THE DEVILS MERCY
's
I notice when I
nd, punctuated by shouting, slamming doors, footsteps tha
pled. The pain in my side has dulled to a deep throb, but it's mana
aroun
mafia men lived in-but it's sleek. Modern. Stone walls. Hardwood floors. A fireplace, extinguished. Min
n? Dr
't to
ch growl
e picked them out while I was unconscious. It makes my skin crawl. I don't like
egs to the floor. My bare feet meet co
unl
er good...
t. Like a museum after hours. Everything is polished and d
lowly. Ca
aybe. A weapon. Something that proves I'm no
corner an
e. Late twenties, tall, tatted neck, black tee. His face is sharp in
e before I c
wake," he says,
't re
re's coffee. Tea. Food. You don't
ine,"
. Not leering, but curi
n. "And
uc
ntioned him in the club. His cou
aned me up?" I ask, voic
n't touch half-dead girls
ria
c. Doesn't as
rms. "What i
house. You're here because y
neck
es me. "You really don't know
I snap. "I was thrown into a va
"You're lucky he found you.
I echo
s out a bottle of water. He tosse
It's not drugg
nk this
think it's tragic. But that's
r, unsure whether to thr
door out of
. "There's lots of doors.
m a pr
thing personal. "Dom s
jaw. "I'm
say yo
t another word. And just l
-
ome are locked. Some aren't. But they all lead to places that feel lik
something that could get me
. It's a prison w
ead is pounding. My body is weak. My an
stand now, like bait. I snatch
wants answe
-
MI
er on the
door, dumb enough to think they'll open. She's thin.
's where I go when I need silence. To
rought
o sav
tudy
More
g. But the necklace?
As if it hadn't belonged to Isabella. As if my siste
anis
a girl like Ava ends
r there when
't Ava Mor
s a
ling something twist inside me. Som
st clawing i
break her open un