Page 59 of Dead By Dusk

I frantically search everywhere that we had taken it in the house, but no matter how many objects I turn over, I can’t findit, and all I’m left with is my thoughts as I’m roughly pulling on my wild hair.

Think, Silene. Think.

Studying the parchment once more, I figure out where I think I’m starting and take a pen, sketching out what I can remember, attempting to recreate a visual of the path I need to take. I throw the paper back onto the bed and think about how to execute my plan even if it’s not necessarily fully formed. In my head though, one word plays over and over again, and I know where I want to start. If everything must burn, so too must this chapter that helped build the foundation of mine and Ronan’s relationship and the woman I had become.

Everything must burn.

I make quick work of gathering every piece of paper in the house and scattering it down the stairs, and into the living area, but keeping most of it within the upstairs bedroom. Once everything is placed in a way that should easily spread throughout, I grab one of the thick curtains and tear a piece long enough to use as a mask before stepping into the kitchen.

Opening the drawer next to the sink, I grab the old lighter I easily disregarded upon searching the kitchen for weapons the first time around. Then, I walk to the stoves and start the gas on the stove burners but don’t allow the fire to catch. Then, I open the oven, and repeat the process before calmly walking up the stairs for the last time.

As I’m about to light the first piece of paper, I hesitate before walking to the dressers where we kept extra clothing and pull out one of his shirts. I don’t have much time before the smell of gas reaches me, so I bring it with me, light the paper, and lock myself in the tunnels. Not a moment to waste, I take the tunnel directly to the right and run as fast and far as possible before I hear the explosion. The ground shakes beneath my feet as thecobblestones walls crack—small pieces crumbling to the ground around me.

I will my feet to move faster as my breathing becomes labored, but when a rush of thick black smoke pushes past me, I’m thrown to the ground as the force of the explosion catches up to me. Fumes fill my lungs as my vision blurs and coughing overtakes me. Quickly, I remove one of my daggers, tearing the fabric of Ronan’s shirt and tie it around my head, creating a makeshift mask. It hardly helps protect me from the billowing, black smoke that causes my throat, greedy for clean air, to constrict.

Pushing to my feet, I continue. Stumbling through the dark tunnels, guided only by will, when a tingling sensation flows through my veins. Every hair on my arms stands straight up.

I’m being watched.

I almost stop, but I don’t. While hiding in such conditions would be quite easy, surviving—unmoving—would not be.

Imustkeep moving.

But continuing to walk or run when my throat has been smoldered and my head is light, I wonder if this is the end for me. Have I already failed? Have I succeeded in nothing more than broken promises?

White spots dot across my vision, and as coughing becomes me, I drag my body forward. Further. I crawl, inching myself forward as far as I can go. Propelled by the desire to be more than accidental lies. More than someone who fails every time it matters.

Live. Escape and live.

A desperate cry forces itself out of me as I keep going. Pushing, despite the blindness and inability to breathe.

Live.

And then a body approaches. A silhouette. But my vision is far too hazy to recognize anything other than the blur of it all.Closer and closer the person comes, and I grip the dagger in my hand tightly, ready to swing, but my efforts are futile as my weapon is ripped from my hand. Sure and steady hands grip my wrist, and I fight the best that I can as my body is dragged on the harsh warm ground. Stones tear into my skin as I continue to fight, but soon enough, my body finally gives out as I succumb to the demanding darkness.

* * *

I wake with a start. Heavy metal encases my wrists, and chains rattle around me with my every movement. The sound elicits a groan from me as my head pounds, but I continue pulling and tugging, frantically checking the space around me. I immediately stop at the sight of what lies behind.

Or, in more accurate terms, who sits in wait.

“I expected more of a fight from you, though your little spectacle was quite entertaining,” he says, a wide smile on his face. He wipes imaginary dirt from his pants legs from where he sits in a chair, not too far from where I’ve been abandoned on the ground. “I was almost worried for a moment.” A dark chuckle escapes him before he slams his palms against his thighs, bringing himself to stand. It’s then that I hear a delicate jingling sound, and my eyes zero in on the keys that dangle loosely from one of his belt loops.

“Miss Dimitriou…it was quite disappointing to hear what you have been up to. You showed such amazing promise and loyalty for such a long time,” he starts, but keeps a short distance between the two of us. I tilt my head to the side, intrigued by where his little spiel is leading.

“You’ve worked for me for two years, have you not? Tell me now, how long have you been whoring yourself out to the menyou work with? I knew of your past, to a certain extent. I have to, before bringing anyone onto my staff. And do you know what I thought to myself?” he questions me, exasperation lining his features. He rubs the underside of his jaw as if he’s actively recalling the memory.

“Not particularly, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” I respond, feigning disinterest. Truthfully, I was curious. I wanted to know what his thoughts were, just as much as I wanted out of this atrocious smelling cell. His eyes narrow at me as he ticks his jaw and turns his back to me, beginning to walk away.

“I thought, ‘How wonderful it is to have someone so undesirable, that not even her parents cared if she lived or died.’ I just wish I would have had the foresight to see just how troublesome that could be. Was my praise not enough that you had to go and spread your legs to anyone who might pretend to care about you?”

“Oh, careful now. You’re beginning to sound a little jealous. Don’t tell me this is all because you wish it could’ve been you. I’m sorry, Robert, I just prefer my men with a little more passion, more giving, and less…well, less bitchy to put it bluntly.”

He’s in my face faster than I realize, slapping me so hard that I bite my tongue. The tang of blood fills my mouth, and I just smile, allowing it to flow down my chin and drip onto the floor.

“What did I say about being careful? This is like foreplay for me. I didn’t know you had it in you,” I say between bouts of deep laughter. He grips my face, pulling my body closer to his, and I begin to fight against his hold, making him come even closer than he already was.

Good.

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