Page 51 of Veil of Secrets
We’re not playing anymore. Not really.
She’s letting me touch her without asking for anything in return.
I’m not rushing to take more.
The game’s changed.
Then the door slams open so hard the hinges groan.
Everything snaps.
She startles, just slightly—but doesn’t move away.
I turn fast, rising to my feet in one motion. She steps back just enough to give me space, hand going instinctively to her waistband like she’s reaching for a weapon she doesn’t carry.
The guy in the doorway stumbles in, wild-eyed, breathing hard. Gun in his right hand. Safety already off. He’s shaking, like he didn’t plan to make it this far.
“Drago!” he shouts, gun lifting.
Too slow.
My blade’s out before the barrel clears his hip.
I move through the space like I was built for it.
One step.
Two.
I slam the edge of the blade into the inside of his arm. Tendons split. The gun clatters to the floor.
He opens his mouth, probably to scream.
I bury the knife under his ribcage before he can make a sound.
He folds forward. I grab him by the neck, twist him to the side, and drive him into the stacked crates. The wood cracks beneath the weight. Bottles spill. Glitter puffs up like ash.
He gurgles once—then stops.
His body crumples.
Blood pools fast. It leaks under the bottom row of crates. The color’s too bright under the buzzing light.
My hand’s soaked.
I look up.
She’s still standing in the middle of the room.
Her mask is half-shifted, hanging crooked across her nose. One strap’s pulled loose from the motion, but she hasn’t touched it.
Her shirt’s still off.
My fingerprints are on her skin.
But she doesn’t step back.
Not from the blood.
