Page 97 of The Woman in the Hollow
I cried out, falling backward into the creepy serial killer prop, tripping over the cement brick holding him in place, and going down hard on my knees.
Pain shot up my knees as I scrambled forward toward the door.
I shot up to my feet, threw open the door, and flew out toward the shop.
I didn’t waste time going around it toward the door.
I lifted my arms and slammed my fists into the glass over and over.
Dante and Dom’s heads whipped over.
They didn’t pause.
They turned and ran.
By the time they were around the building, they each had a gun in their hands.
I didn’t wait; I ran back toward the haunted house and ripped open the door.
“Stay here,” Dante demanded as he and Domenico rushed inside.
I saw the guards closing in.
The sight of them, knowing what I knew about the disloyalty in the ranks, they filled me with dread.
Not caring about the command, I rushed inside, flicked on the lights, and ran forward.
Only to freeze at the sight in front of me.
Blood.
Bloodeverywhere.
Not the too-red stage blood kind, either. It was darker, thicker, coating the props, the walls, the floor. And completely covering Ant’s arms and hands. Judging by the way his blackshirt was wet and clinging, I imagined the blood was saturating that as well.
My attacker?
He was dead on the floor in a pool of his blood.
“Fuck,” Dante said when Domenico nodded toward me.
The man was dead.
Ant had killed him.
For me.
I was every bit as entrenched in mafia business as the others.
I should have felt shock, horror, or fear.
What I felt instead was a deep sort of rightness.
As sick as that was.
Because I wasn’t an outsider anymore.
I belonged.
