Chapter Seventeen Kade #2
“She sex traffics her own children. And the foster children she's supposed to be taking care of. Keeps them locked in the basement until someone pays. Then they get cleaned up. Put in a bedroom.”
“Fucking hell.” I say out loud as the predator roars. Unleashed. Furious. I look at her photo.
Dark brown hair. Rotting teeth. Eyes too close together.
Just like—
Just like my mother.
This would've been someone I went after myself. Before. When I was chaos. When I was just hunger and rage.
“All her patterns and movements have been identified. It's all in the folder. However you handle the assignment, you can't get caught.”
I nod. Can't speak. The rage is too close. Too loud.
“But—if any of the men who come and go from her house are there—or coming up to the house—you have permission to take them out as well.”
“What of the children?” My voice is rough. Dangerous.
“She normally keeps them locked in the basement until someone pays. From what our intel has gathered, they're not on the main floor during the day. But be careful. Don't be seen by them.”
I close my eyes. Breathe. The predator settles. Patient. Focused. Ready.
“When?” I ask.
“That's up to you. The Raven wants you to take your time. Plan it. Make sure you're ready.”
I open my eyes. Look at him. “I'm ready now.”
He studies me. Long. Careful. Then he nods.
“I believe you.”
He stands. Walks to the door. Pauses.
“Kade.”
I look up.
“Make it hurt.”
I nod. Slow. Deliberate.
“I will.”
He leaves. The door closes. I'm alone. With the folder. With the photos. With Wendy Carfell's face. Those eyes. Too close together. Just like hers. Just like my mother's.
The predator in me snarls.
Hunt.
Now.
Make her pay.
I stand. Gather the folder. Walk to the bedroom. Start preparing. Knives. Gloves. Dark clothes. Everything I need. The rage is there. Burning. Demanding. But it's controlled now.
Focused.
Directed.
At her.
At Wendy Carfell.
At the woman who hurts children. Who sells them. Who locks them in basements. I focus on the task. On the hunt. On the kill. Tonight. I'm going hunting.
And Wendy Carfell.
She has no idea what's coming.
After getting everything ready, I’m in the truck. Engine running. Route memorized. Timing calculated.
Wendy Carfell has no idea whats coming. The drive takes forty minutes. I park three blocks away. Dark street. Quiet neighborhood. I step out.
Time to hunt.
Just another person. Nothing suspicious. Nothing threatening. The predator laughs.
If they only knew.
Two blocks.
One.
Half.
Then—
Movement.
A man turns into Wendy’s driveway. I recognize the house.
It’s a customer. Coming to pay. Coming to hurt children.
He doesn’t hear me until it's too late. My arm wraps around his throat. Squeezes. He tries to fight. Tries to scream. Can't. No air. No sound. Just pressure. I pull my knife out and stab it in between his ribs puncturing his lung. It’ll be a slow painful death. He goes limp. Unconscious. Not dead. Not yet. Couldn’t handle the pain.
But, he’ll be dead before he even wakes up.
I drag him out of the driveway and into an alley. Between two houses. Dark. Hidden. Safe. I drop him. I’ll let Jake know he’s back here so the clean up crew can take care of him. But first— Wendy.
I move toward her house. Check the windows.
Living room—empty.
Kitchen—empty.
Dining room—empty.
No one on the main floor. Good. I circle to the back door. Locked. I pull out my picks. Thirty seconds later the lock clicks open. I’m inside. The house is dark. Quiet. Waiting.
Kitchen.
Living room.
Hallway.
Checking.
Listening. Then— Footsteps. Upstairs. One set.
Light. Female. Wendy. I wait. By the stairs.
In the shadows. Patient. The footsteps get closer.
She's coming down. I can hear her breathing.
Humming. Casual. Unaware. She reaches the bottom.
Turns. I move. Behind her. Fast. Silent.
My hand comes up. Strikes. Back of her head.
Hard. Precise. She drops. Unconscious. Limp.
I catch her. Lower her to the floor. Drag her to the kitchen. To a chair. Sit her up. Tie her. Wrists. Ankles. Chest. Secure. Tight. She's not going anywhere. I step back. Wait. The predator is patient now. Savoring. Anticipating.
Five minutes later she stirs. A groan slips from her throat. Her head lifts.
Blinking.
Disoriented.
