Page 2 of Double Down
Their deaths were the product of their lives, and the evidence of that was carved without mercy into their flesh.
Sarah’s death is different. Nothing about her tells the story of the way she lived. Not a single thing is out of place on her perfectly positioned corpse.
Sarah was murdered. It’s beyond clear that she died a violent death, but she looks completely at peace. Her makeup is perfect, and her body is still just as stunning, with no outward signs of anything. None of her bad decisions or the wrong turns that might have led to this fate… no swelling, no mottled skin, no defensive marks that I can see.
Even her belly button ring glimmers in the low light. Her expression is neutral. If it wasn’t for the red hole in her temple with a small trail of dried blood down her cheek and the glassy eyes staring back at me without a hint of life to them, I’d say she’s asleep. That single red trail does all the talking.
“When the men on the side of the road cornered me, they told me they’d be sending you a message. I thought—” I swallow. “I thought I was the message. That they were going to kill me. They wanted you to know you weren’t untouchable.”
My gaze locks on Sarah’s vacant eyes. “I think she’s supposed to be the message.”
“We got the message they wanted to send. We answered with bloodshed,” Maverick’s voice is pure threat, and a shiver races up my spine.
“We did,” Storm agrees. “We showed them what happens to anyone who touches what’s ours.”
Storm’s arms circle me from behind, pulling me into the warmth of his chest. His breath lands at my temple, steady as a metronome. I know Storm well enough by now to know that this is reassurance for him as much as for me right now. It’s the knowledge that I’m here, that nothing has happened to me. That I still belong to him, to them. His thumbs press once at my ribs, counting each one the same way I tap my fingers. It makes me feel safer. Only a little—but enough to breathe without tasting metal.
“I think she’s their response. They want you to know it isn’t over.”
This is all my fault. The Titans are being targeted because I couldn’t pay my father’s debt to the mob. Every line in the ledger still adds up to me. Every time I try to fix it, it gets so much worse. I pull one thread and the whole thing cinches tighter around their throats.
“It’s over,” Conrad says with an edge of determination—or maybe it’s denial—in his voice. “We ended it hours ago. They must have posed her here right after we came down or…”
“Dude, she’s still warm.” Maverick says, walking around the body. His hand reaches out, but at the last moment, he thinks better of it and pulls back. “I’m no expert, but binge-watching NCIS for that hot goth chick gives me just enough experience to know she didn’t die very long ago.”
“Could she have died slowly?” Con asks.
“From a close range gunshot to the head? No.” Atticus walks around the table, not touching anything but looking at everything very closely, his eyes behind those glasses logging every minute detail in a way that only he can. His white buttondown shirt is still perfectly pressed despite the long morning we’ve already had, and even the slight tan on his sun kissed cheeks looks meticulous and intentional.
Atticus is all quiet control and detachment as he studies the crime scene, glancing infrequently at Sarah but instead lasering in on everything else and the data those details can provide.
He studies all the little details that might go unnoticed.
The corners of the ceilings, the bookshelves that hold random decor that some designer picked.
He’s looking for cameras; I’m sure of it.
I stay, standing awkwardly in the doorway to the dining room. I want to go in and join them but I can’t force my feet to walk through the doorway.
Storm kisses the back of my hand then lets me go so he can join the others. Cold slips in behind him.
He’s taking in everything, too, but unlike Atticus, he’s focused on the girl. I watch as his attention narrows—the angle of her head, her hands, the stillness that means there’s not any danger.
He’s quiet for a moment, leaning in close to the body and breathing deeply. My stomach rolls.
“Metal, gun powder, a slight hint of seared flesh, overpowered by the scent of lilies from the centerpiece.” Storm's voice is quiet, gentle even, like he’s trying not to disturb the dead. My mouth floods, and I swallow hard.
“What do you see?” Atticus asks.
Maverick answers. “I’m thinking she had to have already been dead when they brought her here, but it hasn’t been long. Head wounds bleed and?—”
“Not even close.” Storm interrupts Maverick. “The bullet was a small caliber. It entered her skull at her temple. It probably bounced around a little bit. I’m sure the damage inside is extensive, but there’s no exit wound. Meaning the bleeding would be minimal.” He looks up and gives Maverick an almost teasing look. “I think this is where all our obsessions with criminal and forensics shows is coming in handy.”
He grabs his knife and flips the blade open. A gasp catches in my throat, and I take a step back.
“There are no burn marks that I can see on the entry wound,” he says, using the hilt of the blade to gently turn her head so he can look before letting it rest in the same position she fell in. “I can’t say how long she’s been dead, but I would say she was killed here, or at least there isn’t anything to suggest she was killed anywhere else. There are no signs of any decomp or anything they may have used to preserve her.”
My mind is racing with everything as I wrap my arms around my chest again and try to focus without falling back on the tics that make me feel crazy. Instead, I focus on the breathing.
