Page 122 of Sapphire Tears

Some buildings are lifeless. Just boxes of stone and glass and wood without a soul.

Others have memories soaked into the foundation. This is the latter.

We stopped coming to this place right around the time my mother “moved” to France. My father said he put it on the market and I never questioned him.

It was a foolish oversight. I should have been more thorough.

But it makes sense now. This is where it all happened, where Adrian did things out of my sight for far too long. How many women came in here and never left? How many tears were shed beneath its roof? How many screams let loose that no one heard?

Too many.

Too many.

Too many.

“Your orders, sir?” Knox says, stepping to my side.

I flinch at the sound of his voice. It’s too rough and gravelly, mostly because it’s not Milana’s.Her hands on that operating table were so fucking cold.

I shiver and force myself back to the present. “We exfiltrate June. Then we burn it all to the fucking ground, along with every man in there.”

I gesture for my men to march forward. Another few steps and it will all begin. We’ll emerge from the shadows and they’ll know we’re here and lives will begin to end. Perhaps mine, too.

Well, no sense in playing coy.

I raise my hand. Everyone holds their breath.

Then I drop it down, and the war begins.

A barrage of gunfire takes down the gates with ruthless efficiency. The hapless guards who come running out to see what the hell is happening are cut to ribbons the second they stick their miserable heads in the line of fire.

We pour through, a horde of pure vengeance. Knox and a few of my Vors cover me as I run straight for the entrance.

The door is being manned by three hulks with guns of their own. I shoot one before I’m even at the doorstep. The other two try to barricade the entrance, but they’re too dumb and too slow. They both drop like flies, and then I’m beyond them, inside the building.

I’ve already lost my backup, but I don’t give a fuck. I just charge through the house, killing indiscriminately.

We spent summers here for a stretch of years, so the structural layout is somewhat familiar. But it’s been transformed beyond recognition. Gone is the charming country house; in its place is a lurid cesspit of depravity.

The paintings on the walls are violent and sexual, as are the tortured statues lurking in the corners. The red detailing everywhere makes my eyes hurt.

I turn a corner and find myself at the mouth of a broad passageway. More statues line the walls, each one with their mouth open in a permanent scream.

And then, at the very end of it all, I see him.

My brother.

His body is tense with disbelief. But the moment our eyes lock, I know we understand each other. This is going to end today.

I bolt down the hall after him. Like the coward he is, he turns and runs.

“What’s the matter, little brother?” I yell. “Afraid to face me?”

He disappears through a pair of thick double doors. I fire at the lock as I run up, then throw my shoulder into the wood without slowing for even a moment. It splinters and gives way.

I process information instantaneously. I see dark wooden floors, golden wallpaper, a red-felted billiard table in the back.

Then—more motion. My brother is at the back of the room, lunging for a second set of double doors. I pause, draw a stabilizing breath, and level my gun at him.

---