Rio glances over his shoulder at me, his brow cocked, seemingly surprised that I know of them.
"No, he's Rocco's friend, who is Francesca's brother. She works for the Society, and Rocco and his friends reap the benefits."
"Do you work for them?"
"I do, though I answer to Francesca right now."
I lick my dry lips, then ask, “So who put the price on my head?”
“It doesn’t matter who. Only why. Now hurry up, I have to take a leak, and if
you don’t move faster, I’ll unzip and paint a picture on that pretty face of yours.”
The disgusting threat does the trick and snaps me out of my daze. Shooting him a nasty look, I quicken my pace, despite the way my muscles groan in response.
Ending the conversation is best anyway. I need to concentrate on every detail
in this house. Starting with how quiet it is.
As he leads me down a long hallway, several doors on either side, I realize it’s
not the type of silence deriving from vacancy, but the kind when someone is holding their breath, praying for the footsteps to keep on walking by.
Swallowing nervously, my eyes bounce around, trying to pinpoint any glaring
details, but the heart-pounding dread is making everything fuzzy.
How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm and play it smart so I can get out of
here when a million alarms are going off in my head, warning me that there is no way out?
There’s always a way out, little mouse. You just have to find it.
Chapter 6
The Hunter
Rage.
It’s not appreciated enough. Not studied enough.
The capabilities of the human body are no longer limited to the laws of physics. The absolute destruction that resides in my fingertips could burn down entire cities—reduce them to ashes and embers. A simple stroke of a match, or a
flick of my wrist, and as far as my eyes can see would be consumed in the same
black fire that rages inside me.
For now, I turn the destruction on myself. My reflection seethes, overcome with a violence only seen through telescopes. Our universe was forged in brutality, and now the cosmos resides in not one, but two black eyes glaring back
at me.
Your fucking fault.
My fist flies into the mirror, nearly shattering it entirely with one hit. Tiny shards explode from the impact, raining down in the sink and across the floor. It imitates exactly what my soul feels like. Fucking shattered.
I’ve only just gotten home from the hospital, and already I’m adding to the list of injuries. But I’m too lost to care.
Snarling, I pull back and drive my fist into the mirror again. Over and over until only a few crooked pieces remain.
Fuming, I spin, searching for the biggest shard I can find, and snatch it from
the floor, ignoring the jagged edges slicing into my skin. And then I grab a smaller one with a sharp point before straightening again.
Holding out the large chunk before me, I position it until it’s angled just right,
serving as my new mirror. Using the smaller piece, I dig the tip into my skin and
start carving.
I go slow, my movements shaky from the tremors racking my body. The glass
slips in my hold from both the blood pouring out of my knuckles and from where the edges are biting into my skin, and I continuously have to readjust, creating more cuts.
But the pain barely registers when it’s so fucking loud inside my head. It’s clouded with fury, and every goddamn organ in my body feels as if they’re in a
blender.
My little mouse is gone.
She’s been stolen from me.
And the man behind it is the same man that I knew had a vendetta against her.
And I left him alive.
I fucking let him go on living, stewing in the anger that I caused.
Chest pumping, I dig harder, bright red bubbling from where the glass slices
into my skin.
When I’m done, I drop the shard, my entire body vibrating.
I failed Addie.
And I’ll never let myself forget it.
Not with the rose now carved over my heart.
Blood coats the bottom of my boots, leaving a scarlet foot trail behind me as I
approach Max’s house.
He finally hired guards.
Little good they did when now, all six of their bodies litter the ground. With
bullet holes between their eyes that are staring sightlessly up at the stars, they were snuffed out because they protected the wrong person.
I don’t care how loved they were. I don’t give a shit if they had families and if
they had wives and little kids at home, eagerly awaiting their arrival. Daddy’s gone, kids.
I kick open the front door, and loud chatter cuts into different versions of what the fuck.
Max's house is nearly all open concept, washed in black and gold with
medieval décor. He’s a rich man but no amount of money could protect him from
me.
On either side, two large staircases lead up to a balcony that circles the house
in a half-moon. The man of the hour appears over the balcony, a wild look in his
eyes as two more guards rush up behind him.
His white-blond hair is mussed, the strands standing on end, and when he spots me, that look turns feral, his eyes rounding with hysteria.
I cock a brow. “Did you rub a balloon on your head?”
He blinks, and before any of them can process my presence, I lift my gun and shoot off two bullets—one for each guard.
Too easy.
Apparently, his money couldn’t even buy guards that are good enough to
entertain me. If they were anything like me, I would’ve been shot dead before a
syllable could even leave my mouth.
Max’s eyes pop open wide as his men fall to the ground, blood quickly
draining past the rails and onto the pristine tile on the ground floor. He turns to
run, but my voice stops him cold.
“Come here, Max.”
Slowly, he looks back at me, terror radiating from his eyes. There’s a
particular stink to men who are faced with the consequences of their actions.
They’re fucking petrified, but only because they know they’re going to die.
And no matter what they believe in, they know damn well there isn’t any chance
they’ll be led to those pearly gates.
“Whatever you think I—”
“Don’t insult me further by questioning my knowledge,” I cut in, my voice deadly calm. “You know better than that, Maximilian.”