Page 101 of Hellebore

“Hellebore,” I answer, my eyes never leaving Enzo.

“She needs to know.” Easton pushes me back harder.

I lock eyes with him now and a chill runs down my spine. She will not be able to handle it. I just told her I killed her father, and now she is about to lose the only person she truly loves. The thought of her breaking under the weight of it all sends fresh rage surging through me.

“Call me as soon as you know something.” I turn and walk out of the hospital.

I check the cameras as I slide back into the car. She is lying on the couch where I left her, curled up small beneath the blanket, sleeping.

I cannot tell her, but I have to.

I start the car and drive back toward Hellebore. The road stretches long and dark ahead, rain still falling in steady sheets that blur the world outside the windows. The weight of everything presses down on my chest with every mile, the beast inside me pacing restlessly, hungry for more blood and answers. She is waiting for me at Hellebore after everything I have already taken from her life. And now this. Another shadow reaching for what is mine.

I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles white, and keep driving through the storm.

Chapter Thirty-One

DRYSTAN

Icross the gates, the storm raging around me as rain pours down in relentless sheets. Briar is still sleeping on the feed. I walk inside the mansion, water dripping from my clothes onto the stone floors, my hair plastered wet against my forehead and falling into my eyes. I head to the living room, trying to control my breathing. The entire ride here I rehearsed how I would tell her what happened to Lucille, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.

No word from the twins yet. She is probably still in surgery.

I walk into the living room and she is not on the couch anymore.

Where the hell did she go?

“Briar?” I call out, but only silence answers, heavy and wrong in the quiet of the mansion. A chill runs down my spine. I open my phone again and check the feed, and my heart stops. She is lying on the couch…

No. No!

I turn and see white paint scrawled over the painting of us on the wall: “She’s mine.”

No. Briar…

I run to the office, insert the code with shaking fingers, and step inside. I check my computer and see someone overrode the feed. They recorded her sleeping and looped it. It has been playing for God knows how long. I was too busy watching Lucille—Oh fuck, that is why they attacked Lucille!

I turn to a second wall with one single monitor that connects to four other cameras on a closed feed. Not connected to anything else. It was a security measure I learned in prison.

I fast-forward until I see a black truck drive up to the gate. They stop and a man with a balaclava steps out, placing a decoder on the gate lock. Five minutes and he is in. I did not get any warning on my phone. The fuckers overrode everything.

They pick the lock from the kitchen side and walk right in while she is still fast asleep. I watch as the two men stand next to her.

“We meet again—” one whispers. Briar stirs, trying to get up, fighting, but they use a syringe and she is out in under a minute.

Her body lies there, not moving. The taller man walks to the painting and takes a paint can from his black coat, shakes it with a metallic rattle, and sprays the words across the canvas in crude white strokes.

He turns, crosses his arms, and stands there watching as the other one pulls Briar’s leggings down her legs.

“Nooo!” I scream and punch the table so hard my knuckles split open, blood smearing across the wood.

He pulls his zipper down and I can see his hard cock already glistening.

“I missed you,” he grunts, the words low and guttural as he leans over her. His gloved hand moves first to her face, fingers tracing her cheek almost tenderly before he bends down and presses his mouth to hers in a slow, mocking kiss. His other hand slides down her body, cupping one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt, squeezing hard enough that her flesh yields under his grip.

He opens her legs wider and presses a finger to her entrance. “Still so tight.” He lines himself up and I watch as he slides inside her unconscious body, inch by inch, his hips pushing forward until he is fully buried.

Tears of rage burn down my face, hot and blinding.