Page 87 of The Devils' Darling

I glance up to Kirill. “We should help.”

He shakes his head. “No, you need to sit down. You said you were dizzy, and you’re bleeding.”

“I’m okay. I’d rather put myself to use. People need us, Kirill.”

Tears mist my vision. These people are hurt because of me. Paxton would never have come if I weren’t here, and everyone who’d been hurt or worse would still be going about their day. I can’t believe how utterly crazy he clearly was and must have been the entire time I was seeing him, except I missed it. Only at the very end did I get a clue, and even then, I had no inkling he’d be the kind of person to commit an attack like this. Depending on how many people are dead and injured, a man I shared a bed with, let inside me, is a mass murderer. The thought makes me want to vomit.

How can I have gotten him so very wrong? I tell myself I was young and naïve, but my God, I’m barely older now, and what if I’m still the same, naïve girl, unable to judge character? I glance at Kirill, wondering what he’d do if he thought he was going to lose me. I have to start standing up for myself and what I believe in.

“I’m not leaving here without helping.” I hold Kirill’s gaze.

His expression tightens, and he’s probably thinking about how Domenic will lose his shit at letting me back into this chaos, but he knows I’m right.

“Okay, but not for long. As soon as the authorities turn up, we leave them to it.”

I nod once. “Deal.”

But as we get toward what remains of the door, Nataniele appears. His shoulders are hunched, his head down. He sees me, and instead of being pleased I’m safe or even asking after his son, his features contort with pain.

He puts out a hand. “Mackenzie, stop. You can’t go that way.”

I draw to a halt, Kirill’s arm still around me. “Why not? I want to help.”

“No, you don’t need to. We’ve got it in hand.”

“What are you talking about? I can hear people crying. If there’s anything I can do…”

He snaps at me. “You can’t. Okay? I already told you no.”

But there’s something about the stiffness of his expression and the shine of his eyes that alerts me. His eye contact is too intense. Something has happened—something terrible.

I suddenly remember my reason for coming down to the kitchen in the first place.

“Where’s Mom?” I demand.

“Mackenzie, please…”

My tone rises in pitch. “Where is she? Is she hurt? Have you seen her?”

He closes his eyes briefly.

I shove past him. He tries to grab for me, but I shake him off.

“You’re going to need to take care of your girlfriend,” I hear him tell Kirill.

Kirill sounds worried. “Why? What’s happened?”

But I barely hear him. I’m already in the middle of the remains of the kitchen, picking my way through the rubble and debris. My heart is beating so fast I think it might explode. I scan the twisted metal and crumbled stones, desperately hoping I’m wrong.

I draw to a halt and suck in a breath. When I release it again, it’s with a cry of anguish.

“No!”

The scream tears from my lips, and I drop to my knees.

My mom’s body is half buried beneath the rubble. Her blue eyes are glassy and unseeing. Blood trickles in rivulets from her ears and nostrils. Her face is impossibly pale. That goddamned dust clings to her eyelashes and settles on her skin.

The sounds peeling from my throat are raw and primal. “Mom? Mommy? No, please, you can’t be gone.”

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