Still, maybe it’s best to hear what I can, before I see.
I so slowly press my ear to the door after I turn my head.
It’s hot, the wood of the entrance, lighting up along my cheek and my fingertips as I bring them to the surface to steady myself.
I open my eyes and listen.
The pop of fire again.
The flickering of flames.
A shifting sound, like someone getting comfortable in a chair.
I furrow my brows, straining to hear anything more. Something that will either confirm or dissolve my thought that it is Stein inside the next room.
There is nothing for several moments.
Then there is a raspy scream.
Chapter 9
Karia
The sound of footsteps erupts from the darkness behind me, but I don’t turn around. The scream came from the room beyond, and it sounded far too much like Sullen Rule for me to stay away.
I twist the knob, the metal and rust hot along my palm, and I throw open the door, lunging forward before I take in the room. It doesn’t matter to me what else is inside;he’shere, and I will damn myself for him again and again.
The sweltering, sticky heat engulfs me as I scan the space, my mind calculating every detail it can hold at a rapid pace, faster than the way my heart is beating painfully inside my chest. My lips are parted, my nostrils flaring as I breathe in the smoky scent of the stifling room, sweat beading along my throat, dripping between my breasts beneath Sullen’s shirt.
There is a fireplace against one brick wall, a mantel with a book I can’t read the title of propped atop it, a silver fireplace tool set— broom, shovel, poker—on the cement floor beside the blaze. Then, clustered a few feet from it, there are low, black chairs, three of them, a small table in the center, topped withdecanters of whiskey and glasses, and a few papers with printed words I can’t quite make out.
The room is squared off, and there is a door directly across from me, the table and chairs between me and it. It’s closed, painted black, a small window pane set in the upper center, but there is only blackness through it.
I want to run for it, because Sullen is not inside this room.
His scream must have come from beyond.
Through that door.
But I can’t sprint to him, because of the three men seated in the chairs circled about the table.
My gaze sticks on only one, although I recognize the other two as guards.
I am staring at Stein Rule as he lounges in the chair facing me, one ankle bent over one knee, a glass in his hand, resting along his abdomen. A small, cold smile curls his lips. He is dressed in a gray button down, dark trousers, his shoes black and polished.
His light blue eyes stay locked onto mine and I feel the guards staring at me, the tension amping up in the room, the fear growing under my skin.
I want to scream.
I want to run.
I am positive these men are armed, even though I glance down and see no holster or hint of a weapon on Stein’s person. I won’t underestimate him, though, and when I raise my gaze from his hip to his shirt, I note a dark, red-tinted stain along the shoulder.
A large splotch; damp, it seems.
Sullen.
“Where is he?” I speak first, keeping my voice low and calm, but there is a hoarseness to it underlying my nerves.
