Page 118 of The Devil We Know

“You better not be leading us in a fucking circle,” I sputter.

Camilla pulls him up by yanking on his arms with a touch more force than is probably necessary, then he turns toward us, glowering as he says, “And what fucking good would that do me?”

I step into him, incapable of keeping my mouth shut as I ask, “So, how did you do it anyway?”

He squints and asks, “Do what?”

“Manage to coerce me into you fucking me?”

He snorts, smirks at me, and retorts, “Drugs, sugar. How else?”

A scream forms in my chest, and I grit my teeth as rage surges inside me. I yank a knife out of Camilla’s belt, burying it into his shoulder without hesitation. “Don’t fucking call me sugar.”

He shouts in pain, fighting to get away from me as I twist the blade. Carolina grabs me from behind, yanking me back as I attempt to pull the knife out of him, wanting nothing more than to stick it somewhere fatal.

Carolina holds me tighter, and after a brief fight, I settle, raising my hands in surrender. “I’m alright. It’s fine.”

Carolina slowly releases me, stepping back but keeping her hands on my arms as she looks me over. “I’m alright. Seriously.”

Carolina nods, and then Camilla laughs behind me. “You got a little fire in you. I like it.”

I frown, shoving my shaking hands in my pockets as I shrug. “He pissed me off.”

Camilla throws her head back and laughs. “For some reason, I don’t think it’ll be the last time.”

I sigh, motioning for them to continue on. Finn takes a step down the hallway, muttering to himself, and Camilla retorts, “Keep running your mouth, and I’ll finish it for her.”

He stops muttering, but his gait is slightly slower now that he’s injured. We walk down a flight of stairs. Then another. And another. Trepidation runs over me as we sink further and further underground.

We continue walking, and then he stops aside a large metal doorway. Finn throws the huge deadbolt back and shoves the heavy door open, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He walks into the room, and we follow, and then he flips on a dim light, and I blink at what appears to be a row of large concrete boxes. Or in their current shape, caskets.

“What the fuck is this?” Camilla asks.

“Prisoner storage.”

He grabs a box hanging from the wall and pushes buttons. A motor whirs, the chains creaking as they tighten, and the heavy lid starts to rise.

Carolina stoops over, peering into the box, and then she straightens, glaring at him. “Is this a fucking joke?”

He raises his brows and asks, “What do you mean a joke?”

“That’s not him,” she replies as she points at the box. “I don’t fucking know who that is, but it’s not Darius.”

The cover continues to rise as Camilla looks closer and then adds, “And also, this man is dead.”

He drops the controls, walks over to the edge of the box, and looks down as he whispers, “Oh, fuck.”

I stare at him with raised brows. “What do you mean ‘oh, fuck’?”

“This is the one he was in.”

“What do you mean ‘this is the one he was in’?”

“This is the fucking box he was in, so if he’s not in it, that can only mean one thing.”

Camilla, Carolina, and I all glance at each other and then look back at him as he mutters, “That must mean he got out. That means The Beast is free.”

I frown, then laugh. Then Carolina and Camilla laugh with me.

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