Little Lamb

43 ❦ dark entries

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I sat in the corner of the room, knees pulled tightly to my chest, head buried so deep in my arms it felt like I could fold into myself and disappear.

Still alive. My body shook, trembling with a cold that wasn't entirely from the room. It had to be morning by now. Hours had passed.

But nothing stopped the ache in my stomach. I'd killed someone. Not in a fit of rage. Not in some accident. I shot him twice. And not just anyone. Allister. Riggs' brother.

The grief twisted inside me, gnawing at my stomach like some feral thing that refused to let go. It wasn't just guilt. It was horror. It was shame. It was this bottomless pit of disgust I couldn't crawl out of no matter how much I begged myself to.

My breaths came in shallow gasps, uneven and too fast, like my body couldn't decide whether to scream or collapse. A laugh slipped out, broken. It wasn't funny. Nothing about this was funny, but the madness clawing at the edges of my mind didn't care.

What kind of person am I now?

I pressed my forehead harder against my knees, tears soaking through the thin fabric of the shirt I didn't even recognize as mine.

I thought I wanted to escape. To run. To be free. But freedom wasn't this. It wasn't blood on my hands or a body on the ground. Freedom wasn't this aching emptiness that had carved me hollow, leaving just enough behind to feel the pain.

I couldn't stop seeing his face, Allister, wide eyed and shocked, choking on his own breath. And then Riggs, breaking apart in front of me, his hands shaking as he tried to wake his brother.

And now, here I was. Still alive, still breathing, still existing when I shouldn't be.

The door creaked open, and I barely had time to lift my head before two large men stepped inside. Without a word, they grabbed me and dragged me out.

My feet scraped against the floor as they hauled me through a maze of rich looking hallways.

When we finally stopped, they pushed open a heavy door, pushing me inside. The room was spacious, the kind of place that screamed wealth. Dark, old wooden furniture, a heavy desk in the corner, tall bookshelves lining one wall, and a plush couch that looked like it belonged in a museum.

I blinked, my eyes catching on a woman seated on the couch. Her legs were crossed elegantly, red stilettos dangling on her foot. My gaze followed upward, a sleek black dress that hugged her curves, her breasts pressing against the fabric like she was daring gravity to defy her. Her hair was a glossy shade of brown, styled beautifully, and her green eyes, framed by dark eyeshadow, were sharp and cutting as they locked onto me.

I froze.

Her gaze narrowed, and I quickly looked away, fixing my eyes on the large window across the room. Outside, the view was just as grand as the interior, lush green grass, sprawling trees, a gravel path winding toward a fountain. It looked like some kind of estate.

"Sit." one of the men ordered, shoving me down into a chair near the window. My legs buckled under me, and I sank into the seat.

When I glanced up through my lashes, I saw Madsen standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. "How are you finding your new accommodations?"

I said nothing, my lips pressed into a thin line.

He exhaled slowly, as though my silence was expected. His gaze flicked toward the couch. "Allow me to introduce Selene Vascarro, head of operations."

Selene uncrossed her legs with an exaggerated, fluid motion and her crimson lips curled into a smile that was anything but kind. "Hello, Lola. Or should I say Miss Lazaar? Though I have to say..."