Chapter Thirty-Five #2
Kylo stalks forward. “Marco. What did I tell you about touching her?”
Marco never gets the chance to answer. Kylo tears him off me. Marco stumbles, cocks his gun, aims, and pulls the trigger. Kylo intercepts the bullets, sending them back into his skull point-blank, right between his eyes.
Marco’s body slumps. Kylo kicks him aside and drops beside me, cupping my face in both hands. His eyes frantically scan my injuries. “You’re bleeding. You need a healer.”
“Not now,” I insist. “I need to get Leo.”
I scan the wreckage.
There’s no trace of my twin.
Worse, neither Draven nor Blair are anywhere in sight.
The feeling is far too familiar. It’s the same dread I felt when I was projected into his ominous premonition.
“We’ll track him down,” Kylo says. “Come on.”
We weave through the ruins of the room, stepping over broken bodies and shards of glass. Up ahead, I spot Carter. He has his legs locked around a hunter’s neck, choking the life out of the man. He flips him over and lands cleanly as the body drops at his side.
I look away. I don’t want to watch anyone else die today.
“Have you seen Leo?” Kylo asks Carter.
Carter wipes blood from his face with the crook of his elbow. “I thought he was with Lia.”
“We were split up, and now I can’t find him,” I say.
Carter looks like he’s holding something back, his expression carefully guarded. “I’ll help you look for him, but we have to hurry. The longer we’re here, the more blood is shed.”
The three of us move quickly, sweeping the room as best we can. We dodge hunters, glass, and fallen bodies. Kylo and Carter take down anyone who comes too close to me, effectively keeping me out of the line of fire.
I’m struggling to walk now. The pain in my side has become excruciating, worsening with every step I take.
“Carter,” I say, turning to him, “can you heal—”
Something coils through the commotion like smoke threading through cracks.
I can’t see it, but it’s there—a vile, menacing presence searching for something.
Or someone.
His emotions hit first.
Corrosion, cruelty, a suffocating wave of hatred so thick it nearly chokes me.
The sensation leads me toward a corner of the room. At first, it looks like a solid wall, but as I get closer, the faint outline of a doorway appears.
Beyond the door lies an extension of the training room. It’s darker and colder than the main room. The glass in here is heavily tinted, and the light is dim, as if this space was never meant for anyone to see.
My nerves ignite. Every part of me goes still. Leo is here, slumped against Blair with her arm locked around him. She has a blade pressed against his throat.
“It’s about time you showed up.” Her smile is stretched wide, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.
Someone grabs my shoulder. The scent hits me first. It’s the same scent he wore the night he held me down while our mother was murdered.
Revulsion curdles in my belly.
“I wouldn’t try anything sneaky,” Draven whispers in my ear. “One wrong move and Blair will slit his jugular wide open.”
“Carter and I are right outside this door,” Kylo’s voice threads through our connection. “Stay calm.”
I want to fight. I want to lash out, but I force myself to remain motionless.
Kylo and Carter are waiting for their opening.
They’ll know when to strike.
“What do you want?” I ask, stalling.
“We’re here for you.”
The words come from someone else.
He steps out of the darkness, moving toward Blair. His black hair is slicked back, the long trench coat around his frame swaying near his ankles. His eyes glint with amusement, as if he’s already decided how this ends.
He stops beside Blair, one hand resting casually on her shoulder like they’ve rehearsed this.
“What a beautiful little family reunion,” Joaquin announces, glee dripping from every word.
I’m face to face with a sadist, lost in his own deranged production. The star and puppet master, orchestrating every moment with cruel precision.
A short, jagged laugh escapes Leo, devoid of amusement. “Family reunion? You tried to fucking murder us.” His lip curls in a sneer. “Dad.”
“Somehow, you survived,” Joaquin muses, serpentine eyes flashing as he cuts a glare at Draven. “My eldest has failed me. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”
Blair presses the blade into Leo’s throat. Blood beads along the wound as he thrashes, widening it.
“Stop hurting him! I’ll do whatever you say,” I plead. “Please. Leave him alone.”
Draven’s grip on me tightens until it’s painful. “Move again, and Blair will bury that knife deeper.”
“Let him go. I’m the one you’re after, aren’t I? Take me.”
Joaquin pinches my cheeks between his fingers. “You remind me of Rose.”
Leo lashes out, straining against Blair. “Don’t touch her.”
Joaquin turns and slaps him. The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to, boy.” His snarl is pure contempt. “Did your mother teach you nothing?”
He’s itching to kill him. I sense his desire pulsing beneath my skin.
Joaquin and Draven both vibrate with a sick hunger.
“Of course we want him dead,” Draven confirms, as if he is standing right inside my head.
“Why?” I ask. “Why are you doing this?”
Joaquin’s fingers trail along his black goatee, as if deciding how much truth I deserve. “You were both supposed to die in that fire,” he says casually, like he’s discussing a routine business transaction. “Quick. Easy. Painless. I couldn’t afford loose ends. No ties pulling me back to that life.”
He paces the small space. “You and Leo were collateral damage. Your deaths meant nothing to me.”
Collateral damage.
That’s what he reduced us to.
Reduced her to.
I ask the question that’s tormented me since that night. “Why did you murder your wife?”