“You are a good man. Don’t listen to anything she says. She’s the killer. Not you.”

“Shut up.” Annika’s hand connected with Lane’s face, sending a shooting pain into her jaw. “You think anything you say matters?”

A coppery taste filled her mouth. “Annika’s right about us. You and I, we’re the same. We’ve both been hiding who we are because we’re afraid something’s wrong with us. That we have no purpose and we don’t deserve to live—”

Metal connected with her skull and she crumpled to the ground. Her face smacked the hardwood floor, blurring her vision. Her head throbbed. She tried pushing herself off the ground, but the room swam around her and forced her back down. She grazed the side of her head with her fingertips until she found the lump. She looked at her hand and it was wet with blood. Fight. For Noah. For Mathias’s sacrifice. For the promise of a future with Charlie.

“We’re not broken, Miguel. We have to fight.”

His body stiffened. She was baiting him with the words of truth he needed to hear. Words she needed to hear and believe about herself. They both had a reason to live—they just needed to fight for it.

“Time’s up.” Annika bent down and pressed the gun against Lane’s head.

Miguel lunged from the floor and dove into Annika, sending her crashing against the wall. She screamed as he wrestled her to the ground. The gun slid across the room and Lane dove for it. Annika released another blood-curdling scream and Lane turned to see Miguel straddling her, the wood tool from earlier bloody and pressed against Annika’s side.

“Miguel, no!” Lane scrambled for the gun and pointed it at Annika. “Stop. It’s over.”

With his eyes still focused on Annika, he crawled off her and back to the fireplace. He threw the bloodied tool across the room. “I should’ve protected her.”

Annika rolled over and cursed as she clutched her side. A bloody stain was smeared across her blouse. A creaking noise drew their attention to a dark corner of the old mansion.

A lone figure emerged. When he came into the light, the only thing Lane could do was stare at the jagged scar stretching from the top of his left eyebrow to his eye and then continuing down his cheek. She didn’t see the gun in his hand until a psychotic laugh escaped Annika’s lips.

“I guess I got here just in time.” The man pointed the gun at Lane. “You can give me that, mi amor.”

Lane wanted to challenge him, but fear loosened her grip on the gun trembling in her hand and the man snatched it from her.

“Just kill them, Benito,” Annika snapped. She slowly got to her feet and removed her hand from her waist. The blood was spreading. She moaned. “Kill them.”