20: Nicholas.

Clement and I reach the bathroom at the same time and shove through the door together—and there’s Dasha on the floor. Not. Moving. The world starts spinning again when our simultaneous roars of utter denial rouse her, but she only moves a little. Her hand lifts and drops. But Clement and I are beside her in an instant. He secures a makeshift mask over her face and I scoop up her limp body, already vowing to kill the man who dared touch her.

Touched what’s ours.

A lump rises in my throat when I see the blood caked in Dasha’s hair. “Her head.”

“I see it,” Clement responds, rage and grief warring on his face. “Motherfucker hit her over the head. He was already dead, but now we kill him slowly.”

“Damn right we do.”

The bathtub is still full of water, telling me she never made it to the bath and for some reason, that makes me even angrier. Since the night started, our poor girl has been scared for our safety at the fire, nearly accosted by a group of strange firemen, fucked by two insatiab