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When I don’t feel any pain, my eyes fly open, and I glance down at myself. Then, I look at Rich.
Rich’s eyes are wide open as he glances down at the stain on his shirt. With a wheeze, he falls backward, blood quickly pooling around him. I drop the gun and scramble away, unable to control my shaking. Without stopping to check if he’s still breathing, I pat Rich’s pockets for the car keys and fish them out.
In a daze, I get into the car and start the ignition.
When I’m far enough away, I realize I’m crying and shaking.
I pull over to the side of the road, stumble out of the car, and empty the contents of my stomach. Over and over, I relieve the scene in my head while my stomach continues to recoil. When I have nothing else to retch, I lean against the car and squeeze my eyes shut.
My heart is racing, and a headache is quickly forming in the back of my skull.
Horror and fear rise within me as my eyes fly open, and I see the blood on my shirt and hands. Using all my energy, I stagger to my feet and open the trunk of the car. After changing out of my stained shirt, I scrub my fingers raw.
It isn’t until I’m back behind the wheel of the car that I realize what I’ve done. Carter’s life has finally caught up to me. I’ve become the thing I fear the most. I’m just like the rest of them.
A murderer.
And I have no one to blame but myself for not getting out sooner. I drape an arm over my stomach and use the other to grip the steering wheel.
What the hell am I going to do now?
***
Carter
Before the car comes to a complete halt, I push the door open and run up to the front gate. I’m growling and cursing while I wait for the security system to complete the biometric scan. As soon as it’s done, I’m racing up the front steps, Isabella’s note burning a hole in my back pocket.
I still can’t believe I almost missed the note she left me at home before she went to the manor with Tristan. I’m angry that she didn’t tell me about it, but I’ll deal with that later.
I kick the door open before I come to a complete stop.
It slams backward with a loud cracking sound. I step in, my gun already in my hands, and glance around. When I see the pool of blood on the floor, my heart misses a beat. “Isabella! It’s me.”
When I don’t hear anything, my stomach forms tight knots, and I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
I find a body in the kitchen, his gaze wide and unseeing. Pausing to check his pulse, I step over him and call out again, louder this time. Then I hear a gurgling sound and something like a wheeze. My heart races as I make a beeline for the living room and come to a complete halt.
Tristan is lying on the couch, one hand on his side and the other dangling lifelessly on the floor. When he recognizes me, his eyes widen, but nothing comes out of his mouth. I’m on my hands and knees and gently cradling him by the back of the head. He wheezes something and coughs.
I place my ear next to his mouth and pause. The next words out of Tristan’s lips don’t surprise me.
If anything, they make the red-hot anger pulsing through me burn hotter. Quickly, I dash into the kitchen and grab the linen tablecloth, tearing it into strips.
“How the hell did Rich get in here?”
Tristan tilts his head in the direction of the body and sways a little.
Ernesto helps me tie the fabric around his waist to staunch the bleeding, but it quickly turns red. “Does he know who took her?”
I make a low noise in the back of my throat, and the vase on the table nearby goes crashing to the ground as I rear back in anger. “Who else would it fucking be? Of course, Rich would go after her.”
It makes sense that Rich thought it would be safe to take Isabella.
But I still can’t quite believe he has her, so I leave Ernesto and race up the stairs. I kick down every door in the house until I’m standing in the room she stays in. It still smells like her, like flowers and honey, making my stomach dip. I pull out every single drawer and punch the mirror above the dresser repeatedly.
She can’t be gone. I refuse to believe it. Not when the contents of her letter are still weighing heavily on me.
I’ve spent the two-hour drive here reading and re-reading Isabella’s note, scarcely able to believe that she didn’t tell me the news herself.
