ella

canyon road. That subtle, rhythmic rocking motion, combined with the suffocat

rate, agonizing thrashing of my limbs as the water swallowed me whole. But worst of all were the hands. Strong, familiar hands gripping my hair, ruthlessly forcing my head under the murky surface. Through the distorted, bubb

fire of *Vendetta* burning in my veins. I blinke

of false reassurance. "...we'll be out of the canyon so

hesitate.

nst the seat before she could even register the movement. With my right hand, I dr

atter. Francesca's eyes bulged in sheer terror, her hands flying to her ruined throat as a wet, gurgling sound escaped her lips. She thrashed, her polished facade

d screams vibrating against my palm. Her wide eyes darted

the engine. "She was a rat. She was driving us straight into an ambush orchestrated b

d for air, tears spilling down her pale cheeks, but she

e," I c

draped it over her cooling shoulders. My fingers were slick with her blood as I pulled my signature ruby hairpin from my own hair

e shoulders to force her to look at me. "You find a cab, or you

er. "The Seraphim? But... that's Don Damien Mor

, wiping a smear of blood from my thumb. "Tell the guards at the doo

es crunched against the gravel shoulder of the secluded highway. Through the cracked window, the roaring so