Page 23 of Buried in Blood
“Harmony,” I say, and she stiffens.
“Go inside. Get me a water.”
She hesitates. “What kind?”
“Surprise me,” I say with a grin.
She gets out fast, almost running. She thinks it’s about the water. It’s not.
I unlock my phone and open a secure folder. I scroll through the videos—old surveillance, storage room clips, auction footage—until I find the one I’m looking for.
Destiny.
Hair curled. Makeup running. Eyes swollen.
She’s in a white dress, seated in a chair, back arched from the tension in her bound arms. She looks like she wants to die. Fucking beautiful.
She never did go for very much. Pretty, yes. But forgettable. The sweet ones always are.
I watch the video in silence. Not because I care.
Because I want to remember exactly what I’m about to be “killed” for. I laugh to myself at the thought. I’ll never fucking die.
Harmony gets back in the car and hands me a bottle of water. It’s lukewarm. Generic brand. Plastic already bending from the heat of her hands.
“You didn’t run,” I say as I twist the cap open.
She doesn’t answer.
I sip the water and look out the windshield at nothing in particular.
“Maybe I’ll let you see him break,” I whisper. “Maybe I’ll let you hear him scream when he finds out what I did to her. Maybe then you’ll finally understand why I am the way I am.”
I chuckle and start the car.
Because that was just step one.
* * *
Sunday, 8:00 P.M.
They’re all here.
The cloaks. The fire. The silence.
I can feel it before I see it—the fear. It lingers in the trees, curling between the strength of the wind, pressing against the napes of every neck in this fucking clearing.
Myclearing.
The firewood crackles like bones under pressure. The flames kiss the base of the stone altar, licking higher, hungrier, like they know what’s coming. And oh, it’s coming.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The scent of gasoline, smoke, and sweat fills my lungs. It’s divine. Cleansing.
I open my eyes to the crowd. They circle like shadows. Black cloaks, hoods up, faces bowed.
My followers. My sheep. My wolves in disguise. They don’t speak. They know better. Only I speak here. Only I decide who lives and who burns.
I raise my hand, and two of them drag her out.
