BURY

THE FIRST NIGHT

The room Agatha gave me was not near his.

It was directly across from his.

"You said not near mine," I told Damon when I saw the door. Black wood, same as his, with a camera blinking red right above it.

"I lied," he said. "I need to hear you scream."

My pistol was heavier in my bag. "I don't scream."

"You will."

He left me there with a closet full of clothes that were exactly my size. Dresses. Suits. Jeans still with tags. All black, white, or red. Like he had someone check my i********: before I even signed.

I locked the door. Then I dragged the heavy white chair in front of it. Then I checked the windows. Bulletproof. Locked from the inside with a code I didn't have.

Prison. Expensive prison.

I changed out of my wet funeral dress into the only thing that looked like it belonged to me - an oversized black t-shirt from the closet. I kept my shorts on underneath. I put my dad's pistol under the pillow, safety on.

And I stared at the black folder on the bed. Maya's file.

HE IS STEALING FROM YOU. IT'S M

Maya died with a red pen in her hand. She always used red pen. She said it made mistakes easier to see.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the purple bruise on her neck, covered with pink lipstick.

At 2:14 AM - the exact time they strangled her - the lights went out.

Not flickered. Out. The whole mansion.

My heart jumped into my throat.

The red camera above my door went black.

I grabbed the gun from under the pillow and stood behind the chair.

Silence. Then footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Not Damon's - Damon's steps were silent, like a cat. These were heavy. Boots.

A shadow passed under my door.

Knock knock.

Soft. Polite.

"Lena?" A man's voice. Not Damon. Lighter, younger, with a fake-friendly smile you could hear. "Lena Cruz? I know you're awake. Open up. I'm here to talk about Maya."

Marco.

The man from the gates. The man in the red tie. The man who killed her.

My finger went to the trigger. My hands were sweating.

"Go away or I will shoot through the door," I said. My voice shook.

He laughed. "You shoot through that door and Damon will have to replace very expensive wood. He hates replacing things. He prefers to erase them."

The handle jiggled. Locked.

"Come on, Lena. I just want the copies. The USB. The notebook. Whatever Maya gave you before she got stupid. Give it to me and I walk away. You can even keep living in this museum with my cousin."

"I don't have anything!"

"Everyone has something."

Then I heard it - another set of footsteps. Barefoot this time. Fast. Silent until the last second.

Damon's voice, low and deadly, right outside my door.

"You have three seconds to get your hand off her door before I break every finger you have."

Marco didn't move. I could see both shadows under the door now.

"Relax, cousin. Just welcoming your new assistant. You didn't tell us you were hiring foster girls now. Is that your new type? Damaged?"

The next second was chaos.

A thud. A grunt. The sound of a body hitting marble hard.

I ripped the chair away and flung the door open.

Marco was on the floor, Damon standing over him with one foot on his chest, a gun in his hand - not my little pistol, a big black one - pressed to Marco's forehead. Damon was wearing only black sweatpants, no shirt, tattoo fully visible now - black wings across his chest, same as the ring.

And his eyes - God, his eyes were not human.

"You came into my house," Damon said, voice quiet, but the whole hallway felt like it dropped ten degrees. "You cut my power. You knocked on a door that is not yours. In the middle of the night. The night my guest is grieving."

Marco was bleeding from his nose, but smiling. "She has something that belongs to me, Damon."

"Nothing in this house belongs to you. Not anymore."

Damon looked up at me. I was standing in the doorway in that oversized t-shirt, gun in hand, shaking.

"Are you okay?"

I couldn't speak. I nodded.

He looked back down at Marco and pressed harder.

"If you ever come near her room again, if you ever look at her at a funeral again, I will not give you to her on Day 90. I will bury you on Day 3. In the wrong grave. Like you did to Maya."

Marco's smile finally broke.

Damon lifted his foot. "Get out."

Marco stood up, wiping blood with his sleeve, his eyes locked on me. "You can't protect her for ninety days, cousin. You couldn't even protect Maya."

He walked away. Slowly. Like he owned the hallway.

Damon didn't watch him go. He watched me.

The power snapped back on. Lights blinding. Cameras blinking red again.

He stepped closer and gently - so gently it didn't match the man who just had his foot on his cousin's chest - took the gun from my shaking hand and put the safety on.

"You didn't scream," he said.

"I told you I don't scream."

"I was listening."

He was so close I could see water droplets on his chest. He had been in the shower. Or he hadn't slept either.

"You cut his power too?" I whispered.

"I cut his hand off if he touches you again."

It should have scared me. It did. But something else was there too, hot and confusing.

"Why did you give me a room across from yours if you knew he would come?"

"Because I knew you would lock the door and put a chair in front of it. And I wanted to be close enough to hear the chair move."

He knew. He knew exactly what a girl like me would do.

He handed me back my pistol.

"Go back to sleep, Lena. Day one isn't over yet. Tomorrow you have your first job."

"What job?"

He smiled. That dangerous smile from the contract.

"You are going to have dinner with me and Marco. And you are going to wear red."

My stomach dropped.

"Why red?"

"Because Maya hated red lipstick. But you -" His eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second. "You look good in red when you're angry."

He turned and walked back to his room, door open, like he wanted me to know he wasn't locking his.

I stood in my doorway, pistol in hand, t-shirt too big, heart hammering.

Across the city, they had already buried Maya's casket with dirt.

And here, the man who might have let her die was offering to avenge her if I wore red for him.

I closed my door. I didn't put the chair back.