Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Once I’m finally able to stand after wriggling the rest of the way through the tiny door, I look around at the dishes stacked in the sink and the garbage on the counter. He clearly doesn’t spend enough time at home to worry about the mess that is his house. Or maybe he doesn’t care.
My boots crunch on something on the floor, and I stop, looking down to see chips scattered all over the place.
He really is a fucking pig.
The dog follows me while I make my way around the house. When I reach the bedroom, the door is already open, and right away, I scrunch up my nose at the smell.
His room literally stinks.
He probably hasn’t washed his sheets in … who knows how long, and even in the darkness, I can tell they aren’t clean. The dog starts barking, and I know Bailey’s home. I also know that I have to make this kill clean; it cannot come back to Carrie or me in any way.
Stepping into his closet, I hide behind his row of clothes and patiently wait until he enters the bedroom. I hear the creak of the mattress and realize he doesn’t even shower before he climbs into bed. That is disgusting. Not long after that, his snores fill the room.
I reach into my pocket to grab the needle I have stored in there. Ever so slowly, I push the clothes out of the way and make sure I don’t make a sound as I press closer to him. His shoes are still on, and he’s lying on his stomach with his head to the side as he continues to snore. Loudly.
Taking the cap off the needle, I bend down and slam it into his ass, quickly pressing down on the plunger. Immediately, he begins flailing, trying to push me away, but I’ve already taken a step back and recapped the needle as I stand there and stare at him.
“You,” he seethes.
“You should save your voice. It won’t be long until the drug takes effect.” I smile at him. “But I did want you to see my face one last time, just so you’d be aware the reason for your death is because you thought it was okay to touch another person in a way that hurt them.”
His hands fall to his chest. He tries to sit up, but the venom is already working. His muscles start spasming, and I laugh. Usually by now I’d have left, letting the venom do its work, but this kill is personal, and I want to see the life seep from him. I want to know that he will no longer be breathing and can never come near my sister ever again. I step back, my foot hitting something as I do. I glance down to see a mask. It looks like a broken mirror was put back together to create it.
“You like to play hide and seek?” I ask and lift the mask.
“They’ll kill you,” he gasps.
“Pity you won’t be around for that,” I say, and slide the mask into my jacket as I wait.
The asshole will be dead in minutes, and there’s not a single thing that can be done to save him.
EIGHT
BOSTON
He’s lying on the bed. His hands are next to his sides, and he’s still dressed in his work clothes. His house is a fucking mess—a chaotic tangle of papers, discarded clothes, and half-empty coffee cups. I didn’t realize what a slob he was. But the clutter doesn’t matter right now. My gaze locks on the gurney as it’s rolled in, the paramedics talking quietly, moving around him. And then it hits me…
Where is his mask?
The mask isn’t just an object; it’s a symbol. If a member dies, I am to collect all information and items related to the Forsaken. The mask isn’t just a piece of shattered glass stitched together; it’s secrecy, power. Having it go missing isn’t a minor inconvenience. It’s a threat. My stomach tightens, my pulse spikes, and my mind whirls.
Was it stolen?
Misplaced?
I glance at the paramedics, at the hallway beyond, and back to the bed. Logic clashes with instinct. My cop side ticks through procedure, secure the scene, preserve evidence, and document it all. But my other side, the part trained to anticipate, to hunt, to calculate risk, screams that something is off. This missing mask isn’t just a puzzle; it’s a red flag.
“A heart attack, eh?” Rolland says as he enters the room, chewing a piece of candy. I don’t reply. “You knew him?”
Bailey is covered and taken out of the bedroom.
“Not really,” I answer flatly, watching the movement of the bodies, the angles of shadows. It’s true, but only partially. He doesn’t need to know that not really could mean many things.
“His family is going to come get the dog,” he says loudly, chewing. It’s fucking annoying. “Did you want to go with me to talk to them?” I feel his eyes on me as he asks. He was the one who was called out here, but I got here first. He was surprised to see me, but he let it slide. I recognized the address as soon as it was called over the radio. Immediately, I turned around from where I was going and came here.