Page 37 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)

THIRTY-SIX

VIOLET

I don’t feel it right away.

The shift, the pull, the warning.

I’m in the kitchen rinsing dishes, humming something under my breath, when my phone buzzes.

A single vibration against the kitchen counter.

I dry my hands and pick it up.

There’s no preview.

Just a message icon with a small gray dot.

I open it.

And the world stops.

It’s a photo.

Of the living room.

Of all of them.

Sleeping.

Stevie’s lying beside me. Dallas is on the floor.

Niko is nodding off against the wall. Ollie is tucked under Ezra’s leg.

Rome’s back is against the couch, like he didn’t mean to fall asleep.

Tris is slumped over at the kitchen island, and Cyrus and Atlas are slouched in their chairs like they’re still on alert, even while they’re sleeping.

All of them.

The photo was taken from the balcony.

My stomach lurches.

Another buzz.

A second message.

And below it is a location pin.

I click the link and see it’s a warehouse downtown in the abandoned district in Caspian Valley. I know the area; I know the danger, but I also know he’s not bluffing.

My fingers go cold.

The buzzing in my ears starts again, louder this time.

I glance back into the living room. Stevie’s laughing at something Ezra said. Dallas is licking syrup from his fingers. Ollie’s begging for scraps.

They’re all right here . Safe. Happy. Whole. And they have no idea how much danger they’re in because of me.

I was selfish enough to believe I could have this. That I could escape his clutches and live a normal life. And now he’s going to rip it all away.

Unless I do something to stop him.

I pocket the phone and slip out of the kitchen quietly.

The laughter from the living room fades as I move down the hall. Every step feels like it echoes louder than the last.

I slip into Rome’s room. It smells like him. Sharp, clean, cedar and something darker I’ve never been able to name. His bed is perfectly made, and his closet door is cracked just enough to show a row of black shirts lined up like soldiers.

I head to the dresser and tug the bottom drawer open.

The hidden case clicks open like it’s been waiting for me.

The gun is heavy. Cold. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach turn.

It’s the same kind as Atlas’.

I check the magazine, like I’ve seen the guys do hundreds of times, pop it back in, and thumb the safety.

Then I slip it into the waistband of my sweats, tug the hem of my hoodie down to cover it, and press the drawer shut.

Rome won’t notice it’s gone.

He has his own arsenal in their artillery room.

I step back, glance around to make sure everything is how I found it, and pause in the doorway.

I don’t know how this ends.

But I know what I have to do now.