And then he’s gone, slamming the door behind him. I leap off the bed and bolt to the bathroom to assess the damage. My cheek will bruise. The inside of my mouth is cut, but it’s nothing too bad. It could have gone much worse.
I return to the bedroom to wait and listen for the commotion marking when David leaves and the Coliseum empties. Only then do I snap into action. I dart to the dresser, my hand shaking as I power up the burner phone.
Thomas: It’s a go
Thank God.
Time to leave.
I grab the thumb drive and the tactical knife. Drop the items on the bed. I tug on black utility pants and a gray T-shirt. A black hoodie completes the outfit that will, hopefully, blend me into the dark background. After hauling the backpack from the closet, I sling my arms through the straps and settle the weight on my back.
Fear and anticipation collide as I slide my wedding band set off my finger. I place the jewelry on the dresser, tempted to leave a note. Decide against it and step back. My hand is lighter without the weight. I admire the sight. This says it all. It’s a wordless and elegantfuck youto a cruel man who failed to buy my affection and respect.
I spin on the heel of my black running shoes and, with the clock ticking, take one last fortifying breath before quitting the room. My heart hammers a heavy beat and my limbs feel numb as I move through the quiet house. Without the bustle of the staff, the mansion is eerie and foreboding despite its Mediterranean warmth. I expect David to jump out from behind a piece of furniture or shoot out from around a corner. At the very least, I’m waiting for the distinctive sound of the cock of a weapon behind me because when David’s away, I’m not the only one in the house. The controlling bastard has a guard patrol throughout the night. For my protection.
Everything is for my protection.
Except, it’s not.
It’s all about control.
David has to control every aspect of my life. And that’s why I’m playing dodge-the-guard on my way to the security room. We can’t kill David if we can’t get to him. And to get to him, we have to isolate him. To isolate him, we have to annihilate everyone around him.
A wave of relief rolls over me when I reach the command center. The room is dark and simple, with a desk and a single computer that runs the entire house. From here, I can also access Gomorrah’s footage—including the Coliseum’s. I don’t tamper with the security system lest I alert the on-duty guard. What I want is a copy of the Coliseum’s activity from the last month. That’s all I need to bring Marion County’s elite to its knees.
To rob David’s precious friends of their power.
I slip the thumb drive from my pocket and slide it into the USB port of the computer. My palms are sweaty, and my hands are shaking, but I stay focused as I move the mouse across the screen and click on the actions needed to prompt the download.
Each second is an eternity, and every sound is the guard returning to his post as the information transfers to the drive.Deep breath in. Deep breath out.A few more seconds. That’s all I need. A few more seconds to ruin a man who destroyed so many innocent lives. And then it’s done. Transfer complete. I eject the thumb drive. Pull it from the port. Tuck it into my pocket, and I tear out of the room.
I got you, asshole.
I creep toward the back door, sweating beneath the hoodie. Now it’s a wait for the guard’s relief to come. A glance at my watch tells me I have less than three minutes. Everything here runs on a tight schedule, with zero tolerance for tardiness or insubordination.
Pulse racing and head spinning, I slide down the wall and lean against the heavy backpack. I think about what waits for me in Mayhem. Nothing but bad memories, mostly. Wraith has an entire life there. And he’ll go back to it, and I’ll be an interloper. Someone who belongs nowhere, least of all in the Unholy’s world.
Nerves have me rechecking my watch. Two more minutes. Wraith is probably on the road heading toward the crematorium. God, if any of his fights had gone differently, David would have burned him to ash in that place. Would have scattered his remains to the wind. Same as the fallen fighters who’d died before him. He would have vanished, and no one, not even me, would have known what happened to him.
Not doing this. Not dwelling on thewould haves.
I nearly jump clean out of my skin at the chirp of the alarm. Shift change. The system’s disarmed. That’s my signal. I pull up my hood and shoot to my feet. Haul open the back door. Close it behind me to hide my exit from the house. And I’m off running. My feet fly over the pavement. The night air is hot and sticky as I heave it into my lungs. The heavy pack slaps against my back, and I swear, the imaginary brush of every guard’s fingers across the nape of my neck is a special brand of torment as I race for the secret, secondary entrance.
Behind me, farther down the courtyard, Gomorrah is alive with activity. Guests file out of the Coliseum and vehicles roar to life. Dogs are barking, and orders are issued. But it seems as if it’s happening a thousand miles away as I race toward freedom.
Momentum drives me forward and I smack into the gate, my body vibrating with epinephrine. My fingers tremble as I punch in the security code. David believes he’s crafty, but once I got to know him, I realized he’s not as complex as he thinks. It was easy to decipher his password. All I had to do was figure out what he loved most.
Gomorrah.
He told me the date he broke ground on his kingdom.
Boom.
I had his security code.
The lock surrenders its hold, and the door pops open. I squeeze through and relock it before I’m back on the move, racing through Ocala National Forest. I dart around towering pines. Mud sucks at my shoes. Branches smack me and snag my hair. The dark doesn’t slow my progress, but when I hear the crunch of foliage behind me, I skid to a stop. Whirl. Palm the knife, and…
Nothing.
