Page 139 of Buried in Blood
He grits his teeth, pressing a hand against his thigh. “I’m fine. It’s not deep.”
A second explosion goes off farther back—probably the kitchen. This one is smaller, more controlled, but it still knocks the breath from our lungs.
I shove myself upright. My legs are screaming. The smoke is thick, making it hard to breathe.
All around us, it’s blood and lace.
I see what’s left of the cake table, flipped and burning.
A child’s shoe.
A severed hand still wearing a wedding band.
And I know exactly who did this.
Damien.
This wasn’t just a message.
It was a massacre.
A punishment.
A warning.
A fucking declaration of war.
I turn back to Astra. Her cheek is cut, her dress scorched at the hem. But she’s alive. Breathing. Shaking, but not broken.
And that’s when the numbness fades.
That’s when the rage sets in.
“You’re safe,” I whisper to her, even though I’m not sure I believe it. “I’ve got you.”
Because I do.
And I’m going to burn Damien’s world for this.
Even if I have to start with my own blood.
“Dante, get them out of here. I need to save the guests.”
He nods, tossing me his gun.
This time.
I won’t fucking miss.
* * *
The smoke is thicker now.
But I go back in anyway.
I’m already running toward the wreckage. Toward what’s left of the reception hall. Toward the blood and fire and silence that follows a scream too loud for the body to sustain.
Bodies litter the grass like fallen leaves.
