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Chapter 14
Bloodied
Lochlan
I am jolted awake by an ear-splitting scream. 1 My heart nearly bursts through my chest as I jump out of bed and sprint to Stella’s room. I remember checking in on her when I got home last night. She was safe and sound, sleeping in bed. Still, panic and fear course through me like a live wire.
I throw open her door, lurching with relief when there is no one else in the room and she is sitting, awake. “What’s wrong?” I demand, my heart racing as I cross to the side of her bed.
“Holy shit—” At first, I’m stunned into a split second of paralysis as I take in her beautiful dress smeared and splattered in blood. I drop to the floor beside her and pat her shaking body. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
“Nowhere.” Her voice is hollow, a thousand miles away. “I-It’s n-not mine.” Her face is blank, but her eyes are wide and stricken as she looks down at her hands caked with dry blood.
I’m at a loss for words, my mind rapidly trying to process the scene. A barrage of heavy pounding on the front door makes both of us jump.
Stella grabs my wrist when I stand. “Don’t leave me, please.”
Her plea is like splinters in my heart that only dig in deeper when I pull out of her grasp. There’s another round of hammering at the door. It sounds like whoever is on the other side is about to knock the damn thing down.
I place my hand on her cheek, cupping her jaw and meeting her fearful gaze. “I’m not going anywhere, but I have to see who that is.
“Lock this door,” I shout at her as I run out of her room and dash to mine. I grab my piece and check the cylinder is fully loaded as I quietly creep toward the front door.
“Open up, Fox. We have you surrounded!” I recognize Clark’s voice.
Gripping my gun tight, finger primed and ready on the trigger, I peer into the peephole only to see six barrels all pointing right back at me.
Stella
I fumble with the doorknob.2 I’m shaking so bad, it takes me a few tries to latch the lock. I stumble back, hitting the foot of the bed and sliding to the floor. I can’t tear my eyes away from my arms. It looks like I performed an open-heart surgery with my bare hands. I stare in disbelief, my mind sluggishly trying to catch up to the present.
A booming voice shouts from outside, “Open up, Fox. We have you surrounded!”
My head pounds, and my heart feels like it’s seconds away from giving out.
I did this.
I don’t know what exactly, but whatever it is, the evidence is all over me.
There is so much blood. Can someone even survive losing this much? The realization that I’m covered in a dead man’s blood makes me violently ill. I get up as fast as I can, dizziness threatening to send me back to the floor.
I manage to make it to the bathroom sink before vomiting profusely. It’s mostly bile and the remnants of pink cocktails. The sight of it swirling, unable to drain, makes me sick all over again. I dash to the toilet and dry heave until my temples are screaming and my throat is raw.
Oh my god, Lochlan!
I suddenly remember the pounding at the door and Lochlan sprinting out of the room. My brain still feels like it’s working at half speed, and I’m smacked with guilt for not being out there, for forgetting about him, if only briefly.
Walking gives me body aches and chills like the flu, but I force myself to cross the bedroom. I huddle close to the door, pressing my ear to the wood.
“And what temperature was his body?” I hear Lochlan say, his voice wound up but calm.
“I don’t know, fucking cold!” The person that shouted earlier yells again. I recognize the voice. It’s . . . It’s . . . Fuck. I can’t think for shit.
“Okay, cold, that’s good.” Lochlan speaks again. “Now tell me, was the body in full rigor?”
“Do I look like a fucking scientist to you?” the man shouts, and even behind a locked door, I flinch.
“Clark, listen to me.” Lochlan’s cadence is tempered and slow. “If the body was cold and in full rigor, that means he died eight to twelve hours ago—”