Then her eyes find me. The confusion vanishes instantly. Fear takes its place.
“Who—who are you? What do you want?”
Her voice is shrill. Panicked.
I don't answer. Just watch. She struggles. Pulls at the restraints. Can't move. Can't escape.
“Please—I have money—I can pay you—” She begs.
I move forward. Grab a dish towel. Shove it in her mouth. She tries to scream. Can't. Just muffled sounds. Desperate. Terrified.
“Shut up.” My voice is cold. Dead. Emotionless.
I lean close. Look her in the eyes. Those eyes. Too close together. Just like my mother's.
“You're a disgusting fucking piece of trash. Can't believe you use children like that.”
Her eyes widen. She knows. Knows why I'm here. Knows what's coming. I pull out my knife. The blade catches the light. Sharp. Clean. Ready. I press it to her forehead. She tries to scream again. Can't. Just muffled sounds. I start carving. Slow. Deliberate. Each letter precise.
A-B-U-S-E-R
Blood flows. Hot. Red. Beautiful. She's sobbing now. Shaking. Trying to move. Can't. I move the knife. To her chest. Cut through her shirt. Expose the skin. Start carving again.
H-C-T
Human Child Trafficker.
She wants to traffic children? She can be branded as one. If anyone ever finds her body that is.
The predator is satisfied. But not done. Not yet. I continue. Slashing. Cutting. Arms. Legs. Stomach. Not deep. Not fatal. Just pain. Just suffering. Just pain.
She passes out. Head drops. Body goes limp. I slap her. Hard.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She wakes. Gasping. Sobbing. Eyes wild. Terrified. I remove the towel. Let her breathe. Let her speak.
“Please—please don't—I'm sorry—I'm sorry—”
“You don't deserve to live.” I lean close. Look her in the eyes.
“And I hope you go to hell. If there is such a place.”
I drive the knife forward. Straight into her chest. Between the ribs. Into the heart. Her eyes go wide. Mouth opens. No sound.
Just—
Shock.
Pain.
Death.
I hold the knife. Watch her. Watch the light fade. Watch her die. Deserved. When she's gone—
When there's nothing left— I pull the knife out. Wipe it clean. Stand. Look at the body. At what's left of Wendy Carfell.
The predator is satisfied. Sated. Calm. I walk to the back door. Pull out my phone. Dial Jake. It rings once.
“Kade.” His voice comes through.
“It's done.”
“The target?”
“Dead. And one of her customers. He's in the alley between the two houses. Dead.”
“The children?”
“Didn't unlock the basement. Didn't want them to see her like that.”
Silence. Brief.
“Good call. Clean-up crew will take care of it and get the kids to safety.”
“Okay.”
“You good?” He ask.
Am I? Good? I don't know. The rage is gone. The hunger is satisfied. But there's something else. Something darker.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I reply
“Kade.”
“Yeah?”
“You did good tonight.”
The line goes quiet.
I stare at Wendy’s body. At the blood. At the knife in my hand. For the first time satisfaction isn’t there. Not completely.
Jake says my name again. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Get back to the cabin. Rest. Amethyst checks in tonight.”
I glance at the clock. Two twenty-six AM.
“Alright. I’ll check in with you later.”
The call ends. I stand there for a moment, staring at whats left of Wendy Carfell.
I don't know if I did good. I killed a monster. Saved children. Protected the innocent.
But the world is full of monsters.
Full of people like Wendy.
Like my mother.
Like Enzo.
And I'm just one person.
One killer.
One predator.
The thought follows me as I walk back to the truck. As I drive through the darkness. As I make my way back to the cabin. The world is a sick place. I might be a killer. But I never targeted children. Never preyed on kids. And that has to mean something. Has to count for something.
I pull into the driveway. Park. Get out. The cabin greets me with silence.
Empty.
Safe.
I lock the door. Check it twice. Then head for the bathroom. I strip. Shower. Wash away the blood. The evidence. The proof. When I’m finally clean— when there’s nothing left of tonight on my skin— I collapse onto the bed.
Exhausted.
Drained.
But lighter. Somehow lighter.
The predator is quiet. Satisfied. Sleeping. And for the first time in days, I sleep too.
Dreamless.
Peaceful.
Knowing that later tonight, Amethyst will call. And I'll hear her voice.
And for now—
That's enough.