Page 96 of Sinful Lies

Blood was still seeping from the gash on her head, soaking into my shirt, warm and slick against my skin.

The snow wasn’t helping—it clawed at my boots, dragging me down. Branches slapped at my arms and face, but I didn’t give a fuck.

Let the forest take its best fucking shot—I wasn’t stopping.

“Breathe,amore,” I whispered, my voice rough, cracking. “Keep breathing, goddamn it. Don’t make me drag your stubborn ass all the way back for nothing!”

Gunshots ripped through the trees again, closer this time.

I stumbled, and nearly went down, but forced myself forward, gripping her tighter.

Her head lolled against my shoulder.

“Shit,” I muttered, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Mi dispiace. I promise we’re almost there.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t stop, eyes locked on the faint glow of the hunting lodge ahead.

Then it came.

A gunshot, loud and vicious, ripped through the air behind me.

Pain.A brutal, fiery explosion to my leg.

It hit like a sledgehammer—white-hot, searing, and savage—driving me straight to my knees.

I collapsed, my leg giving way beneath me, the force of her weight dragging me down. The freezing snow bit into my skin as I slammed into the ground, a cold, sharp contrast to the burning agony ripping through my body.

My vision blurred, the world spinning. My breath came out in short, jagged gasps, the cold air stinging my lungs.

The lights of the lodge blurred, dimming behind the edges of my vision.

I sucked in a ragged breath, my arms locking tighter around her.

“No. No fucking way,” I groaned, forcing my head up, ignoring the searing burn radiating through me.

We were getting there.

Or I was dying here with her in my arms.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.”

?Charles M. Schulz

Jade

The ground beneath me shook like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, just a step away from plummeting into something far worse than death.

The darkness wasn’t the usual kind you get when you shut your eyes. It was worse—a thick fog of bad decisions, and something far too sinister.

The air felt like cement, crushing my chest, suffocating me with each breath. My head spun as if I’d been drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. The whispers—God, the whispers—clawed at my mind, twisted and dark, as if they knew every fear I ever had, and relished each one.

They didn’t even try to hide the poison in their voices.

I twisted my head, desperate to escape this nightmare, but it was like running in quicksand—every movement a struggle. The fog, thick as tar, pressed in on me, and I could feel eyes on me, unseen, but so damn present.

Then, out of nowhere, something warm pressed against my forehead, a stark contrast to the cold gnawing at my bones.

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