Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
I was torn between the instinct to flee and the moral dilemma of leaving him in this wounded state. I wasn’t a killer; at least, I hadn’t been before tonight. Every second that ticked by was another droplet of blood that stained the snow. The scent of iron and fear mingled and rose wafted on the breeze.
Liam was known and celebrated as a brother, a son, and a star athlete. He was the kind of person who attracted admiration and affection with ease.
To most, he was a beacon of the community people felt inherently drawn to. I didn't harbor hatred for him; nor did his affair carve the deep scars of betrayal into me. If anything, there was a stark indifference, a detachment from the emotional turmoil cheating usually brought.
Standing there, looking at him, vulnerable and wounded, I understood this was not about him, any shared history, or lingering connection between us. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, a stand-in for what could have been any faceless participant in Lucian's dark orchestration.
It was a cruel twist of fate, and in that moment, my conscience wrestled with the decision before me.
It came down to simple, undeniable humanity that I felt being altered with my every breath.
As I debated what to do, a figure emerged from the darkness behind me so quietly I didn’t even hear him coming. Lucian.
Two other masked figures ascended the stairs, their approach methodical and unrelenting. Liam, his hysteria mounting, began to plead before his realization dawned. A bitter understanding reflected in his eyes as he looked up at us brokenly. “It's you, isn't it? You sick fuck!” he cried out, his voice breaking.
Lucian responded with a mocking tone as he descended the stairs, reaching down to grip Liam's partially severed shoulder right where the axe had bitten into flesh. Liam screamed in pure anguish and tried to get away.
Lucian applied more pressure, digging directly into the sinewy tendons and muscles, causing more blood to gush and Liam’s eyes to roll back as he passed out.
“Get him loaded up," he commanded the others, who promptly obeyed, hauling Liam's limp form through the snow toward the parking lot.
“What are you going to do with him?” I demanded.
Fear for Liam and for myself vied for dominance within me as I tried to ignore what I had just done.
“You'll find out soon enough,” he replied casually. “It's time for us to leave.”
I hesitated, my hand tightening on the axe handle, a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. Lucian laughed and closed the distance between us, his larger frame towering over mine as he came back up the stairs. “You won't hurt me, Winter,” he said confidently, almost tenderly.
“I've lived inside your head just as much as you've consumed every single crevice of mine.” With a swift, sure movement, he took the axe from my grasp and tossed it aside.
“I'll go,” I found myself saying as I took a few steps back, “but only if Mara is safe.”
He seemed to contemplate something before nodding once. “I’ll show you she's still breathing.” He guided me through the door, away from the cold and the bloodstained snow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Still behind the anonymity of his mask, Lucian ushered me down the corridor, the silence between us punctuated by our footsteps.
“Who's in the janitor's closet?” I asked, unable to quell the dread that rose with each step we took.
“The janitor. Collateral damage, like the guards,” he said simply, as though that explained everything. Then his tone shifted and grew colder. “Matthew wasn't collateral, though. He's been on my list for quite some time.”
I didn’t dare ask where the rest of him was, or if he was still alive. I had a feeling that showing interest in any man, no matter how innocent, would bestow them a brutal death sentence. I stole a glance at Lucian. Clad in all black, his mask was a stark contrast to the dimly lit hallway, a faceless sentinel of this dark new reality.
We reached the elevators, and he pressed the call button. “I'm taking you to see your friend,” he explained at my questioning gaze as the doors slid open.
I stepped inside beside him, the confined space amplifying the tension. "She’s okay?” I had to know.
“For now,” he responded, and the casualness of his reply made my stomach sink.
The elevator ascended in a hum of machinery, carrying us towards an uncertain reunion. As we passed Regina's room, I was vividly reminded of what happened to her. She hadn’t deserved that. None of the people who lost their lives tonight had.
“Was Regina collateral damage too?”
“She was weak and lacked common sense. A means to an end.” He dispassionately deemed her as nothing more than a disposable tool, a chilling reduction of a human life to nothing more than a resource for him to exploit.