Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,118

continues, “for doing what he couldn’t. Never did have the stomach for violence when he always had ample greed.” He grips my shirt tighter, snapping me forward until I’m at his feet. “But unlike your father, I always give credit where it’s due. So, thank you, Little Rowan, for setting me free after all these years. I’m sure your father intended to leave me to die, same as he did to you.”

Pain radiates from my core.

The shadows creep forward and the darkness swoops in, and I let the world hear me scream.

Have no mercy.

And God help us all because I have none.

I swing my right leg forward and snatch the pump off my foot. Turning into Hanover’s grip, I twist my body and surge upward—and plunge the stiletto heel in his gut. It sinks past fabric, sinks deep into skin. Clasping his stomach, he staggers backward from the blow.

I run.

I run to the grim melody of Silas Hanover screaming and Connelly barking orders, and I’m halfway down the hall when the sirens begin anew. The shrill of banshees. The wail of hell. Lights dim overhead, casting a red tint over everything in sight. Gruff voices enter the corridor behind me and all I need is one look over my shoulder to know that I’m fucked.

The guards have entered the fray.

“Oh, hell.”

Skidding sideways, I change directions and duck down the next corridor—only to stumble to a stop when a paired column of guards comes into view. Glossy black helmets conceal their faces and terrifying guns are held diagonally across their chests. The second that they latch eyes on my paralyzed frame, they assume position. The first two rows lower to their knees, the second and third fanning out to create a blockade that I’ll cross only in my dreams.

Ice dances down my spine.

Fear creeps into my heart.

On bare feet, I inch backward. Only, the guards don’t follow because they don’t need to—one panicked glance down the bordering hallway reveals that I’ve already been effectively cornered.

There’s no way to freedom, no way to escape whatever comes next.

I’m going to die.

Damien demanded to know what Ian had thought of before Isla Quinn killed him in The Octagon. Friend or not, I’ll never know Ian Coney’s heart or soul—but I know my own. As I inhale my last breaths of life, I grasp onto the only memory of warmth that I can recall—blue eyes fixed on my face and calloused hands pressing my palm to a pair of soft lips, and a wish . . . a wish that I desperately hope will come true.

“May you find happiness,” I breathe, feeling my eyes burn with tears, “and live for us both.”

Slowly, my hands come up.

And then my knees sink to the floor.

35

Damien

If there’s a hell on earth, Broadmoor Hospital has become its epicenter and I its devil.

One by one they all fall down.

Necks snapping, rounds flying; I grab the guard to my right and slam the stock of my rifle into his face. Blood spurts from his nose. His hands come up to shove me off but I’m already swinging his body to the left just as another comes barreling toward me. The guard in my grasp catches the spray of bullets. Dropping him to the floor, I swiftly angle my gun and fire.

Another falls.

I don’t wait long enough to see him hit the ground.

Weapon clutched to my shoulder, I take the next corner and flick my gaze down the length of the empty hallway. Panic is a seed inside my gut, unfurling and growing until its tremor is a vibration that’s embedded in my bones, a living, breathing thing that screams, Where are you?

I shouldn’t have sent her in here.

Shouldn’t have assumed that Robert Guthram would be the same man from my childhood who always stood up for right versus wrong and never let Jayme Paul or the older blokes mess with me or my brothers. And I—

A guard cuts down the hallway, followed swiftly by another six or seven.

Broadmoor Hospital is a house of horrors, and, on silent feet, I descend further into the madness. With my back to the wall, I shadow the group jogging down the hall. They never once glance back.

And I fight every instinct that demands that I kill them all here and now.

They wind their way through the maze of the psychiatric ward, never stopping to look in the windows as they pass, as if the sight before them is one they’ve examined a thousand times over.