Page 70 of Devil in Disguise

Turning me toward him, Dante grabbed my head and whispered, “Danny?”

The instant my eyes locked with his chilling, obsidian orbs, a tidal wave of memory crashed over me. The acrid tang of blood filled my nostrils, as the phantom taste of copper and terror coated my tongue. The insidious rasp of her sadistic voice, amplified a thousandfold, echoed in my skull, a symphony of dread. My world dissolved into a vortex of suffocating fear, and the air itself seized in my throat, a vise around my lungs, stealing the very breath from my body.

This wasn’t just a memory. It was a visceral, agonizing re-enactment, almost like the phantom limb pain of the soul. Dante’s eyes, usually my refuge, now felt like an anchor that dragged me deeper into the abyss.

I wanted to look away, but I was transfixed, drowning in my failure.

The memory, now unleashed, consumed me.

Her face, once vague, sharpened into focus.

A face I had sworn to protect.

Moira. And I sacrificed her to save my life. I had made a choice, a choice that condemned her to a fate I couldn’t bear to think about.

The shower’s steam enveloped me, a physical manifestation of the guilt clouding my mind. I barely felt Dante’s hands on my shoulders, his touch a lifeline back to reality. But I didn’t want reality. I wanted oblivion. I wanted to erase the memory of my shame as I turned my back on her, leaving her to face a horror I had promised to shield her from.

The water ran cold, a stark contrast to the burning shame that engulfed me.

Dante’s voice, now urgent, broke through my tormented silence. “Talk to me, Danny. What happened?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

How could I explain the unforgivable?

“Shit,” he cursed, leaving me in the shower to drown in my guilt as I crumpled to the floor, the icy tiles biting into my skin. My head throbbed, a relentless hammer against the inside of my skull, each blow echoing the brutal symphony of memories. Her face—that vile cunt’s face, sharp and cruel, etched with a chilling satisfaction—swam before my eyes. The acrid tang of fear, the metallic taste of blood, the phantom press of her fingers on my throat... it all flooded back in a nauseating tide of torment. The guttural rasp of her sadistic laughter, the sickening crack of bone, the chilling whisper of her veiled threats—they weren’t just sounds, they were physical sensations, branding themselves into my soul. Each agonizing detail, each unspeakable act, replayed in excruciating clarity, a grotesque film loop stuck on repeat within the confines of my shattered mind.

Then, a scream tore from me, raw and ragged, a desperate, animalistic cry that clawed its way out from the deepest, darkest recesses of my being. It was a scream born of suppressed agony, a scream that begged for release, a scream that echoed the hollow emptiness left behind by her depravity.

“Get here as fast as you can, Haizley, and bring Bane. Make sure Nav is with you and tell him to bring a fucking computer. Yes, I know, but he’s going to need it!”

As I cradled my head in my hands, the shower now a freezing torrent, I felt Dante’s arms wrap around me, his embrace a feeble attempt to offer solace. The scream still echoed in my mind, a raw, exposed nerve that throbbed with each beat of my heart. I knew I had to tell him to unburden myself of the weight that was crushing me.

With a shaking voice, I whispered, “I chose my life over hers.”

Dante’s arms tightened around me, his breath warm on my ear as he murmured, “We’ll fix this, Danny. We’ll find her and make it right.”

But as I stood there, shivering, the image of her terrified face haunted me, and I knew it was already too late.

The choice I had made, the bargain I had struck, had sealed her fate.

The only question now was, could I live with the consequences?

I didn’t know how long I sat on the couch, holding my head as I waited, going over everything as my mind swirled with what I had done. Why did I ever think I could beat her? I should have known she was smarter, stronger, viler than anything I’d ever known.

And God help me, she showed me exactly what she could do.

She was the most sinister, vindictive, hateful woman on the fucking planet.

Dante paced the room, every few seconds looking out the window.

They couldn’t help. No one could.

I did this. It was my fault; all because I wanted to end this stupid fucking war. All because some bitch had a fucking axe to grind over something that happened long before she was even born. The rage I witnessed in her soulless, fathomless eyes was disturbing. It was as if the woman didn’t even have a fucking soul. And her laughter.

Oh God, her laughter could make the hardest of men cower in fear.

Gravel crunched, a death rattle in the suffocating stillness, and Dante was a blur, throwing the door open with a violence that splintered the already fragile frame. The air was heavy and suffocating, thick with the cloying smell of dust and a palpable sense of fear. The screech of tires, a banshee wail, followed by the metallic clang of slamming car doors, ripped through the silence.

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