Chapter 13 · Blood on His Hands

"Don't touch me."

Emma's voice came through the bathroom door, flat and cold. Mark stood in the hallway of the safe house, his hands still shaking from whatever the hell Kyle had done to him in that warehouse. His knuckles were raw. His shirt had blood on it—not his.

"Emma, I need you to open the door."

"So you can finish what you started?"

Mark pressed his forehead against the doorframe. His palms were damp. The gun was still in his waistband, heavy and wrong, like it didn't belong to him anymore.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar." Her voice cracked. "You had your hands around my throat. You were squeezing."

His breath caught. He looked down at his hands. There were marks on his fingers—red crescents, like he'd been gripping something. Someone.

"When?"

"Twenty minutes ago. You walked in, you didn't say a word, and you came straight for me."

Twenty minutes ago, he'd been in the warehouse. Kyle had hit the switch. The lights went out. Then Mark woke up on the floor with Lyla shaking him, telling him the city was still standing but Kyle was gone.

He didn't remember coming back here.