Chapter 39
KAYLA
My heartbeats skip to a fast crescendo as I park my car across the street from Cammie’s parents’ home. My knees jerk and the pulse in my throat beats faster, but I get to my feet anyway.
I can’t let the fear of what’s inside that house stop me. She needs me. I can’t let her die after everything she survived.
But life isn’t fair sometimes. It takes and takes until you have nothing left to give but the bones in your body. But even that isn’t enough.
For all the people who have endured what we have, I wish life offered us more. Yet it doesn’t. It never has.
The home stares back at me. Calling to me. Two stories. Plain white with navy shutters. Simple. No other homes in the near vicinity. Nothing but acres of fresh, green grass. No one to hear the horrors transpiring inside those walls.
With my knife clutched in my palm, I give my cell a final glance, but don’t yet see a message from Adriel.
I know he’s probably not checking his phone while at his meeting, and right now I wish he was.
I need him. There aren’t many people I trust in this world, and he has quickly become number one on that list. Maybe that’s foolish after he lied to me about his identity, but in the end, does it even matter?
He did it because he had to, and he spent his days making sure I was safe.
Who has ever looked out for me that way except my friends and my parents? No one.
Coming here alone may cost me everything, though. Him. A future we could have. But I refuse to be the girl I once was. Scared of my own shadow. The life I had while being the Bianchi whore has changed me.
If I’m honest, I changed the moment Elsie ran off into Michael’s car.
When they beat me and raped me to make me talk, when they held me in a cage for days without any food and only just enough water to survive.
But I didn’t talk. I think that’s when something truly shifted inside me and I became part of the woman I am today.
I’d do anything for the people I care about, and that includes Cammie now.
On the way here, I sent Michael a message about where I was going. I wasn’t going to, but in the end, I thought the more people who knew where I was, the better. I’m not an idiot. I know I can only do so much by myself.
Unfortunately, though, he never responded. Which is unlike him…
I thought maybe I should text Elsie too, but thought better of it. She’d worry and stress. I don’t want that. She’s done enough worrying about me.
I can do this. I have a plan. Maybe a stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.
I figure if I can offer the killer something he may want more in exchange for Cammie, then I can buy us some time until someone shows up to help. Maybe the killer will even let Cammie go.
I guess we’ll find out.
With a heaviness in my throat, I cross the street and slowly reach the door. The pressure in my chest increases, my pulse skipping and unsteady.
Before I even turn the knob, I know it’s already open. It creaks as I push it further, reeling as the sweet, metallic odor hits my nostrils almost immediately. My eyes widen and fear grips my throat.
I know that smell well.
Blood.
And a lot of it.
Terror powers through my veins, and my pulse pumps furiously. Every inch of me trembles as I cross the threshold, unsure if she’s already dead. If it’s her blood I’m smelling. I want to call out for her, yet I don’t know if that would alert Dr. Collins.
As soon as I step further inside, I see someone’s bare foot on the ground. A woman’s foot.
“Cammie!” I call out, rushing for her, unable to stop myself from caring if he’s about to jump out and kill me. “Nonono!”
My knees hit the ground as soon as I’m near her, and when I look at that blank expression staring back at me, her back covered in blood, I realize it’s not Cammie at all. She’s older. Her mother? Oh, God!
“Cammie, where are you?” I whisper-shout, not hearing anything.
Not footsteps. Nor anyone’s cry.
Dread that she’s gone, that I’m too late, fills me with urgent despair.
She can’t be dead! He must pay for what he’s done!
I scramble on my shaky feet and plod down the foyer, and when I enter the living room…
“Cammie!” I shout, rushing for her, closing the knife and stuffing it back in my pocket.
She’s lying in the corner, blood pooled around her, two more bodies not too far from where she is.
That must be her little brother and father. A fucking massacre. He killed them all and left!
“Oh God, Cammie. No!” I sob, sinking to the ground and lifting her body into my lap.
Rocking her, I cry, the blood from her shirt penetrating mine.
“I—I was too late,” I bawl. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”
Fingers reaching for her neck, I pray that there’s a chance that she’s still in there somewhere.
“Please! You have to be okay!” Tears slip down my cheeks just as two fingers press into the side of her throat.
I gasp, a cold shudder of relief flailing over me when I feel the pulse there.
“Thank God!” I hold her and sob. “You’ll be okay.” My breaths come in whimpering pants. “I’m gonna call an ambulance.”
Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone, and when I start to dial, her hand whips out, fingers wrapping around my wrist.
Her eyes pop open.
With a stunned gaze, my mouth starts to move, but no sound comes out.
It takes a moment for my mind and my body to catch up.
“C-C-Cammie!” I breathe out. “You’re…you’re okay.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” She grins, her grin cold as she flips me down onto the floor, settling on top of me. “But unfortunately for you, you’re not.”
Then, she’s pointing a gun at my throat.
And shoots.