Page 109 of Victorious Vice

She’s right.

Which means…

“Jared!” I yell.

I follow my mother as she frantically searches every room, finally getting to my father’s study.

The door is open, and Jared is standing behind Dad’s desk.

My heart nearly stops.

On the floor…

Seeping into the hardwood…

Redness.

Sticky redness.

I should know.

I’ve had enough of it drawn out of my body, enough transfusions to last a lifetime.

It’s blood.

“Raven, Mrs. Bellamy,” Jared says, his voice a monotone, “you need to get out of here. Now.”

But my mother rushes toward Jared, and then she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

I gulp as I walk toward them.

Jared is holding Mom, and I cast my gaze to the floor.

Nausea crawls up my throat, inch by inch, sticking its talons into my flesh.

A body.

My father’s body.

Next to it.

A gun.

I try to speak, to scream, but the words die in my throat as I stumble back, smashing into a bookshelf. The room spins,my vision blurring. I can hardly make out my mother’s figure slumped against Jared’s chest as she sobs.

But I don’t need to see. The metallic scent of blood fills the room, cloying and thick. I fall to my knees, the world tilting around me. Daddy? Dead?

Jared is saying something, but his voice is distant and warped, like he’s speaking underwater. He sounds calm—too calm for what has just happened.

A chaotic jumble of questions claws at the edges of my mind. What happened? Who did this? And most importantly, why? But I can’t ask. Not now.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears pricking at their corners—hot, burning tears of shock and grief.

Then I open them and I walk toward the gun.

“Don’t touch it!” Jared warns. “Leave everything exactly as it is.”

“Yes, yes. Of course,” I hear myself saying. “Daddy? Is he okay, Jared?”

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