door and stumble into the night. The rain has started again—it feels like heaven against my heated skin.
The sedan is waiting exactly where it dropped me off. The driver doesn’t say a word as I climb into the back. He doesn’t ask why I’m shivering or why I smell like a slaughterhouse.
Valerio Morelli is a monster. He is the darkest thing I have ever touched.
I can’t wait for Tuesday.
Chapter Four
Charlotte
Apparently, I don’t have to wait for next Tuesday.
