Page 65 of Absolution
He finally allows me to lead him out of the awful basement. “This way.”
We climb the brick stairs, the dank scent clearing from my senses as the air becomes fresher above ground. I take a deep breath, welcoming the rush of clean oxygen.
But fear clings to my psyche, and my footsteps are quick as I rush into the armory. Antique weapons from every era over the last several centuries line the wood paneled walls, and a pool table dominates the center of the room. A stocked whiskey cabinet is illuminated to the right of the massive fireplace, and the cigar humidor on the other side of the mantle is open.
I register that Uncle Jeffrey must be close in the moment that I hear the sickeningcrack.
Dane jerks at my side, then drops. A green pool ball rolls away from his still form, a smear of crimson marking the white band around its middle. Blood begins to spread out on the cream rug beneath my husband’s head.
I cry out his name and drop to my knees, but before I can reach for him, cruel hands grab me from behind.
“I’m putting you back where you belong,” Uncle Jeffrey snarls, dragging me away from Dane.
He isn’t moving.
My horrified wail fills the armory, and I thrash in my uncle’s restraining hold.
“Calm down,” he admonishes. “I’ll make sure he lives if you just do as I say.”
We’re almost at the stairs. He’s going to throw me back into that cell. Horror churns in my gut, but I force myself to stop fighting. Dane needs help. My uncle could do anything to him while he’s unconscious. There’s nothing to stop him from killing my husband.
Nothing except me.
“I’ll cooperate,” I say desperately. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
The darkened stairwell yawns before me, and a furious roar echoes off the brick passageway.
My uncle’s hands are ripped from my arms, and I whirl to find Dane grappling with the older man. He’s bigger than myuncle and so much stronger, but the right side of his face is covered in blood, and his green eyes are slightly out of focus.
Uncle Jeffrey throws his full weight against my husband, tackling him to the floor. His fist slams into Dane’s jaw.
Dane goes still again, and Uncle Jeffrey shoves to his feet. For a moment, I think he’s going to come after me again, but he lunges toward the fireplace, reaching for one of the swords that serves as perverse decoration above the mantle.
I don’t pause to think. I grab an antique, civil war era rifle from the wall. It will never fire a shot again, but the bayonet is still sharp.
My defiant scream is a battle cry, and I lunge at the man who’s caused me so much misery. He whirls to face me, pale blue eyes wide with shock. The sword is in his upraised hand, but I’m faster.
The bayonet slams into his stomach, shredding flesh and vital organs. He roars in agony and tries to stumble away from my attack.
But he’s still holding the sword. He’s still a threat to Dane.
I yank the blade free and jab again, plunging it straight into my uncle’s chest. He falls to his knees, jaw slack as he stares up at me.
My lips peel back from my teeth in a vicious snarl. “You will not hurt my husband. You won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
I twist the rifle, and the blade shreds his black heart.
His body goes rigid for a moment, and then he slumps over the rifle. My fingers are locked around the weapon, and I’m dragged down to my knees from his dead weight on the bayonet.
“You can let go now, Abigail.”
Dane’s steady, elegant fingers tug at mine, urging me to release the rifle.
I instantly drop it and wrap my arms around him with a sharp cry of relief.
He shushes me gently. “You’re all right. He’s not a threat anymore.”
I pull back so that I can cup his cheeks in both hands. His blood wets my palm. It flows from a gash at his brow in a sluggish stream.
