Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“That’s all I’m asking.” He softens slightly. “The three of us are in this together now, whether we like it or not.”
I step out of the vehicle, needing distance from the intensity building between us. “Goodnight, Damiano.”
“Goodnight, Briar.”
I slip inside through the back door, the warmth of the empty house immediately enveloping me. The kitchen is dark except for a single light left on over the stove. I lean against the counter, finally letting out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding all night.
My hands are still shaking. From the cold? From what happened with Flint at The Vault? Or from whatever just happened with Damiano in the Jeep? I’m not sure I can separate it all anymore. Every action, every touch, every word between us feels loaded with something I’m not equipped to handle. Especially not now, with Liam’s body still fresh in the ground and Viktor hunting for answers.
God, what am I doing? Two men in fewer than twenty-four hours. Me, who hasn’t been with anyone since getting super sick years ago. It’s like I’ve lost all sense, all caution. Like killing someone flipped some switch inside me that’s now seeking out more danger, more intensity.
I need to get my head straight. Need to wash off this night.
In my room, I strip off my clothes and step into a hot shower, letting the water sluice away the night’s events. But it can’t rid me of the memories—Flint’s hands on me, Damiano’s knowing eyes, the growing web between the three of us.
Chapter 19
Briar
Meet me at the body.
I stare at Flint’s text, my stomach dropping. Five words that chill me more than the fog pressing against my bedroom window.
Only an hour’s passed since I got home from The Vault. I’d just stepped out of the shower, hair still dripping onto my shoulders, when my phone lit up with Flint’s message.
My first instinct is to ignore it, pretend I’m asleep, that I never saw it. But the thought of that body in the maze, of what will happen if it’s discovered, won’t let me.
I pull on jeans and a black sweater, still warm from the dryer, and grab my boots. The clock on my nightstand reads 12:43 AM. The house is silent around me, Mrs. Fletcher having gone to bed hours ago.
The back stairs creak under my weight as I make my way down to the kitchen. Every sound seems amplified in the quiet house, my heartbeat loudest of all. I ease open the back door and slip outside.
The night air hits me like a slap—cold, damp, heavy with salt and mist. Classic Heathens Hollow.
The security lights cast eerie halos in the fog, barely illuminating the path ahead. I keep to the shadows, aware that Viktor’s men might still be watching the property.
My boots sink into the soft earth as I follow the narrow garden path that leads to the maze. Every few steps, I stop to listen, but there’s nothing except distant waves and the occasional owl.
What is Flint thinking, asking me to meet him there? At the site of a murder? Is this some kind of sick joke? This goes against everything he and Damiano have been lecturing me about. Stay home. Be careful. What were you thinking? Hypocrite.
The entrance to the maze looms ahead, a dark mouth opening into what feels like another world. I hesitate, remembering the last time I stood in this spot—running from Liam, terrified, desperate. I push away the memory and step inside.
The hedges rise on either side, blocking what little moonlight filters through the fog. I take out my phone, using its flashlight to guide my way, careful to keep the beam pointed downward. Even with the light, I make wrong turns, hit dead ends, double back.
“Lost?”
I nearly scream at the voice behind me, spinning around to find Flint standing there, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable in the shadows.
“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A lot of things.” He takes the phone from my hand and switches off the flashlight. “But right now, I’m mostly wondering why you’re using a beacon that anyone watching the property could spot from a mile away.”
He’s right, but I’m too rattled to admit it. “Why did you text me to come here? In the middle of the night?”
“Follow me.”
He turns without waiting for a response, moving through the maze with the confidence of someone who’s walked it a hundred times. I have no choice but to follow, brushing my fingers along the hedge wall to keep my bearings in the near-total darkness.
After what feels like forever, the path opens into the clearing at the center. The gazebo sits in the middle like a ghost, its white paint glowing faintly in the diffused moonlight. Off to one side, barely visible in the darkness, is the patch of freshly turned earth where we buried Liam.