Page 145 of Buried in Blood
“I want every hallway, every contact, every streetlight between here and the fucking coast checked. I want her photo sent to our men in New Mexico. I want her name whispered in every strip club, dive bar, and underground medical clinic she might crawl into.”
I lean closer, gripping the back of his chair.
“And if you find someone who’s seen her?”
He nods. “They won’t see anything else again.”
“Good.”
I shove away, pacing like a caged wolf. “She was mine. My greatest creation. The perfect weapon. And shebetrayedme for what?Lucien?Reese?” I turn sharply to glare at him. “Was ityou?”
Reese doesn’t flinch. “No.”
“Because she kissed you,” I growl. “In the dressing room. I know. Iknow.”
Heswallows hard but doesn’t deny it.
I let the silence stretch until it threatens to break us both.
“Find her,” I repeat. “I don’t care how long it takes. Burn the city. Salt the fucking ground. But bring her back to me.”
“And when I do?”
I smile.
A slow, wicked thing made of ash and rot.
“When you do, I’ll show her what true obedience feels like.”
41
Harmony
The door clicks shut behind me.
One lock.
Two.
Three.
My fingers tremble as I slide the chain into place, the metal scraping against itself like a warning. My back presses against the door, and I stand there, breathing too loudly in a room too quiet.
The motel is cheap. Remote. The kind of place where people disappear and no one asks why.
Dante found it.
No—hechoseit. Plugged it into his phone with steady fingers while I shook in the backseat like a leaf being pried from its branch. I don’t know what name he used to check me in. I didn’t ask. I couldn’t. My voice was broken glass by then, too sharp to use.
Now I’m here.
Alone.
Alive.
And I don’t know what to do with either of those things.
The room smells like old bleach and motel soap. The comforter is thin and scratchy, patterned with paisley and probably stained with stories I don’t want to imagine. A humming mini fridge rests in the corner like a dying animal, and the walls are a sickly shade of tan.
