Page 74 of Cry Madness

Of course, he doesn’t need me to specify who ‘he’ is and answers with a gruff, “No doubt.” Then, quieter, “You strapped?”

Without missing a beat, I shrug off the frock coat, letting it fall to the floor and leaving it where it lands. The humid night air and raging temper have me sweating like a sinner in church, and even as I unfasten the brass buttons of my vest, I still feel suffocated. “I promised Alice I’d behave.”

“So, that’s a no.” He unbuttons his black tailcoat and shoves it aside to reveal his favorite tactical knife in its sheath at his hip. “No worries, I got you.”

“If she’s with him”—and I’m sick to my stomach even thinking that—“don’t you dare put a bullet in him. That fucker’s mine.”

“As if I’d deny you the fun of murdering that prick,” he scoffs.

It’d be outstanding if I could stop the violent slam of my heart beating against my sternum, but that’s not happening as I scan the moonlit yard. Alice isn’t out here strolling among the Italian cypresses and wisterias, taking in some fresh air after…whatever the fuck happened between her and her mother. I pull out my phone and call her. No answer. I text her. No reply. Not unexpected since I saw her stuff her phone in that tiny purse she left at our table, but it was worth a try.But then my stomach rolls like a tidal wave when my gaze lands on the maze.

“There.” I nod at the massive labyrinth. “She’s in there.”

Everything inside meknowsthat’s where I’ll find Alice.

My feet are already carrying me across the lawn, my body blindly following as my mind trips over too many gruesome scenarios. The demons are screaming inside my skull that this is my fault. That I should have hunted down Knavish myself instead of leaving it to Roman, who, thus far, hasn’t found a trace of the miserable prick. He could be anywhere—a thousand miles away by now or…

…or here, tonight.

Hiding in plain sight, right under my fucking nose.

“Christ,” I rasp when Alice’s distant scream cuts through the insulated quiet within the hedge walls.

March is right behind me when I break into a run, sprinting down the narrow pathway and whipping around turns with a familiarity that comes from having walked this maze at least a hundred times. I can navigate it blindfolded by now, and as fear and worry collide, I remember how I lost her once inside these walls. I’ll be damned if I lose her again. Not here, not tonight, not when I finally got her back.

Not where the best and worst of our memories together with her were created.

This isourplace, our haven, where we’d come and escape the world.

I refuse to let this be where Alice’s story ends.

My feet pound the dirt as I race toward the maze’s heart. It’s lit by a few strings of light, and when I skid to a stop on the chessboard, I spin in a circle and roar Alice’s name.

“Maddox!” I hear her muted shout. “…here!”

Down here?

“Down here, where?” But I follow her voice to a hole—a fucking hole—behind the purple wisteria near the back wall.

March comes racing up behind me. “Jesus Christ, is that a fucking grave?”

“Stop right there.” Knavish, hidden by shadows, strolls out from a darkened corner behind the hole, and I realize Alice didn’t say “down here,” she said “he’s here.” The pistol he’s pointing at me doesn’t stop me. When he redirects the weapon down at that hole—at Alice—I freeze mid-step. “She’s safe, for now. It’s up to you if she remains that way.”

“Fuck you,” I growl, but I don’t move, not a muscle—and neither does March.

But he does whisper, “I can take him.”

“No, March O’Hare, you don’t.” Knavishtsks. “But for argument’s sake, let’s pretend you can. Are you willing to wager your speed against the squeeze of my finger?” Then, to me, he asks, “How about you, Maddox? Are you willing to bet Alice’s life that either of you can stop me before I squeeze the trigger? I mean”—he shrugs one shoulder—“she’s already conveniently in a grave, so….”

“Scarlett!” Alice shouts. “She did this.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Knavish hisses, his glare remaining locked on March and me as he jabs the gun at Alice to punctuate his command.

I wish I hadn’t guessed that part correctly. I really do, because as bad as that bitch is, I didn’t want to believe she was this goddamn sinister. “Point that gun back at me. You don’t want to shoot her.”

“No, actually, I really do,” he replies, and because I can recognize mania in someone when I see it in their eyes and hear it intheir voice, I know all it’ll take is a nudge for him to pull that trigger. “Like I told Alice, Scarlett only wanted me to shake her up a bit. Paid me to give her a little scare. But once I got a taste of her fear…” He licks his lips, the gesture revolting. “I couldn’t stop there. I wanted more. I wanted everything. But she”—again, he jabs that gun at Alice—“was so wrapped up in herself that she didn’t evenseeme. But I made sure she saw me. I made sure youallsaw me.”

“Congratulations, you’re a narcissist,” March drawls.