Page 88 of Whispers of the Dead

A single tear slips down my cheek. His voice comes out as a rasp against my ear, his breath hot and rancid. “If I can’t have her, no one can.”

Benji moves first, in a violent, uncontrolled lunge.

Eugene cocks the gun. “Ah, ah.” He presses the barrel against my temple. “One more step and I’ll?—”

A gunshot rings out, and I stop breathing.

The world jerks.

Blood sprays across my cheek, warming my skin.

Eugene stumbles back and gasps for air. I rip free from his grip right as his knees give out. His fingers lock onto my arm when he falls, and he drags me down with him. We hit the wet concrete together.

I push myself up, but I can’t hear anything through the ringing in my ears. It’s so loud. Not even my wildly thumping pulse can drown it out.

When I look up, I see Eugene’s face twisted in shock. His hands claw at the bullet wound in his chest.

Voices around me are muffled, before the ringing in my ears dies down. Rain drips down from the cracked concrete above, streaking through his blood-matted hair. His lips tremble. “You—” he wheezes, blood bubbling up in his throat. His glassy eyes flicker. His fingers reach for me, weak and shaking. “You were always supposed to be mine.”

Something inside me snaps. “I was never yours.”

Then, instead of merely letting him die, I press my hands against his chest and shove my thumbs into the bullet wound. I bring my face in close to his so that way his last moments will be spent looking into the eyes of the one person he could never conquer, the person responsible for his demise.

He chokes. Blood coats his lips. His back seizes in aviolent arch off the ground. Then finally, a strangle, choked scream rips from his throat.

No one stops me. Not my guys, not Avery’s men, and no one who was ever loyal enough to him would step in and help. They let me have this.

“You lost,” I say, echoing Avery’s words from earlier. Eugene really should have listened then.

Finally, I shove him away. His lifeless body slumps against the pavement, and the rain washes the blood from my hands. It’s over.

We’re free. I turn around to rejoin my men. “You think this ends with me, little lamb?”

I spin back around to face him, wondering why he can’t just die already.

He smiles. A low, sick, bloodstained smirk. His glassy eyes stare past me now, unfocused yet too knowing.

His body convulses one last time, and his breath rattles. “They’ll come for you,” he slurs.

Avery crouches beside me with an intent stare on Eugene. “Who?”

Eugene doesn’t answer. Instead, he exhales his final breath.

37

COLE

Alow moan echoes through the parking garage, followed by the wet shuffle of dragging feet.

Damon snaps to attention, his entire posture shifting into protective mode. “We need to go. Now.”

Before any of us can move, Zoey turns to Avery. He doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around her and his lips brush against his ear when he whispers something only she can hear.

A pang of jealousy flares through me. I want to be the one she turns to. The one who pulls her back from the edge. I watch the tension in her shoulders melt for a fraction of a second before she pulls away. There’s no time for comfort when the dead are coming.

Avery doesn’t waste time. He signals his dregs—I mean men—with a single word: “Guard.”

His men fall into formation, raising weapons and forming a loose protective circle around the five of us. Lola barks from beside me. Okay, six of us.

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