Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars #1)(5)

Something fake and desperate bled from his being. I wondered if he were half as desperate as me.

Urges hit, a storm of panic and survival.

Instinct kicking in.

Fight or flight.

I surged forward, taking the jerk by surprise.

My forehead connected with his.

Hard.

A white-hot splinter of pain cracked through my head at the connection, but at least I was prepared for it. I managed to keep my footing at the impact when he completely lost his and stumbled back.

Momentarily stunned.

I didn’t give him time to recover.

I grabbed him by the shoulders, and I drew my knee up as hard as I could. The crunch vibrated up my leg when my knee made contact with his crotch.

The slit of my dress ripped at the same time.

His wail of agony was at one with the chaos, with the throbbing laughter and the beat of the drums and the pulse of the music that made it feel as if I’d stepped into a house of horrors.

Those crazy-ass mirrors surrounding me. Distorting everything. My brain rattled and my spirit shaking.

Adrenaline sloshed through my veins, bleeding out and draining free and leaving me gasping.

Visions rushed.

Taking me to another time. Another place.

Fast flickers of a nightmare that I would forever relive.

Frantic, desperate.

Lana on her knees.

The glint of silver.

A deafening ring.

Blood.

Blood.

So much blood.

I choked on the memory. The man in my gallery. Backing us into the corner. Pulling the trigger while I’d had to watch hopelessly.

I staggered backward while the dirtbag bent in two, struggling to get his breath.

Flight kicked in.

The desperate need to flee.

Hide.

Remove myself from the situation.

I raced upstairs, the torn skirt of my dress clutched in my trembling hands, holding it up so I wouldn’t trip on the long white fabric. The second I hit the landing, I ran to the right, my high heels clicking on the wooden floor as I raced down the hall.

I bypassed the room I’d been staying in for the last three weeks and, instead, I rushed all the way to the end of the corridor where a second set of stairs led to the top floor.

It called to me like a beacon. Like safety was written in red, glaring lights.

Hand clinging to the railing, I fumbled up the steps to the third floor, and a harsh breath of relief gushed from my lungs when I caught sight of the closed double doors on the right.

I burst through them like my life depended on it.

I slammed the doors shut behind me and whirled around so I could lock them.

Hands shaking.

Spirit manic.

Nothing quite cooperating.

Metal scraped as the lock finally engaged, the sound of it like a gunshot reverberating through the dark, vacant room. I dropped my head to the ornate wood, hot air jerking in and out of my lungs as I tried to steady myself after the altercation.

Never before had I considered myself weak.

And now all it took was a jerk getting handsy and I was falling apart.

I should march back downstairs and tell my brother. Make a statement. Make him pay.

And the only thing I wanted to do?

Hide.

Remain concealed and protected behind the thick, solid doors.

Here, where the music was muted, nothing but a dull vibration that rumbled underfoot.

Voices distant.

It gave the illusion that I’d risen above it all.

Besides, the last thing I wanted was for my brother to get arrested for murder tonight.

Tomorrow I’d tell him. When enough time had passed. When rash, imprudent reactions were less likely to be made.

For tonight, I’d wait here.

When my heaving breaths began to slow, I finally peeled myself from the door and swiveled around to face the duskiness of the room.

The massive library that Lyrik had attempted to turn into an art studio.

It was where my spirit had immediately been called to in turmoil, as if it heard the melody of this place, even though it no longer knew how to sing.

Like all the beauty had been ripped from it that horrible night.

I had no idea if I would ever get it back.

My eyes scanned the lapping shadows of the rambling space.

A muted sheen of silvery moonlight flooded through the huge circular window that was made of white and black translucent stained glass. It faced out upon the front of the luxurious home, distorted the view in a gorgeous sheen of sparkling crystal and cast the rich, plush furniture and tapestries in shadows.

The floors were covered in thick, woven rugs.

Shelves of books lined the towering walls, all the way to the severe pitch of the cathedral ceiling.

My gaze moved to the far corner.

Drawn to where easels of partially-painted pictures stood like half-bared secrets.

The obscured faces painted on the canvases veiled in mystery.

Blowing out a haggard breath, I eased deeper into the room, and I let my fingertips gently flutter over a picture.

The man’s face misshapen.

Haunted eyes stared out into the nothingness.

I moved to the next, stood at where the small child crouched at the edge of a gurgling stream, staring at her reflection in the glistening water, her angelic face contorted.

Sadness crested and rose, crashing like a tsunami of broken dreams.

Hopes shattered in one careless, senseless act.