Page 47 of Buried in Blood

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“Goodnight, little solider,” I whisper.

I secure the trapdoor, locking it to keep my stupid brother out.

Idrag him back down the tunnel—one hand locked on his collar, the other flipping a switch that’ll lock the compound down for thirty minutes exactly. Enough time to vanish. Enough time to kill.

I don’t take him to the cages.

No.

I take him to the old cellar—the one no one uses anymore. Where the floors still smell like chemicals and bone.

I chain him to the chair. Not because he’ll try to run.

But because I want him to wonder why I haven’t killed him yet.

I want him to sweat.

When he starts to wake, I sit in front of him.

Quiet.

Watching.

He blinks. Head lolling. “What the—”

“You fell for it,” I say calmly.

His eyes go wide. “Lucien—”

“Is still outside. Or dead. I’m not sure yet.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” I reach into my coat and pull out a red thread—one of Harmony’s ribbons.

I let it flutter to the floor between us.

Dante lunges—only to be yanked back by the chains.

I grin.

“You made this personal,” I whisper. “So now… I’ll make it art.”

He doesn’t respond.

But I see the panic blooming behind his eyes.

And just like that, the game resets.

Checkmate’s coming.

But first—I’ll let him watch every piece fall.

I get a call on the radio that Lucien retreated. Fucking pussy.

Letting your main man get captured.

Fucking pathetic. He’s no brother of mine.

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