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“We hoped you’d come out,” Clarence said, taking several steps forward, his cane tapping on the hardwood floor. “I’ve been waiting. Quiet as a mouse.” His lips stretched into the semblance of a smile. “The dogs will be tired when they return. It would be thoughtless to make them go from floor to floor searching this monstrosity of a house.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes moving across the walls. “We should have burned this place down years ago. It fostered so much evil, so much sin.”
Rage blossomed in Mason’s chest, because he knew the sin this man was referring to was not his own. The evil Dreschel recognized belonged to everyone but himself. The things he had done to Georgia . . . Mason should have exacted his own revenge on this man years ago instead of waiting for some plan between the three of them to come to fruition. He’d always talked himself out of it, saying Georgia deserved the satisfaction of the retribution they exacted. And that he’d be no good to anyone—least of all Georgie—dead or in prison. How do you kill men who think they’re gods? Who rule a kingdom of evil?
Mason’s gaze moved from one direction to the next, weighing his options for escape. Clarence Dreschel was a good shot. He’d been an avid hunter, just like many of the guild members, before the accident that had hurt his leg. Perhaps his skills were rusty though. Would Mason have time to drop, retrieve his weapon, and get a shot in before the old guy did?
“Let him go.” Mason’s head swiveled to the right where Georgia had just stepped around a hallway wall. Georgia. No.
Clarence turned too, whipping the gun in her direction. He let out a huff of breath, shaking his head. “Georgia. You should have stayed hidden. Goddammit, girlie. I might have helped you.”
Georgia laughed and Mason heard the edge of hysteria laced within. His hand moved slowly toward his weapon. “You might have helped me? Is that right? Well fuck your help, old man. I’d rather get shot in the face than accept anything from you,” she hissed. “I’d rather die than let you lay a finger on me ever again.”
His lips stretched. “They were right. You’re an abomination. You all are.”
Even from where Mason stood, he could see the angry red spots that rose in the man’s face. Without wavering, he turned the gun on Mason. Everything slowed. Mason saw Georgia’s mouth open in a scream as she dove toward him. He saw the old man squeeze the trigger. He felt the impact of her body as both he and Georgia went flying backward, hitting the floor, the jolt stealing his breath and resuming time in a loud, painful rush of air and screaming nerve endings.
Mason yelled, struggling to make sense of what had happened, pulling himself out from under Georgia who lay on top of him. Blood. So much blood leaking from a hole in her chest. She’d jumped in front of him. She’d been shot. She’d taken the bullet meant for him.
She turned her head to where Clarence Dreschel stood, the gun still pointed at them. “You’re the abomination,” she said, and then the sound of two more gunshots exploded, causing Mason to yell out, falling, his ears ringing. He watched the old man hit the wall behind him, screaming as one hand came over his groin, blood soaking his khaki colored pants, spreading rapidly, and the other clamped over his neck, more blood spurting through his fingers. He slid down to the floor, his screams fading to gasping, gurgled whimpers, curling in on himself, the gun he’d dropped skating far across the floor.
Mason tried desperately to orient himself, his head whipping back and forth. Georgia had taken the gun from his waistband as they collided, and then she’d shot the man who’d shot her. Her tormenter. One of many. A pool of blood spread out around the old man’s dying body, soaking into the floorboards of Lilith House as his pitiful cries grew weaker, so faint they could hardly be heard.
Georgia fell backward, the gun in her hand clattering to the floor. He bent over her body, pressing on her wound. “Georgie,” he breathed. “Georgie. You’re going to be okay.”
She smiled up at him. “I’m okay now.” Her smile twisted and her face grew paler.
“We’ve gotta get you help. I’m going to carry you—”
“Mason,” she grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer. “It’s okay. This is right. It’s how it was meant to be.”
“What?” He moved to stand so that he could pick her up, carry her to his car, drive her to a doctor in town. “No, Georgia. No.”
But she shook her head. “There’s no one to treat me. They’ll let me die. I’d rather die here with you. Stay with me, Mason. Please.”
