43
The nurse screamed again, and my stomach twisted with fear, a cold knot tightening in my chest. My heart was pounding as I leveled the gun at the door, my trembling fingers barely keeping it steady. I wasn’t sure if I could face what—or who—might come next. But there was no time to decide.
With the gun pointed and ready, I inched closer to the nurse, holding out my free hand. My voice was low, an attempt at calm that I didn’t feel.
“Come on,” I whispered, my words barely audible over the rain hammering the cabin.
Outside, the storm raged on, relentless. Inside, the room was draped in shadows, the faint light from the windows barely enough to show us the way. I could see her face clearly, though—her wide, tear-soaked eyes, her trembling lips pressed tightly against the palm of her hand to muffle her sobs.
Reluctantly, she slid her cold, clammy hand into mine. She was shaking, her fear palpable, her breaths uneven as if she might collapse at any moment.
“Shh,” I murmured, a weak attempt to soothe her as her gaze shifted to the man’s corpse on the floor.
The blood was everywhere now, a thick, dark pool that crept outward in slow, viscous tendrils. The nurse’s eyes lingered on his crumpled body, her face twisting in horror as she stepped gingerly over the lifeless form. I forced myself forward, stepping through the warm, sticky mess. It clung to my bare feet like some grotesque reminder of what I’d done.
Her footsteps dragged softly against the wooden floor behind me, and I squeezed her hand, trying to offer some semblance of reassurance. But my own fear weighed heavily on me, a suffocating presence in my chest. She shouldn’t have been here. We had dragged her into this—Dominic and I. If anything happened to her, the guilt would crush me.
The nurse’s sobs grew softer, her breath hitching as we approached the door. My heart thundered, my chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. I wasn’t the brave girl I used to be, Daddy’s little soldier with perfect aim and a steady hand. Those days were long gone, buried beneath years of distance and denial. But now, I had no choice. I had to act like I still had that boldness in me, for her sake and for Dominic’s.
Dominic. The thought of him brought a fresh wave of dread crashing over me. I couldn’t shake the image of him lying in a pool of his own blood, his body crumpled and lifeless, his piercing eyes staring blankly into nothingness.
I clenched my jaw and reached for the door, the gun trembling in my grip as I twisted the knob. My breath hitched, and I began counting down in my head. Five. Four. Three. Two…
One.
I yanked the door open and staggered back, nearly colliding with the nurse. My hand jerked the gun up, bracing for an attack—but nothing came. The entryway was empty. The rain hammered the porch, a steady drumbeat against the storm-battered cabin.
I exhaled shakily and stepped into the living room.
The sight hit me like a blow to the chest. Blood soaked the floorboards, a slick, gleaming pool that glimmered faintly in the weak light. A body lay sprawled in the center of it, motionless and grotesque.
It was a man, his gun still clutched in one lifeless hand. His eyes stared upwards, wide and vacant, but the rest of his head… wasn’t there. A massive wound had blown apart the back of his skull, leaving blood, bone, and brain matter splattered across the floor and walls. Strings of gore clung to what was left of his hair.
The bile rose in my throat, bitter and burning, and I swallowed hard to keep it down. Next to me, the nurse made a strangled sound, her trembling hand clamping over her mouth as she stumbled backward. Her wide eyes darted to me, silently begging for answers I didn’t have.
I forced myself to look away from the carnage, my gun steady despite the tremor in my fingers. Two bodies now. One in the bedroom. One here.
Was that all of them? Had Vaughn only sent two?
The living room was eerily silent except for the steady drumming of rain on the roof. My breathing felt deafening in the oppressive quiet, every shallow inhale a reminder that Dominic was still unaccounted for.
Where was he?
My chest ached with the thought of him lying somewhere out there—hurt, bleeding, or worse. My grip on the gun tightened, and my gaze flicked toward the front door, the shadows outside seeming darker than before.
“Stay low,” I whispered to the nurse, my voice hoarse.
She nodded, sinking to the floor as tears streaked her face.
The storm raged on outside, but inside, an even deadlier silence crept closer.
I stepped further into the living room, my body trembling with each step, the gun clutched tightly in my hand. My breath came in ragged bursts, and the blood beneath my feet stained my every move. The rain outside battered the windows with a constant rhythm, the sound echoing in my ears, drowning out everything else. But something wasn’t right. I could feel it—the air was thick, tense, like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something to snap.
I reached the kitchen doorway, my eyes scanning every shadow, every corner. But before I could react, something heavy slammed into me, throwing me off balance. I didn’t even have time to process what happened before the weight of the body pressed down on me, and I was on the floor, struggling to breathe.
"Lock the do—!" I barely managed to scream, but the words were cut short when a fist collided with my face, the force snapping my head back. Pain exploded across my skull. My teeth slammed against my tongue, and I felt the warm, metallic taste of blood fill my mouth. My vision blurred, doubled—everything spinning, a fog taking over my mind.
I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think straight. My body ached everywhere. I fought to keep my hands on the gun, but it slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor. The woman was on me, her body straddling mine, her hands pushing down on my throat, her eyes wide with fury.
Desperation clawed at me. I kicked my foot out, sending the gun sliding across the floor toward the nurse. "Pick it up! Aim!" I gasped, my voice ragged, the words barely escaping past the blood in my mouth.
The nurse stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide and unblinking, her hands pressed to her face in disbelief. She didn’t move—didn’t do anything.
"Please!" I begged, but I didn’t have time for her fear. I had to fight. I had to.
Another blow came—fist, sharp and fast, aimed right at my face. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t.
With every ounce of strength I had left, I pulled my hands free, yanking away from the woman’s grip. My head throbbed with every movement, but I didn’t stop. I surged forward, slamming my forehead into hers with everything I had.
There was a sickening crack, and she staggered back, her hands flying up to her forehead as she stumbled into the doorframe.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d knocked her back. I’d stopped her.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. I looked at her, breathless, eyes searching. Her face was twisted in pain—and there was something else. Something familiar. The short strands of ginger over her head.
"Analia?" The word slipped from my lips before I could stop it.
She froze, her body stiffening. Her green eyes flicked toward me with a flash of recognition.
But there was no time to ask questions.
In the blink of an eye, she was on me again, her body slamming into mine with terrifying force. I barely had time to brace myself before her shoulder collided with my stomach, knocking the air out of me. I was thrown backward, tumbling over the couch, my body crashing into the wooden floor with a sickening thud. I landed over the body of the dead man laying in the center of the room, his blood soaked into my shirt, stuck against my skin.
Pain shot through me—my elbows, my knees, everything screaming as I tried to push myself up. I could barely breathe, my chest tight, my head roaring with agony. But I couldn’t stop. I had to move.
I managed to roll onto my back, my hands trembled, my fingers were slippery with sweat and blood. Analia—it was her alright—was standing over me now, her hands clenched into fists, eyes full of something wild, something I couldn’t understand.
I barely had time to prepare before she was on me again. My body was already screaming, and every movement felt like a fight against gravity itself.
"Why?" I rasped, trying to find the words, but my voice came out choked, broken. "Why the hell are you doing this?"
But she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The look in her eyes—cold, relentless—told me everything I needed to know.
I was on my own now.
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