Right away the path disappeared into thick brush.
Rose listened for the sounds of the police behind her but heard nothing.
She caught a glimpse of Lane’s white hoodie ahead of her and bolted toward it.
Small branches scratched her arms and face as she ran through the woods, heart racing, nearly out of breath. The moonlight filtering down through the tall trees barely lit her way, but she was afraid to slow down. Despite the sound of her own ragged breathing, she could still hear the crackle of the forest growth in front of her, and she followed the sound.
Her eyes searched the darkness ahead for anything moving.
In the blue glow of the moonlight, she could see enough to dodge the trees, but couldn’t make out the ground beneath her. More than once, she stumbled and nearly fell.
A thicker branch scraped against her face, and she instantly felt blood begin to drip down her cheek.
She bit back a curse.
Even though she couldn’t be completely silent in her chase—the dried leaves on the ground made that nearly impossible—she still hoped her prey could not hear her.
But suddenly, the sounds in front of her ceased.
Just as quickly, she stopped. She searched the darkness and listened.
Before she could react, something massive struck her right in the solar plexus.
She crumpled onto the forest floor in pain, unable to breathe.
She felt the whir of the large object swinging right above her, right where her head had been.
Without thinking, she rolled and swept her legs out. She made contact, taking her attacker’s legs out completely. She heard a loud thud nearby.
Rolling away again, she put some distance between her and her attacker before she sprang to her feet.
She was still out of breath from having the wind knocked out of her but was able to see a dark silhouette rising from the path in front of her. They were far enough apart that Rose felt safe holding her ground.
Rose reached for her gun, taking it out of the holster at the small of her back.
“You will pay for what you have done.”
Rose pointed the gun with a steady arm.
There was a strangled laugh, and the black silhouette shifted, taking a step toward her.
“Don’t move!” Rose said.
The forest around them had grown silent. Birds and insects seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
There was the crunch of leaves as her attacker took another step. The distance between them was shrinking.
In response, Rose released the safety.
The dark figure lunged and Rose saw the gun flash in the moonlight.
The blast sent a flurry of birds and other night creatures screaming away into the night leaving the forest deathly quiet.
30
The instant Rose saw Lane crumple to the ground, she turned and ran back in the direction from where they had come.
She didn’t know if the young woman was dead or alive, and she didn’t have time to find out.
The gun blast would have attracted people in the nearby houses.
Someone had called the police.
Maybe Gia. Maybe Eva. Maybe someone who wanted her dead.
It was hard to tell.
Instead of heading directly back toward the house, she diverted off the path and crept silently through the woods.
If anything, Rose knew how to be stealthy. Eva had trained her well. Hours spent in the woods by Eva’s house had taught her how to sneak up on anyone—even Eva, who was the best of the best. She’d once even snuck up on Django by staying downwind so he couldn’t smell her.
Thinking of the dog sent a pang of fresh grief through Rose.
When she first went to live with Gia, that dog had become hers.
It was if he sensed that she needed him more. From the instant Rose walked into that San Francisco loft, the big black dog was at her side. Except for when she went to train in Southern Italy, he’d never left. Until the day she woke and found him stiff and cold at the foot of her bed.
It had broken her heart in two.
At the time, she’d thought it was the worst tragedy she’d ever experienced. The grief felt much worse than when her mother had died. After all, she’d been too young to really realize what that loss meant.
But Django. He was the one who was always there.
He’d sat with her when she played dolls as a young girl in the San Francisco loft. He’d gone with her to live in Mexico for a few years. He was with her in San Diego. And he’d loved life in Barcelona, taking a liking instantly to Timothy.
Django.
She couldn’t think about him right now. It hurt too much.
When she got close to the house, she crouched down and listened.
Three police officers were speaking. They sounded frantic and were making plans to search the woods. Taking a chance, she slowly started to maneuver so she could see them. As she did, she felt something cold on her neck.
Before she could react, she heard a familiar voice whisper in her ear.
“Ciao bella.”
Eva.
31
“Why were you in Rome?” Rose asked Gia and Eva as they all stood in front of the house and watched the emergency workers wheel a stretcher covered with a white sheet over to an ambulance.
Lane.
Rose had killed again.
“You know why,” Eva said.
“We were hoping to find her before you did,” Gia said, jutting her chin toward the stretcher as it was lifted into the back of the ambulance.
The police had just released Rose. They had questioned her inside Lane’s house, which had been creepy. The place, though it was a rental, smelled like her. It smelled like whatever soap or shampoo or lotion she used. It made Rose’s stomach churn.
Gia had sat next to her the entire time, holding her hand.
Even though Rose was now legally an adult, the police officer had taken pity on her and let Gia stay.
It helped that a weeping Rose had approached them immediately and then led them to the body in the woods, explaining tearfully on the way that Lane had killed her boyfriend and then tried to kill her.
