Chapter 143
Rose ran across the motel parking lot, her mind racing faster than her feet. The worn soles of her expensive shoes slapped against cracked asphalt as panic clawed at her chest. Herod was going to tell the FBI She reached her car, not her car, really, but one of
Herod's cars. Her hands shook ashe fumbled with the keys. The recorder. The damned recorder he'd shown her. How long had he been recording their conversations? What exactly had she said? Rose stopped, the key halfway to the lock.
She couldn't run. Not yet. Not while Herod sat in that motel room with a phone pressed to his ear, her name on his lips, and evidence of her crimes in his pocket.
In the distance, sirens wailed. Still far away, but coming closer.
Rose looked back at Room 17, its faded blue door visible from where she stood. Behind that door sat the man who
could destroy everything she'd built. Everything she'd sacrificed for.
If he talked, it was over.
If he lived, she was finished.
Rose reached into her bag, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the gun she'd bought from one of Anton Bessonov's men. She'd never fired it. Had never planned to. It was just insurance, protection a rough types she had to deal with for their plan.
Now it was her only option.
The weight of the weapon felt strange in her hand as she pulled
it from her bag. She'd watched enough movies to know how to hold it, how to aim. But the reality of it, the solid heaviness of death in her palm, made her stomach turn.
Rose didn't allow herself to hesitate. Hesitation was for weak people. For people like Camille, always looking for someone else to make decisions for her. Rose wasn't weak. She'd proven that time and again. The sirens grew louder. Minutes, maybe seconds before they arrived.
She walked back toward Room 17, each step steady despite the storm inside her mind. All those years fighting to escape the foster
system. All those years pretending to be the perfect adopted daughter. All those
years watching Camille get everything Rose deserved.
She wouldn't let Herod take it all away. Not now. Not when she was so close to winning.
Outside Room 17, Rose paused, listening. Through the thin door, she could hear Herod's voice, the words unclear but the tone unmistakable. He was telling them. Giving them details. Betraying her. Rose raised the gun, aimed at the door, and pulled the trigger.
The explosion of sound shocked her. The gun jumped in her hand, the recoil stronger than she expected. A hole appeared in the cheap wooden door.
Inside, Herod's voice stopped.
Not enough. She couldn't be sure. She fired again.
And again. Three holes now punctured the door, forming a rough triangle.
Silence from inside the room.
Rose stepped closer, pressed her ear to the door. Nothing. Not even movement.
Had she hit him? Was he dead? Wounded?
She had to know. Had to be sure.
left hand, Rose turned the doorknob slowly. The door
Herod lay
his hand. Blood spread across his chest, staining his white shirt with expanding circles of red. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, his mouth moving slightly "Rose," he managed, the name barely
Successfully unlocked!
into the room, the gun still raised. You should we
words came between shallow
they come after me, I'll tell them you were obsessed with me. That you forced me to help you. That I was afraid
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Chapter 143
found hers, filled with a clarity that unnerved her. Even dying,
tried to reach for the phone that
the recorder?"
opened again. The ghost of a
aimed at his head while her
corner of his mouth.
through Rose again.
me where it is, or 13 make your last
word seemed to
aiming the gun directly at his
voice faded
in Rose's chest. Even dying,
a gun pointed at his face,
tightened on the
the parking lot outside, red and blue lights flashing through
time for a clean shot
once more, the bullet striking the floor beside Herod's head. Not a kill shot, but enough to make her point. This
the bathroom window.
smaller. She forced it open and squeezed through, dropping into the narrow alley behind the motel. Her car was out front, now blocked by FBI vehicles. She'd have to
through the alley, away from the motel, away from
the man she'd shot but not killed. Her mind raced with possibilities, contingency plans forming and dissolving
each step.
survive. He might tell them everything. But without the recorder, without proof, it would be his
She'd
all of that arranged already, in case their plan went wrong. In case they needed to disappear after destroying Camille and Victoria Kane. Now she'd
a walk as she reached a busier street.
was running. Couldn't draw attention to herself. She
face. The gun went back
raised her hand, forcing her most
as
station," Rose said. "I've got a
taxi pulled away, Rose
to the shooting. More people
against the seat, forcing her
over. She could still win. She just needed to adapt.
one, but replaceable. She'd find another way to destroy Camille. Another path
If he
the gun in her bag, her finger tracing its deadly shape through
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