We walk through the oak door. There are two people in there, but neither one is Isla. I turn my back on the guards and glare at Gregor.
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Something tells me the ship’s already sailed on that one. She’s in the adjoining room.” He nods to one of his goons and he heads towards the identical oak door adjacent to the one we just walked through.
I spot the black carpet in the center of the space. The same one that graced the marble floors eleven years ago. The red stain is still there if you know where to look. f**k me—after all this time, it’s still there.
Her blood still smeared on the carpet, and this sick bastard has it displayed like a piece of art.
“I’ve always liked this room,” Gregor muses, as though we’re in the middle of a pleasant conversation whil