Luckily, the detectives in Òrrius were not corrupt. Although it had taken more than an hour, the police believed that the shooting was most likely in self-defense and let Rose go. But they warned the determination was not final and she would probably be interviewed again later as part of the larger death investigation.
They also were opening a joint investigation with the Barcelona police into Timothy’s murder. Rose told them about her experience with the corrupt detective. There were raised eyebrows but no comments.
But as Gia and Rose looked on, various officers came up to show evidence they’d already found in Elana’s house:
Apparently, Elana had thoroughly documented everything in journals, including her very detailed plans to kill everyone Rose loved. Her manic ramblings in the journals were accompanied by drawings that made Rose’s mouth grow dry. The pictures were all too familiar to Rose when the police held them up to ask if they meant anything to her.
Elana was a surprisingly good artist, and her renderings of the Sultan and his girls were lifelike and, therefore, terrifying.
The pictures showed the Sultan feasting on the bodies of girls, his head lifted from their torn abdomens, their innards dripping from his open mouth.
Other pictures showed orgies with him and the girls.
Rose was horrified and yet couldn’t tear her eyes away.
When and where had Elana met the Sultan? How had their paths crossed?
From her understanding of the events from many years ago, Elana had gone into hiding in southern Italy when Rose had been sent to the Sultan. But somewhere along the line, the two had crossed paths.
Rose flashed back to the last time she had seen the Sultan. She’d tried to kill him. And failed. She’d been a stowaway on his boat. She’d been lucky to esca
pe with her own life that time.
Rose was in the small bathroom below deck, crouched in the Sultan’s shower.
Right before the engine started, she’d heard the Sultan’s voice. He was on board too. Good.
Her fingers tightened on the dagger she taken from the girl earlier. Her path was clear. She was meant to kill the Sultan. That was more important than her escape.
If she killed him, she would save countless lives. He would no longer buy girls to sacrifice. He was pure evil. If her last act on earth was taking him out, it would have been a good life.
For a split second, her father’s face flashed before her, and Rose emitted a small sob.
No! I cannot be weak. I cannot think of those I love.
It was time to think of those she hated instead.
Above the sound of the engine, she heard a sound that filled her with hope. It sounded like sirens.
Suddenly, the engine was killed and the boat stopped. It was sirens. And they were growing louder. Creeping out of the shower, Rose stood by the bathroom door, cracking it.
She heard shouting.
There was an argument.
And then there were gunshots. She jumped back into the bathroom, heart pounding.
There was more shouting.
It sounded like complete chaos on the deck. Now was the time for her to make her move.
She stepped out of the bathroom. The living room and bedroom were empty. She crept quickly toward the stairs, the hand holding the dagger trembling.
Somebody or something thudded into the closed hatch door above her. She pressed herself to the wall and waited, but the door remained closed. She hit the switch, turning off all the lights in the cabin and then waited.
A few seconds later, she heard more shouting followed by gunshots.
At the top of the stairs, she pushed on the hatch, cracking it a few inches. There was the sound of squeaking pulleys and heavy breathing. She froze, listening, eyes straining to see anything on the deck. She saw shadowy figures moving around but couldn’t tell what they were doing.
“Get the Sultan in the lifeboat,” she heard a voice say. It was Aldo.
“No,” the Sultan said. “We will kill the police.”
The Sultan was going to escape.
Then there was more shouting and more gunfire.
Rose pushed the hatch open more and squeezed out, scrambling on all fours in the dark to take shelter behind a nearby seat. She nearly screamed as she touched something wet and looked down to see a dead body on the deck beside her. It was a man in a police uniform whose eyes stared ahead at nothing. She scanned the area nearby.
It looked like everyone else was at the other end of the boat. Then she saw him. The Sultan.
She only had a few seconds to use the element of surprise. Once they realized she was on board, she would be captured and killed. Now was her chance to take out the Sultan.
She gauged the distance between her and the Sultan’s broad back. She could throw the knife, aiming for the back of his thick neck. If her aim was true and the throw hard enough, she could kill him and then jump overboard. It was feasible. She’d been working on her knife throwing skills for the past year. She was pretty good.
But pretty good might not be enough.
Her best bet was to sneak closer and either throw the knife from a shorter distance or race over and plunge the blade into his neck from up close. He was tall, though. Maybe too tall for her reach.
All of this flashed through her mind in seconds.
And then she sprang to her feet and raced toward the Sultan. When she grew close enough, she used the surface of a deck chair to launch herself into the air.
With a blood curdling scream meant to startle all of them, she landed on the Sultan’s back. She wrapped her legs around his waist and slung one arm wrapped around his head. With the other arm, she reached to the front with the blade to slice his thick throat wide open.
But the handle of the blade broke off in her hand, and the sharp edge dropped uselessly to the ground.
She let go of the Sultan, sliding to the ground and darted toward the edge of the boat.
