Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Henry
The tires on my SUV screamed as I tore down the last stretch of road leading to the farm.
I bought this place for the quiet. For the serenity it offered. Peace was supposed to live here.
Tonight, every second it took to reach the house felt like it carved a deeper wound in my chest.
I checked my phone again, refreshing the security system, even though I’d done it a dozen times in as many minutes.
No breached doors.
No broken windows.
No motion sensors tripped.
Nothing.
I pulled up the feed of Ariana sleeping, trying to find some solace in it.
And yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something I couldn’t see. Something slipping between the cracks of the system I built.
I was never one to pray. It was hard to believe in God when life dealt me one harsh blow after another.
But tonight I prayed Ariana was okay.
I hated to consider the alternative.
When the farmhouse finally came into view, I was relieved to find nothing appeared out of the ordinary. But I wouldn’t relax until I was sure. I pulled up to the gate and pressed my thumb to the scanner.
But instead of the gates swinging open as they normally did, they remained locked.
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach, but I wiped my hands on my jeans and tried again.
And again, they didn’t budge.
Suddenly, a gunshot reverberated through the night sky, piercing the still tranquility.
I didn’t hesitate.
I jumped out of the SUV, sprinting the quarter mile along the nine-foot brick wall and toward the tree I’d been meaning to get rid of.
Now I was glad I hadn’t.
I quickly scaled the tree, slid across one of the branches, and leapt onto the ground. I only allowed myself a second to get my footing before I darted toward the house. My ankle throbbed from the sprain that still hadn’t fully healed, but that didn’t matter to me. Not when Ariana was in danger.
By the time I reached the front door, my gun was already drawn. The moment I stepped inside, I heard it. A broken, ragged sound that punched every ounce of air from my lungs.
I moved through the foyer, and when I rounded the corner to the kitchen, the world stopped.
Victor Kane was in my house.
On the floor.
Bleeding out.
A crimson pool seeped beneath him, spreading across the hardwood like a slow-moving shadow. His limbs twitched weakly, his breath coming in wet, desperate gasps.
Ariana straddled him, her cheeks streaked with tears, her hair wild, her entire body taut as she dragged a knife across his abdomen, the blade sinking into his skin with a sickening, deliberate precision.
I froze in the shadows, my breath locked in my throat as I watched her carve a word onto his flesh.
Weak.
“Please,” he rasped, his face scrunched up in agony. “This isn’t you. You’ve gone mad.”
Ariana’s eyes flashed with something I’d never seen in her expression before. She pressed the blade deeper, and Victor howled, the sound echoing through the rafters.
“Funny,” she hissed, shaking with rage but smiling. “You never seemed to mind madness when it was yours.”
“Ariana,” he choked. “P-please d-don’t do this.”
He tried to push her away, but his body refused to cooperate. Blood poured faster when he struggled.
“Please?” Ariana echoed, her voice soft in a way that made my skin crawl, but at the same time filled me with immense pride. “That’s interesting coming from you.”
“I’m begging you. I—”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “You want mercy?”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, but it still carried across the room.
“You didn’t give me mercy. Not once. Not when I begged. Not when I cried. Not. Once.”
“Ariana, listen—”
“No.” She tightened her grip on the knife. “You listen. For the first and last time in your life.”
His breathing quickened, panicked, shallow.
“This,” she said, dragging the tip of the blade down his sternum, her cut slow and deep, “is for every woman you’ve hurt.”
The knife moved lower. Another stroke. Another blood-curdling scream.
“For Sarah.”
His eyes rolled back, pain overtaking everything else.
“For Henry,” she continued as she drew another deep line, her voice cracking around my name.
“And this,” she whispered, curving toward him so her face was inches from his. A flicker of worry flashed through me, but I pushed down my innate need to protect her.
She needed this.
She needed to be the one to end him.
“This is for me. You often told me the only way I’d get out of this marriage is in a body bag.”
She straightened and raised the knife.
“You first.”
Victor shook his head frantically. “Ariana. No. Don’t. Please!”
She didn’t hesitate.
She plunged the knife into his heart.
His body convulsed, a wet gasp ripping from his throat. His gaze locked on hers, pleading, disbelieving, terrified, before the light in his eyes went out.
The silence that followed was thick and absolute.
Ariana remained frozen for several seconds, her chest heaving, hands soaked in blood. Then her shoulders slumped. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the wood.
Only then did she finally look up.
Her gaze found me.
She jerked back like she’d been electrocuted, eyes wide and unfocused, breath escaping her in short, broken bursts. She wiped her face with a trembling hand, smearing Victor’s blood across her cheek.
“Henry?” Her voice cracked, tears spilling down her cheeks. “No. I’m hallucinating. You’re not… You’re supposed to be dead.”
I stepped out of the shadows, and slowly made my way toward her.
She stood, reaching for me, tentative at first, then desperate.
“Are you real?”
Her hands cupped my face, sliding over my cheeks, my jaw, my mouth, as if memorizing every feature. I didn’t care that her palms were coated in Victor’s blood. I held her wrists gently, grounding her.
“I’m real,” I responded, my voice rougher than I intended.
Her body crumpled, and she melted into me, gripping the front of my shirt as she sobbed into the fabric.
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her tight against me, her heartbeat racing against mine. I didn’t tell her to calm down. Didn’t tell her it was over. I just held her.
Like the fucking warrior she was.
“You’re alive,” she breathed, and I had a feeling it was more for herself than anything else.
“I’m alive,” I managed, anchoring her against me because I didn’t trust my legs to keep me upright otherwise.
She clutched me like she didn’t intend to ever let go. “I was so scared you were… He said you—”
“I’m fine,” I whispered into her hair. “I’m right here.”
When she pulled back, her gaze darted past my shoulder and her face fell. “Where’s Blake?”
I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. Nothing would.
“He didn’t make it. When we realized it was a trap. He…he sent me back here. Made sure I’d get to you.”
Her eyes welled. “Oh, god. Henry, I’m so sorry. I never meant—”
“It’s not your fault,” I cut in, gripping her jaw gently so she’d look at me. “All he cared about was making sure you were safe. That Victor couldn’t hurt you again.”
I scanned her frame, her t-shirt and arms stained with blood. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No.” She swallowed, then shook her head. “But…”
“What is it?”
She hesitated, then lifted her eyes to mine.
I sensed whatever she was about to tell me would change everything.
“Sarah,” she whispered.
Everything inside me went still. “What about Sarah?”
Ariana drew in a trembling breath. “Victor didn’t kill her, Henry.”
“Who did?”
“No one.”
My world stuttered. Paused. Waited to fall apart.
“What are you saying?”
“Sarah’s alive.”