Page 23 of Hell Hath No Fury

His smile is sad, the tiredness around his eyes evident as he follows me along the hallway and down the stairs. “Do you have a vehicle here?”

“No, got dropped off a couple of miles out and hoofed it.”

I nod, trying not to snort at the image of him hoofing it in his ridiculous accountant disguise. He gives me a dirty look, likely knowing full well what I’m thinking, and when he gives me a slight shove, I don’t bother trying to hide my grin, thankful for the small distraction from the shitshow we’re currently in.

We all exit the residence through the side entrance, skirting back around the dark edges of the property and down the driveway to the waiting SUVs.

Darius follows Tony, but he pauses before getting into the passenger seat and pulls out his phone, obviously sending someone a message before pocketing it and getting into the vehicle.

We all pile in, and then it’s a quieter and much longer drive back to Declan’s estate.

Tony loops around the driveway, backing the vehicle into the garage while Matt stops and waits near the front door. I glance over at the front of the house, doing a double-take as I say, “Did someone leave the front door open?”

Matt and Antonio immediately look toward the house as Matt asks, “What do you mean?”

Agatha unbuckles her seatbelt, leaning over me to peer out the window. “Did Declan come back?”

“No, he absolutely did not.”

Matt shifts the SUV into park, speaking into the earpiece he’s still wearing as we exit the vehicle and quietly rush to the front door. We stop in the main entryway to Declan’s home, and at first glance, everything appears to be in its normal place, but after a closer look, I see it.

Small streaks of red. A fingerprint here. A smear there.

Then, Tony is in my ear, whispering, “There’s someone in the kitchen.”

We quickly make our way toward the kitchen, and sure enough, the closer we get, the more noises I hear. As we get closer to the doorway, Matt and Antonio fall behind, allowing me to go first into the room.

Tony stands in the doorway on the opposite side, having entered through the garage. He looks at me with wide eyes and shakes his head subtly. I walk further into the room, my eyestrained on what is obviously a dark-haired woman standing at the stove with her back to me.

She’s whistling. My eldest-born daughter, who’s been missing for months and months, is now standing at the stove, whistling some silly little ditty as she does a little jig.

Agatha nudges me, drawing my attention to her, and when I look at her, she motions with her head, so I return my attention to Antoinette and ask, “Whatcha cookin’?”

Antoinette doesn’t startle or flinch. She slowly turns around, her smile vibrant as she replies, “Nothing well.” Tony’s burst of laughter from the door draws her attention, and her smile broadens. “For fuck’s sake, Tony, don’t just stand there, put me out of my misery.”

She steps away from the stove, motioning toward it as Tony closes the distance between them. He doesn’t say anything to her; he just takes up her spot at the stove, the frown on his face indicating that whatever the fuck she was doing was not good.

Then, she turns to face me fully, stepping closer, and my eyes practically bug out of my head as I get a good look at her. I do my best not to gape at her, and I’m saved from having to speak when Agatha says from beside me, “What the hell, sis? Did you get in a fight?”

Antoinette glances down at herself and then laughs. “Nothing a little club soda won’t take out.”

The laugh that falls from my lips is jarring and painful.

She is quite literally covered in blood. Her clothes are splattered and, in some places, even saturated. I walk around the kitchen island, following the bloody smears wherever she has touched.

I stop when I’m about a foot from her, resting my hand on top of hers where it’s on the counter and ask, “How did you get here?”

“I drove. I have the code for the garage, so I parked there and let myself in.”

Matt hadn’t opened the other garage door, so we didn’t notice the new vehicle. I look at Tony, who glances at me and nods, confirming that her story is true. “Did you open the front door?”

She nods and sighs. “I was looking for you, but I couldn’t find you.”

“Are you okay?” Agatha asks from where she’s still standing on the other side of the kitchen island.

Antoinette’s gaze moves to her sister’s, and she frowns. “Do I look fucking okay?”

Agatha smirks in typical Agatha fashion and then shrugs. “Well, I’ve seen you look worse.”

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