In one graceful movement, she flung herself into a police boat moored to the yacht. But Aldo was right behind her. He grabbed her and knocked her head against the side of the boat. For a few seconds, she only saw black. She felt her arms being yanked behind her. She began to struggle, but it was too late
“Miss?” It was the detective. She was sitting in Lane’s living room. The detective shared that Lane’s most recent journal entry had laid out her elaborate plan to kill Nico and then Rose.
Rose’s stomach churned even though this was already what she’d known.
The detective stood. Interview over.
Back home in her bed in Barcelona, Rose fell into a restless sleep full of nightmares about the Sultan feasting on the bodies of young girls.
A few times she woke in the night to find Eva or Gia above her or holding her hand, reassuring her that she was safe.
She slept late the next day. When she woke, the sun was bright, filling her room with golden light.
She pulled the covers back over her head and fell back asleep. The next time she opened her eyes, the shadows had grown long.
“Rose?” It was Gia.
Squinting, she made out Gia in a chair by the bed.
“Mr. Rocco came by.”
Rose closed her eyes. Even hearing his name made her want to weep.
“He brought this. He said he wanted you to have it. He said that Mrs. Rocco wanted you to have it too.”
At those words, Rose’s eyes flew open. The only thing she figured Mrs. Rocco wanted her to have was a fork to the eye. Or a knife to the heart. One or the other.
Gia was holding a small black velvet box.
Rose sat up and took the box with trembling fingers. She was terrified to open it. She already knew what was inside. She thrust it back at Gia.
“I can’t.”
Gia nodded and took the box. She opened it and held it before Rose.
Timothy’s gold necklace lay nestled in the black velvet. It was the Italian cornetto and hand. He had told Rose once he would only take it off when he was dead.
She choked on a sob.
Gia lifted the necklace out gingerly.
“Hold your hair up,” Gia said.
Rose looked at her with wide eyes.
“They didn’t give it to you so it would sit in a drawer somewhere, Rose,” Gia said in a firm voice. “They gave it to you to wear. You can only wear these if they are given as gifts. This is a great honor. This is the greatest gift his parents could have given you. Now lift up your hair.”
Rose did as she was asked and Gia fastened the necklace on her.
The cool metal slipped beneath the fabric of her nightgown and nestled between her breasts, and Rose felt a strange sense of calm.
“Now, drink this,” Gia said and handed her a glass.
She sat up, even though it seemed to take supreme effort and left her out of breath. Then Gia handed her the glass. It took a while, but she choked it down, surprised at how thirsty she was. She set the glass on her nightstand when it was empty and closed her eyes.
“Are you planning on getting out of bed any time soon?” Gia asked.
Rose shook her head.
Gia didn’t respond.
Rose looked over at her. Gia set another glass on the nightstand. This one was full like the first one.
“Drink this in the next two hours.”
Then she stood and left, closing the door behind her.
Rose sank back down into the covers in relief.
The next time she woke it was dark. She was thirsty. She reached for the glass and drank its contents. She wasn’t sure what was in it. It tasted a little like grass and herbs. She didn’t care what it was as long as it allowed her to stay in bed. As soon as she thought this she realized she had to get up to use the bathroom. Damn.
But then she was quickly back in h
er bed, pulling the covers over her head.
However, now she was wide awake. In the dark, she could still see the Sultan’s face, his sharp teeth dripping flesh and blood. This time he was eating Timothy’s body. She scrunched up her face to rid herself of the image. But every time she tried to lie down and close her eyes, it came back.
She got out of bed and rummaged around in a drawer for a pack of cigarettes that had been stored there for Timothy. She extracted one and lit it, standing in the window where she could see the Gothic Cathedral like she and Timothy had done so many times.
Although many of their friends preferred to vape, she and Timothy had always preferred getting nicotine the old-fashioned way, finding it more romantic.
Once she had said this to Gia, who had scoffed, saying lung cancer wasn’t very romantic, was it?
But Rose figured she’d quit by the time she was twenty-five.
She didn’t know why she’d decided on that number, but she had.
Until then, she’d smoke when she wanted.
And right now, she wanted.
What she wanted was to feel anything besides the pain threatening to overwhelm her.
She sat and stared at the Gothic Cathedral spires for what felt like hours until the faintest pink of dawn coated the white spires and she yawned. As she crawled back into bed, grateful to finally be sleepy again, she couldn’t have said what she’d been thinking about for all those hours. Nothing and everything.
32
Rose had lost track of the hours and days.
Deep inside, she knew she was a coward. It was the second time that she’d hid from the world in her to bed. What kind of person would crawl into bed instead of dealing with their emotions? And here she thought she was a killer? She was a scared little girl who couldn’t handle the real world.
She hated herself. She hated everything.
At one point, she heard something in the apartment outside her bedroom that sounded like whining and barking.
Then her door opened.
Eva and Gia came in laughing.
Rose sat up, glaring.
How dare they laugh.
Her boyfriend was dead. Rose planned to live the rest of her life without laughing ever again.
Blood & Roses (Vigilante Crime Series) Page 15