Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I know he’s right. I also know Adrian is unstable enough to improvise and arrogant enough to think he’s brilliant.
I look toward our men.
“One of you circles the back. One covers the drive. If anyone comes off that property, I want to know before they hit the trees.”
Both of them nod.
Matteo checks the magazine in his pistol, then looks at me. “Ready?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. We’ve faced worse together. I know he’s got my back no matter what, and he knows I have his. We move up the hill together.
The front doors are locked, but the side entrance gives on the first try. The lock plate is broken, splintered where someone forced it recently. Adrian, probably.
Inside, the house smells like dust, damp wood, and stale air. Our footsteps echo too much, and I hate it immediately. There’s no electricity or distant voices to cover our noise. Light from the windows cuts across a grand foyer with cracked tile and a chandelier hanging dark over all of it.
Matteo slams the door behind us. “If he’s here, he heard that.”
“Good.”
We clear the first floor room by room.
Living room, empty. Dining room, empty. Kitchen with old appliances, a dead refrigerator, and a box of bottled water sitting open on the counter. Recent. No dust. Next to it, a torn protein bar wrapper.
Matteo sees me look at it.
“Proof of life,” he says.
A back hallway leads to a study with built-in bookshelves and a desk shoved against the wall. A candle burned halfway down sits on the mantel with a used coffee cup on the floor beside it. One person. Maybe two. Hard to tell. I decide to keep moving.
“Upstairs,” I say.
Upstairs, we find the first real proof she was here. One bedroom has fresh sheets on the bed and another empty water bottle. An untouched protein bar beside it. I stop so abruptly Matteo nearly walks into me.
“She’s been here,” I say. “I can smell her soap.”
“Where the hell is she?”
The room has a bathroom with no water, a chair shoved near the window, and bars bolted to the outside. I step closer. They’re solid with fresh paint over old metal. Adrian chose this room on purpose. The bedspread is rumpled.
“Sebastian.”
I turn.
Matteo stands by the door with his head tilted, listening. At first, I don’t hear anything over my own pulse. Then it comes again. Faint. Muffled. Not words, but a sharp cry swallowed by walls and distance.
I’m already moving before Matteo points. The sound comes from somewhere below us. We tear through the second floor, down the stairs, and back into the study. The noise is clearer here. Something hits wood. Then a strangled yell.
“Has to be a basement,” Matteo says.
“There’s no basement on the plans,” I say.
“And I told you that means nothing. There’s a hidden entrance somewhere.”
We split the room without speaking. I go for the bookshelves. Matteo checks the paneling near the fireplace. Another thud comes from below, followed by Val’s voice, raw and furious.
“Get off me.”
Adrian says something I can’t make out.
“Here.” Matteo presses his hand flat to the wall beside the mantel, then grips the edge of a narrow panel I never would have noticed if we weren’t listening for her. It pulls open just enough to reveal a dark stairwell behind it.
I take the lead.
The steps are steep, narrow, and unfinished. Dirt and mold hit me the second I start down. No lights. No windows. My phone flashlight jerks across old stone and a low ceiling as I descend too fast. Matteo is right behind me.
Val screams again. I hit the bottom step with my gun up, but there’s no clean shot.
The basement is half storage, half cellar. Old wine racks. Broken furniture. Plastic sheeting over stacked crates. Adrian has Val pinned against a support column near the far wall, one hand twisted in her hair, the other braced against her throat. His gun sits on a table beside a lantern.
I stop at the foot of the stairs. Val is between us, and the gun is close enough for Adrian to reach.
Val sees me first. Relief flashes across her face, fast and painful. Adrian turns, sees us, and reaches for the gun.
“Don’t,” I say, but he already has it.
He yanks Val in front of him so fast she stumbles, and then the barrel is jammed against the side of her head.
I stop breathing for half a second, then force myself to start again. Matteo halts at my shoulder, weapon raised but useless with Val between us.
“Come any closer and I’ll shoot her,” he says.
“That’s a waste,” I say, as calm as I can manage. “You didn’t come all this way and spend all these weeks planning just to blow her brains out in a dirty basement.”
Val is breathing hard, face pale, hair tangled, lip split. A bruise is already rising on one side of her jaw, and dirt streaks her jeans like she’s been fighting him on the floor. I want to cross the room and kill him with my hands. Instead, I make myself stand still.