Page 12 of Requiem
Warmth rushes over me again as I close and lock the door. For a second, I just stand there, staring into the dark living room. It’s weird being somewhere other than that fucking guesthouse. My gaze drifts to the couch where my pillow and blanket are waiting for me to return. But I don’t go back to it yet. Instead, I pass the kitchen, the table, and the fireplace. My muscles suddenly tighten as an image crashes into me.
That metal fucking door.
My steps falter before I can remind myself that I’m notthere. I don’t even realize where I’m heading until I’m halfway down the hall, my bodymoving on instinct more than thought. But before I can open the door and descend the stairs to the basement, I freeze. Dread crawls through my chest, remembering the times I’ve heard him scream in pain.
It didn’t sound like Jude towards the end.
It feels like something is still happening on the other side of that door. The wood glitches into metal, then back again. I shake my head.
Calm down, Adriana. You’re safe here.
My fingers curl at my sides as the memories flash behind my eyes. There was a time when his voice sounded different. Lighter. Like when he finished that show in Phoenix, all smiles, laughs, and excited energy. He was so happy that he hugged me, kissed me, and cheered with his bandmates. He was more alive than most times I’d seen him. Of course, that was before he was injecting.
A vicious ache clamps over my throat. I miss that version of him.
It’s the version I helped destroy.
I suck in a breath in an attempt to force it away. I don’t want to remember how he touched me that night, how I thought his kisses actually meant something. I once believed we had a real relationship, before Nolan forced him into hurting people. And before he started shooting up. After that, he began to wither.
The man downstairs…
My eyes flick to the door again. A shiver runs through me, and I take a step back without thinking, putting distance between myself and the door like that might help separate the past from the present.
It doesn’t.
I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but I don’t think I’m going to come out alive. I accepted my inevitable death a long time ago, I think. Even if we somehow escape this shit…my demons are demanding my soul.
I turn away before I can linger any longer, my pace picking up as I move back toward the main part of the house.I can’t do this. I can’t go down there right now.
I pass the living room without stopping, heading toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. When I reach the top of the stairs, I hesitate. I remember seeing which door Emma walked into earlier, followed by herblonde friend. I can’t remember her name, but she almost punched me. I couldn’t take hearing Emma’s cries, knowing what I’ve done.
He loves her so much. Well...loved. I’m not so sure about that anymore.
He’s going to look at her the same way he looked at me the past few days. With dead eyes, devoid of any kind of light that once existed.
I move toward the door slowly, my steps quiet as to not wake anyone. When I reach it, I pause for a second before pushing it open just enough to look inside.
She’s asleep.
Curled slightly on her side, her face turned into the pillow. I bite my bottom lip, fighting the sudden urge to cry. That girl has no idea what she’s about to walk into. No idea what he is right now. My gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, taking in the way she looks…peaceful.
What happens when she sees him?
A cold, sinking feeling spreads through me, deeper than anything the frigid Russian winter air could touch. I admit, part of me feels a devastating kind of jealousy as I look at her. But at the same time, I’m grateful. Because she kept him alive when no one else could. Not even me. Even if it was just thememoryof her.
I step back quietly, pulling the door closed just as gently as I opened it. And as I stand there for a second, staring at nothing, I honestly believe that whatever happens next is going to destroy her. Because, although I don’t know exactly what Alexei did to Jude that last time...I know it was enough to leave nothing of him behind.
Chapter four
EMMA EASTON
My eyes flutter open to see the dim light of morning seeping through the curtains. I blink slowly, staring at the ceiling.
We’re safe. We’re not being shot at anymore.
My chest rises with a deeper breath than I’ve taken in what feels like days, and I turn my head, my gaze landing on Heather curled up beside me. Her blonde hair is tied into a messy bun, her face relaxed in sleep, one arm tucked under it.
A small smile tugs on the corner of my lips as I stare down at my best friend. But then I remember his dead, cold eyes, looking straight through me like there was nothing left behind them at all.
