Page 67 of No Control

This fucker just hit my dog.

I shove myself back, and my hand lands on the pistol. I pick it up just as the masked man lunges toward me.

“Lydia!” I hear Henry’s voice but it’s too late.

I pull the trigger.

A gunshot explodes in the silence, and a splatter of warm liquid covers my face. The body drops, landing on my stomach. I hear a rush of footsteps, but the ringing in my ears drowns it out.

I shut my eyes and take a breath through my nose, afraid to part my lips. The sensation of warm, moist air tickles my forehead and I open my eyes, gazing up at the muzzle of Duke. And the sight is instantly comforting.

“What the hell happened?” Henry groans from the other side of me. With a shove, he pushes the body off me. I shift my gaze to those familiar icy irises, filled with panic and rage. I lift the pistol from the floor and hold it out to him.

“Here,” I choke out in a near whisper. “This is yours.”

He nods, taking it from my hands. Even in the darkness, I can make out his expression. Henry’s jaw is tense, his eyes glistening—but I don’t think it’s tears, unless rage causes that sort of reaction from him. His hand brushes my sticky hair from my face, and then slowly moves around my face and neck, as if he’s checking for injuries.

“If you think I’m bad, you should see the other guy.” I try to laugh, but nothing comes out.

Henry doesn’t even react to my poorly attempted coping mechanism. I catch my breath, wincing as he lifts me upward. My head spins for reasons I don’t understand, and he mumbles something under his breath that I don’t hear.

“What’s on that?” I point to the rag on the floor. My body begins to tremble, but I do my best to ignore it.

Henry glances down at the material. “Probably just chloroform.” His voice wavers as he picks it up and tosses it to the side. “Everyone thinks it’s some magical way to knock someone out, but most of the time it does nothing—unless they get a lot. And then it can affect the nervous system, lungs, and even kill someone.”

I start to shiver more violently as Henry pulls me into his arms. “I don’t know what’s happening,” I say through chattering teeth. My gaze shifts toward the body, and just as my eyes take in the shadow, the lights kick on. I gasp.

The man in the light is even more gruesome once my eyes adjust. His mask is black with crimson X’s over the eyes. There's a massive hole in his throat. Blood pools beneath him, as well as being splattered all over everything close to me—including Duke, who’s watching the two of us intently.

And now I just feel…cold.

twenty-seven

Henry

I could murder Jude for letting this happen, but as I glance over to his unconscious body, knocked out from a blow to the back of the head, I grimace. I’ll deal with him later. Lydia clings to my chest, and her hands wrap up the front of my shirt in a fist. She’s getting me covered in blood.

And I don’t even care.

I angle my body so that she can’t see down the hallway, taking her straight to my room. My head is spinning. I don’t know why she had my gun. I don’t know why Jude didn’t sound the alarm system we have on our phones when something goes wrong. I’m lucky I saw the cameras disconnected.

And I’m lucky my girl is a fighter—and a good shot.

I let Duke into the bedroom, and while he got tossed, he’s just fine. Other than being worried about his person, of course.

“I am, too,” I tell him as I use my knee to open the bathroom door wider.

Lydia is still trembling in my arms. My mind threatens to bring back the trauma that started my career in killing—the feeling of a small, fragile girl shocked to the point they’re not mentally with me. Maybe Lydia isn’t the only reason I helped Carlson’s widow. Maybe it’s because I’ll never get rid of that night.

I sit down on the edge of the bathtub and start the water. For the longest time, I considered getting rid of it and adding more cabinets. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t. Turns out I did need it. While the bath is filling, I carry her to the shower. All of the blood needs to be rinsed off before I stick her in the tub.

No one likes to bathe in someone else’s blood.

Well, I can think of one exception. But now’s hardly the time for that.

“I’m going to undress you,” I murmur to her as I gently set her feet to the tile floor. She nods her head, and while leaning against me, she tugs at her T-shirt. I help her, lifting it over her head. My eyes drop to the holster tucked in the front of her denim shorts, and I want to ask.

But I don’t.

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