Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

I slid off the bed. Walking to the bedroom window, the one facing the city in the distance, I looked out, my stomach immediately sinking.

A cloud of black smoke poured into the sky, and it was coming from this side of the river. From Whitehall. I could hear the faint siren of the fire trucks from here, and a helicopter even hovered close.

“What is that?” I asked, turning my eyes on her. “What’s going on?”

She swallowed, sitting up with her head bowed. She wouldn’t even look at me.

“What is that?” I yelled, grabbing her and hauling her up.

Her breathing quickened. “Sensou.”

No. I released her and bolted out of the room, running down the stairs. But the front door opened before I got there, and I looked up to see Michael, Will, and Rika bursting through.

Will caught me, trying to keep me from running outside.

“It’s too late. It’s gone,” he said, pushing me back and looking pained.

My hand shot to my hair, and I stared out the front door, seeing all the smoke blacken the sky.

God, no.

Rika cried softly in the foyer, and I thought of everything I had built in that place. All my father’s weapons he’d donated when I opened it up. Gone. All the records and leases, everything was there! I did all of our business out of there.

And the clientele we’d built up? Gone. It would take months to rebuild.

I clenched my fucking teeth together, the pain of the loss damn near unbearable.

“There will be more fires,” I heard Banks say.

My sadness morphed into anger, and I whipped around, seeing her walk slowly down the stairs.

Damon had texted her.

“And he’ll bring them to Thunder Bay, too,” she warned. “It’s out of Gabriel’s control.”

How long had she let me sleep? Just long enough for the fire to wipe out everything?

I held up the phone, checking the time on the text.

Six minutes ago.

I pressed the Phone icon on the message and brought it up to my ear, letting it ring.

But a voice recording came on, saying the line was out of service. He was using a burner. I ended the call and spun around, launching the phone out into the driveway and into the brush beyond the gate.

After a moment, Michael chimed in. “Fire trucks are already there. Get dressed.”

But I approached Banks as she cautiously stepped to the bottom of the staircase.

“I didn’t know,” she said.

“Would you have stopped him if you did?”

Hurt flashed across her eyes, but her silence said everything.

A shadow fell over the room, blocking out the sunlight, and I turned to see Gabriel’s guys, the same ones who collected her from Michael’s party that night, standing right outside the door.

The shaved head one—David, I think—looked past me and tipped his chin at her. “Let’s go.”