Page 137 of Veil of Death and Shadow

My attention locked on a black, polished SUV—the only car in the lot. It was rare to see a car so well taken care of these days. This one looked almost new. Pristine. Not a speck of dirt on it. Something told me it belonged to Claude.

“Agony,” Kieran followed my gaze, then stepped in front of me. “What, exactly, is going through that head of yours?”

“Wrath’s compound is a decent trek away. And we won’t make it there tonight if we go on foot.”

“No.” Kieran shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Sidestepping my guardian angel, I walked over to the car. One quick glance at the bar’s entrance confirmed that we were alone out here. The bouncer must have gone back inside, now that the guys he’d thrown out had either killed each other or found their ways home.

When I grabbed the door handle, it opened with a soft click. Unlocked. Apparently, someone stealing from Claude was such a wild thought that he didn’t even bother with the most basic precautions.

The lights came on overhead, illuminating the fancy dashboard. I took that as a promising sign. The carwantedme to take it.

“Do you even know how to drive one of these?” Kieran asked. He ran a hand aggressively through his hair as his gaze darted between me and the door, like he expected someone to come marching over any second now.

Cars were expensive and, since The Undoing, deeply unreliable. In the Before, Seattle’s public transit system was comprehensive enough that I made do easily with buses, the light rail, and the occasional paid car service when I was particularly desperate. There’d never been an opportunity or reason to learn how to drive.

I slid onto the smooth leather driver seat. There wasn’t a single speck or crumb on the inside. Smelled fairly new, too. Who the hell was this guy?

I turned to Kieran and shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

He groaned. Then his face, if possible, went a few shades even paler than it usually was.

“Seems your new toy has quite the death wish.” Thorne shot Kieran a dark smirk as he steppedthroughthe car door and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. “At least I’ll get to enjoy watching this disaster of your own creation blow up in your face.”

24

MAREENA

Approximately Eight Years Ago, Two Years Before The Undoing

The apartment was empty, so I decided to spend my night curled up in bed—alone, except for the company of a particularly intense horror novel that had my blood pumping overtime.

Fear was a strange phenomenon. I found that I both hated and craved it, and there was something so magical about how something as innocuous as ink on paper could strike so deeply into my bones, forcing my muscles to clench and my heart to race like a trapped bird in its cage.

Stranger still, was the fact that I actively sought this rush out. That I almost craved it.

It was late, and my room was bathed in the soft glow of my side lamp and the crackling flame of a candle.

Just as the protagonist started walking into the desolate basement—truly why did they all do this, let their attraction to danger lead them in the exact direction they shouldn’t be going?—a loud knock sounded in the hall.

I jumped, tossing the book as if the monster in the story might burst from its pages.

My fingers searched for something to defend myself with, but all that I had within reaching distance was my vibrating wand.

Defense by vibrator was better than no defense at all, so I grabbed it, hoping like hell it looked at least a little bit intimidating.

There was another resounding crash as I made my way to the front door, my eye pressed to the small peephole, lime-green wand clutched like a club.

Something slammed against the door, a hand maybe, blocking my sight. I jumped back at the ricochet of the impact, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

My phone was in my room. Why the hell hadn’t I grabbed it? Phone to call for help beat vibrator every time when it came to intruders. Every. Time.

When I turned to go rectify the situation, there was a loud groan, and then another crash.

I pressed my eye to the peephole again, finding the obstruction gone—and a dark, familiar figure leaning against the opposite wall, hair wet and curling over his eyes.

With a heavy exhale, my body relaxed.

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