Only the Devil (The Sinful State #2)

Prologue

The darkness swallows me whole. Without the floodlights, I’m running blind, arms outstretched, trying to remember the layout. The hangar’s metal wall hits my palms first, cold and unforgiving. I feel my way along it, trying to control my ragged breathing.

“Jake?” I whisper.

My foot catches on something soft.

I drop to my knees, my hands finding fabric, warmth, the solid bulk of a body. My fingers trace up—cargo pants, broad shoulders, beard.

“Jake. Jake!”

My fingers skid through something tacky; I lift my hand.

Blood. How much blood?

“Please, please, please,” I pray, searching for the wound.

My hands find his chest, feeling for the rise and fall.

That’s when I hear the thuds.

Footsteps. Measured. Deliberate.

Not rushing like someone fleeing a crime scene. Walking like someone who knows exactly where their prey hides.

Trapped prey, meaning there’s no need for quiet.

The crickets go silent. Even the wind holds its breath.

This is all my fault.

What have I done?