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I thought Vic wasn’t a fan.
The day after I’d killed Daxton, he’d mentioned he’d sent the snivelling man home.
I jerked, remembering what Peter had said.
Larry had a guard on his retainer.
A guard who would happily give up his gun when and if Larry wanted to shoot me.
Christ, can this get any worse?
Boxed in beneath the earth, surrounded by enemies, utterly powerless, completely useless, all while the love of my life was manhandled by the worst bastard to ever exist.
I hated myself.
Fucking despised myself for putting her in this situation.
We should’ve gotten out sooner.
What the hell were we thinking, waiting for Christmas?
We should have fought the moment Victor flew away for a month.
Fuck!
“This way, gentlemen.” Victor descended yet another staircase.
My knees trembled as I followed.
Down and down, the musky earth turned sharp with rock.
Pebbles and dust crunched beneath my shoes as we finished descending and stepped into yet another corridor. My black cape tugged my shoulders as it caught on the jagged sides.
If the last tunnel had been a coffin, this one was a casket.
Not just any casket.
One made from stone and ions of pressure from above.
The same overbearing heaviness of the caves a few months ago returned, crushing my head, my spine, driving me into the dirt beneath my feet.
No.
Please tell me we’re not—
“Almost there, friends.” Victor shoved Ily in front of him and pushed her along. The tunnel was only wide enough for a single person.
I lost sight of her apart from a flash of her transparent ivory dress.
I wanted to be sick.
My guts churned; sourness splashed over my tongue.
I swallowed the urge.
I balled my hands.
I forced myself to think.
