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It felt so much like when Kieran slipped away and Nightshade took over, but this . . . there was no way to explain this.
I slowed as my eyes darted everywhere, looking for anything that might explain what was making the night air feel so off. A loud crash suddenly came from the guesthouse, and I slipped, landing roughly on the grass when I tried to quickly change my direction.
I crawled back a few feet before rolling to my knees and pausing as I strained to hear anything or see anyone in the windows. And that’s when I remembered . . .
I’d left the lights off.
Something so much greater than terror slid through my veins, paralyzing me for long, torturous seconds as I waited—praying I would see Kieran walk past one of the windows.
But as I waited, hopelessly praying while someone destroyed my house, I realized what else was missing. What else was off.
Conor would’ve been the first to realize I wasn’t home. Mickey would’ve been the only way to get in touch with Kieran. Both would’ve had all of Holloway searching for me . . . and I couldn’t see one member on the grounds.
Another crash came from within the small house a second before Kieran’s words from last weekend drifted through my thoughts. “They’re waiting, Lily. Trust me.”
And suddenly it was the hooded figures that used the dark to their advantage that I saw, as I struggled to get up.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Don’t let them know you’re awake.
A harsh finger stroking my cheek.
Red stains on a shirt and my carpet.
Lifeless eyes.
Lines and circles.
My body began violently shaking.
This can’t be happening again.
Another crash sounded as I turned and ran.
I stared vacantly ahead as Johnny grabbed a lamp from one of the nightstands and casually tossed it into the bathroom. The sound of it shattering on the marble floor was dull . . . subdued.
Everything was compared to the roaring in my ears.
Rage, deep and pure, burned hot in my veins as my eyes slowly made another pass around the room. As though maybe I’d hallucinated the first dozen times, and everything would be different that time.
But nothing had changed other than the new destruction Johnny had caused.
There were still clothes and other touches that boasted a woman lived there, in a place that should have only been occupied by men. One man—an assassin.
“Wrecking the place is only going to alert people that we’re here,” Einstein said from where she rested against one of the bedroom walls.
When Johnny’s response was to stalk down the hall, a crash coming from the front of the small house soon after, she clicked her tongue in disapproval.
“Well, you’re certainly letting them know who was here if they don’t come rushing in before we leave.” Her tone was laced with frustration as she endlessly tapped and swiped on her tablet.
Trying to make a connection . . . trying to gain answers.
Her face had become more pinched as the last half hour had worn on—I knew she wasn’t getting anywhere with the picture.
“Nothing,” she said after another minute, her irritation noticeable as she dropped her arms, letting her tablet slam against her legs. “It’s too far away . . . too blurry. I wouldn’t be able to do facial recognition anyway because her face is mostly hidden by her arms, but I can’t even get a lock on any of her features. She has blonde hair. Maybe. That’s all I know.”
