“Fuck no. I’ll take it,” I declare, knowing Kyro was already dead anyway, but I don’t want the society to do it before I do.
“Seeing as he knows what he has done is wrong, he has contacted us in hopes to plead for mercy tomorrow night.”
I straighten up, my interest piqued. “And?”
“And we have permitted it under false pretences.”
“You’ve set him up?” I ask, a dark satisfaction creeping into my voice.
“Exactly. While he is on the way here, it would be a good time for you…” he trails off.
“No problem. I’ll be ready,” I respond..
“He also believes we have told you to hold off until his mercy plea, so he will not see it coming.”
My natural suspicion raises. “All this for a man who has been your associate for years and years?”
“Yes. He has been around for so long, Hell, that he should know better than to be so fucking stupid,” he retorts calmly.
I nod, although he can’t see me. “I’ll be in touch,” he says before hanging up.
I wait a few seconds longer, staring down at my phone. I can finally end this, but it means nothing if my Little Dolly isn’t here with me to witness his downfall and demise. I stand up, brushing the grass off my clothes, and take a deep breath. I slip my phone back into my pocket and make my way back to my bike, my mind racing and conducting my wicked plans.
I ride across the field, the wind whipping past me, almost at my underground chamber. When I am close enough, I cut the engine and jump off, my boots hitting the ground with a thud. I walk to the doors, pull them open, and descend the steps. Once inside, I head straight for my empty torture room, intent on grabbing a gasoline can.
I stop in my tracks as soon as I notice something lying delicately on the surgeon's table. A single black, thorned rose. My heart rate picks up, pounding against my ribs like a fucking drum. I rush forward, my breath quickening with each step. I reach out for it, allowing the thorns to prick my fingertips, and a small grin stretches across my lips.
“She’s a-fucking-live,” I whisper, a relief and confusion rushing through me. The rose is a message, a sign that she’s out there. The dark petals and sharp thorns have always been a perfect symbol of her—dark, dangerous, and fucking beautiful.
It’s been a week since I hurled me and Hell off that cliff in a moment of madness and desperation. I know he must think I am dead. I know he must be furious at me, and I don’t fucking blame him. Although it might make no sense to him, in that second and still now, it made perfect sense. Hell was ready to risk it all for me, but he wasn’t considering the fact that this will not stop as long as I am still alive or with Kyro. So, I took risks too. It’s only fair. Kyro will keep getting his men to hunt me down, killing innocents in his wake. It’s something my heart cannot handle or carry.
This has gone way too far already. I will never truly be free. But if Kyro thinks I am dead, there is every possibility that man will think he can live his life as normal again, begging the society for forgiveness and getting away with it. He will be stupid enough to let his guard down somewhere, and as soon as that guard slips, I know Hell can make his move. I guess I started to feel like a burden.
From a distance, I stand in the dark woods at the back of Kyro’s mansion and stare at the gloomy structure. The lights have been off for three days now, with no sign of life, which tells me he has upped and left his home for a while to try to win the Shadow’s over or maybe plot to take Hell out in some way to stop his evident murder.
I’m here because I need answers. I need to know if Arabella is still here. If she ever were here, and if she were, where the fuck she could be. I know I am taking a big risk, but that is why I have stalked this place for three days. Before I came here, I slipped into Hell’s underground chamber, leaving him a black thorned rose, giving him a hint that I am still here yet lurking in the shadows waiting for the perfect time to be beside him again. It was eating me a live at the thought that he might think I’m dead when I’m not.
After a moment of reflection, staring at my old bedroom window, I jump up without any more hesitations, catching the metal fence and pulling myself up and over it. I land on my feet with a light thud before striding through the yard, my footsteps soft as I creep around the pool's edge until I am by the back doors. I pull on the handle to find it’s locked, so I continue to see if any windows are open. When I finally find one that leads into the kitchen, I climb through and enter.
The room is dark and eerily silent. Haunting memories flood back as I look around, but I push them aside, focusing on why I am here in the first place. I move sneakily, my senses on high alert, listening for any sign of life.
Making my way into the huge foyer, it is bathed in darkness, so dim that I cannot see anything other than the windows shining in the moonlight and the outline of furniture. When I come to a halt, I turn, ascending the grand staircase to the second floor. As soon as I reach the top, I notice all the doors, scanning them one by one until I spot the one where I was held captive at a far distance.
Suddenly, I hear a noise coming from down below and I duck, hiding behind the banister. My breathing picks up, my chest heaving before I place my hand over my mouth, trying to remain silent and calm my racing heart. With a shaky hand, I reach into my leather jacket's pocket and grasp the pocket knife hidden within.
As I peer through the wooden rail, I quietly flip out the blade and a light comes on in the living room. I see shadows moving around, and a few men murmuring, but neither sound like Kyro. Without warning, I hear one of them shout and all kinds of banging follow, sounds of what seems like metal swiping through the cold air, and liquid falling to the ground. Then, all goes quiet, and the light switches off. My eyes widen when I see a figure slowly emerging, and the silhouette stands still at the threshold. I try not to move until they unexpectedly decide to stroll toward the stairs, in my direction.
I gently stand, backing myself against the wall, and move along it, searching for an open door. My fingers finally grasp a doorknob and I twist it slowly, pushing it open just enough to slip inside. I close it behind me as quietly as possible and lean against it, listening intently. The sound of the heavy footsteps grows louder, each step echoing in the eerie silence of the mansion and anxiety tightens in my chest.
My heartbeat rings in my ears as I clasp my knife tighter, ready for whatever might come through the door. The footstepsstop right outside, and I hold my breath, every muscle in my body tense. The doorknob begins to turn, and I brace myself. But then, they retreat, shifting away from my hiding spot. I let out a slow, silent breath of relief and rest my head back against the door, closing my eyes for a moment.
I pull my hood over my head and wait for what feels like forever. When I finally gather the courage to get out of here and possibly come back another time, I gradually open the door, peering around the threshold from left to right. When I don’t see or hear anything, I begin to creep into the hallway until I suddenly hear a soft noise behind me, and I freeze. I look back to see the same silhouette at the other end of the landing, but this time, they are looking right at me.
Shit.
They suddenly rush forward, and I run for my fucking life. I try to hold onto the scream that is threatening to rip from my throat, my legs feeling like they might give away as their footsteps get louder and closer behind me.
With nowhere else to go, I dash into a room, attempting to slam it closed behind me, but a foot blocks me from doing so. I jump back, raising the knife in my hand and as soon as the door is swung open, I swing my arm, releasing the knife. It embeds in their arm with a thud, and they groan, but the groan is all too familiar.
