Page 161 of Buried in Blood
Not a tap. Not a question.
It’s a warning.
Then comes the bang.
Wood splinters. The door jumps in its frame, and I scream, scrambling backward. My hand flies to the gun, lifting it with both hands—shaking, slippery, useless fingers.
Another bang. The lock gives. The chain snaps.
The door crashes inward like the beginning of a nightmare, and I see him—
Damien. Framed by the broken doorway. Smiling.
Behind him, Reese.
I blink once. Twice.
Reese doesn’t move. He stands to the side, unreadable. Like this was always part of the plan.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
Damien’s eyes go wide with joy. He steps over the threshold, arms out like some unholy messiah returning to his temple.
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with reverence and rage. “You redecorated. Motel chic. Classy.”
I don’t lower the gun. Not this time.
He freezes when he sees the bed. The sheets are rumpled. The evidence—small, stupid things. A man’s shirt lies on the floor. The wrapper from the takeout Reese brought earlier.
My body stiffens at the reminder—we were never safe. I was never safe.
Damien stares at it all. And then—he laughs.
Full-bodied. Unhinged. Like something in him has cracked for good.
“Oh,” he says, dragging the word out like a purr. “You let someone fuck you in my bed.”
“It’s not your bed,” I whisper.
He steps forward.
I step back.
Gun still raised.
“Youletsomeone,” Damien growls, smile gone. “You moaned their name with my voice in your head.”
My arms tremble. My finger flinches on the trigger.
“Do it,” Damien dares. “Shoot me. Come on. You’re a big girl now, right? You want freedom? Take it.”
Reese doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just looks at me. He nods.
One small, quiet nod.
Do it.
My heart collapses in on itself.
