Page 112 of Scarred in Silence
Dante presses the knife to his cheekbone. “No. You just delivered her.”
“It was my job!” Silas shouts.
“And you said yes,” I murmur.
He turns toward me, one eye pleading. “I was loyal—”
The knife cuts deep, but I don’t focus on that.
I can’t stop picturing my little Siren.
What is she doing right now? Did she use the gun?
Panic settles in my bones. I need to see her. Now. I stand and exit, leaving them to finish what they’ve started. Dante will update me as soon as the bastard is dead.
* * *
The road stretches endlessly beneath my tires, but not a fucking second passes fast enough.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other gripping my thigh so tight I can feel the nail marks through my jeans. Every turn of thehighway feels like a heartbeat I’m about to miss. My jaw’s clenched so tight it’s sending a spike of pain through my temple. I deserve it.
I shouldn’t have left her.
Not like that. Not after giving her the gun. Not after watching her press it to her lips with a silence that looked too much like peace.
Then today, she was nearly on the verge of a mental breakdown. Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.
The compound is behind me. Dante’s probably already disposing of the body. There’s blood under my nails. My shirt’s still damp with sweat from watching a man die slowly. But that isn’t what has my hands shaking on the wheel.
It’s her.
Astra. My Siren. My curse.
I told her the gun was a way out. I told her it was a choice. I didn’t expect her to believe me.
And now I can’t breathe.
The GPS says I have seventy-two miles to go. I shut it off. I could drive this road blindfolded. I’m not worried about the route—I’m worried I’m already too fucking late.
The rain starts halfway through the mountain range. Just a mist at first. Then a downpour. Wipers squeal across the windshield as lightning flashes somewhere far off.
Astra hates storms.
Used to tell me they made her feel like the sky was breaking open and showing her how loud the world could be when it actually cared.
I grip the steering wheel tightly.
I don’t deserve her silence. I don’t deserve her at all. But I need her to be alive.
Please, be alive.
By the time I pull into the long gravel drive, the sun’s completely gone. The house looms ahead—dark, hulking, still. I cut the engine, let the silence crash over me. It takes me five full seconds to will my legs to move.
My boots hit the ground like I’m walking through fucking mud.
The front door creaks open without resistance. The lights are low, a single lamp glowing in the living room. Her blanket is still draped over the back of the couch.
My heart skips.
