My cheeks are wet with tears, but I’m shaking too much to move, so I just stay on my knees and cry, unsure of what to do. Unsure of where all of these feelings should go. I’m breaking in half, and for a second I wonder if it’s possible to die from heartache. My chest aches, my throat burns, and the smell of blood is all around me–
“There you are,” someone says, and I jump up, startled. Spinning around, I see a man in a suit watching me with narrowed eyes. His hands are covered in blood, and I see a gun sticking out of the waistband of his trousers.
He killed them.
He killed my parents.
He killed Helga.
He killed Bruno.
“I’ve been looking for you, Ms. Banks. Please follow me and I’ll escort you away from the crime scene–”
I growl as I rush forward, shoving him against the doorframe with all of my strength. To my surprise, he falls backward with a startled expression. The sound of his skull cracking against the wood paneling should be nauseating, but knowing I canhurthim feels so good. I drag my nails down the sides of his neck, drawing blood as I scream. He’s so much bigger than me, but my rage is all-encompassing.
He killed them.
He killed them.
He killed them.
I’m crying and screaming when his hands grip my wrists and drag them down, away from his neck. I kick and thrash against him but someone pulls me away.
“Calm down,” another man says, wrapping his arms around me.
I twist and shove my elbow into his ribs, but he preempts my move and holds me tighter.
“What happened?” a third man asks, his heavy footsteps causing my pulse to quicken.
“She woke up and walked in on us,” the first man says. “Ran out of the room, and when I was calling cleanup, she came back in and started freaking out.”
“Fuck,” the second guy says, his hands flexing as they pull my flailing body even tighter.
“Who are you?” I scream.
The man behind me chuckles. “Your worst nightmare.”
“That’s not an answer!”
He laughs some more, as if this is the funniest thing in the world. “I am Lord Alaric Cross.”
Lord? He’s a Lord?
And where have I heard that name before?
“Just do it,” the third man says. “No witnesses.”
I fight harder, bucking against the man that holds me, but a hand comes to my mouth before I can scream.
I gnaw at his flesh, trying to bite him as my legs thrash and kick.
“Deep breath,” the man holding me growls. “It’ll hurt more if you fight it.”
My eyes go wide and I try to shake my head and scream as something pinches me in my neck–a sharp prick that makes my eyes water.
“What’d you give her?”
“Some pentobarbital and my own cocktail of other things to make it painless,” the man murmurs. “Ten minutes to death, give or take.”
