Page 123 of The Diávolos: Part Two
As I walk to the entrance, I aim the rifle in front of me and peruse the area.
I step inside, the weight of my weapon adding tension to each of my movements. My eyes scan the room, senses alert.
The silence is thick, broken only by the faint sound of my breath.
Even though my gut tells me Angelica isn’t here anymore, I’m terrified of walking into a room and finding her injured—orworse. I swallow hard at the thought.
A mix of determination and anxiety makes me tighten my grip on the rifle.
After discovering more dead men on the first level, I head to the second floor to check the medical room. The room Angelica has been in for almost four days.
As I ascend the stairs, the creaking of each step reverberates through the stillness.
I can hear faint rustling coming from upstairs. I’m assuming it’s Grant, his light footsteps pacing across the floor.
I can’t be too sure, so I grasp the weapon tighter, the weight of it reassuring. Beads of sweat form on my forehead and palms.
I keep my eyes trained on the top of the stairs, but shadows begin to play tricks on my imagination and the air thickens with the anticipation of what I might find.
None of the options are best case scenarios.
If Angelica is not in the room, it means she could still be alive. But it also means that she’s been taken, that Philip got his hands on her, and she might not be alive for long.
I take my last step to the top of the staircase. The coast is clear, and I head toward the medical room.
When I get to the entrance to Grant’s office, I find the doctor pacing inside, the stress of the situation clearly plaguing him.
He spots me within seconds and his face drops, wide eyes darting around nervously. His trembling hands fidget, and a pallor drains color from his skin as he sees my rifle aimed straight at him.
“Evander,” he says with a nervous exhale. “I’m terribly sorry. I thought she’d be fine if I left for an hour. There were guards everywhere. I stationed two at her door. I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”
I don’t give him an immediate response, instead, lowering my weapon and walking around the room and hallway.
His nurse is lying dead on the floor. The guards are too.
Holy fuck.
I step toward the medical room, but Grant tries to stop me. “She’s not there. I checked.”
But I have to see for myself. I push the door open.
Angelica’s IV pole is on the floor, a small splatter of blood next to the needle that was in her skin. And I see red.
“Someone. Took. My. Fucking. Wife!” I roar, grabbing the pole off the floor and throwing it at the window, causing it to shatter.
I rush out of the room, my chest heaving against my motorcycle vest.
Dr. Joseph is gripped with panic, his facial expression tense. He backs away, raising his hand in a protective gesture.
Though I’m itching to hurt someone for this, for what it’s worth, it’s not the doctor’s fault. It’s mine for leaving Angelica’s side. I should’ve just taken her home in her medical gown.
I put the rifle down and grip my hair to try and relieve some of the tension building in my head.
The air feels heavy as my senses start to blur, a creeping darkness enveloping my visions.
This is all my fault. This is all my fault. This is all my fault.
I drop to my knees, my thoughts racing uncontrollably. If Angelica dies, it’ll all be my fault.
