Page 79 of The Devil's Den

My breathing erupts out of me as I stare down at what I did, and I don’t feel an ounce of remorse.

When my inhales calm, I get their guns, their phones, and their keys, before removing one of their shirts and tying it the best I can around the wound at my shoulder, using my teeth and my free hand. It looks like the bullet only grazed me, but the gash is still bleeding some.

I wince as I roll their bodies into the grave they nicely dug for me. Picking up the shovel, I start to throw dirt over their bodies until they’re no longer visible, until it’s piled high. I push through the burning pain, the adrenaline keeping me working, knowing there’s no other choice. I have to find her and I won’t stop until I do.

Once I’m done, I hold on to the shovel, intending to take both with me. But as I march a step, my head gets dizzy. “Shit.” I grab a nearby tree trunk, fighting to stay awake, but it’s too late. My body sways, growing heavy, until I crumble to the ground, the light flickering out of my eyes.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

MATTEO

My eyes pop open,but the sky is no longer blue, but black, stars swimming in the night sky.

“Fuck!” I try to jump to my feet, but still feel like I’m in a damn fog. I take a minute to close my eyes, then I get up, stumbling as I do. I can’t waste any more time. Who the hell knows how long I’ve been down and where Aida is right now?

I look around for the stuff that belonged to the men I killed. Once I locate it all, I stuff the keys and phones into my pockets, and shove both weapons into my waistband.

The shovels are next as I grab both, dragging them down to where I know the van is still parked. Once I get the damn thing started, I’m on the road, doing my best to maintain control of the wheel.

Thanks to the GPS they have in here, I know where I’m going, though I’m going slower than I should be. But not killing myself is high on the agenda.

Once I get back to the house, I jump out, finding the driveway empty, and rush toward the door. It’s open.

Slowly, I push it open further, not finding anyone there.

“Hello?” I rush inside. “Robby?”

The lights are still on, but the house is definitely empty. I have to make sure Robby isn’t hiding somewhere.

I head for the bathroom first though, finding a towel and wetting it in the sink as I stare at myself, blood covering my forehead, and staining my cheeks and jaw. I wipe it all away, knowing I have to also change my clothes before Robby and I get out of here. If the cops stop me, they’re really going to love the bloodied clothes. Who’d believe I’m some kid who’s been locked in a basement since I was eight? They’ll just see a man with blood on his clothing.

“Robby, buddy. It’s Matteo. We gotta go!” I shout. If he’s near enough, maybe he’ll hear me and come out. Aida once told me he liked to hide when he was scared. He could be anywhere. I can’t leave until I search every inch of this place.

Once I’m finally clean, I march into the kitchen. “Robby? Come on, dude.”

I keep moving, not seeing him anywhere. “Robby?” I run all over—the dining room, the living room, checking behind the couches. “Fuck!”

I hurry up the stairs, combing through every damn room, under beds, but he’s nowhere. When I get to Agnelo’s bedroom, I grab one of his black zip-up hoodies from the closet and leave my shirt on his goddamn floor.

Running back out, I continue searching, not finding Robby anywhere. They must’ve taken him. They had to have. I have to find him too. I’m ready to bail, marching toward the stairs when a screech of tires wails in the distance, until they stop.

“Damn it!” I whisper, removing a gun from my waistband. The vehicle had a shit ton of weapons to keep me company.

“He’s here!” someone shouts, then multiple footsteps slam against the floor. I slowly move out of the room and the floorboards creek.

Fuck!

“He’s upstairs!” a man whispers. “Move in.”

My pulse pounds heavy in my throat as I hide behind the wall right to the side of the stairs, hoping to catch them off guard.

They climb. Slowly. The stairs squeaking louder as they go up.

Closer.

Closer.

Pop.

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