6. Rowan
six
Rowan
Present day
I look ahead at the city before me, the dark skyline flashing with life–people going on with their evenings, fucking, heading out for dinner, or doing whatever they do at this time of night. The faint hum of their world drifts up the hill, mixing with the scent of dirt, sweat, and fresh blood. They keep on living, completely oblivious to what’s about to happen tonight.
I clutch my skull mask between my arm and my left side. Behind me, the EFW members we caught spit out curses while my right-hand man, Hawke, lines them up. I don’t need to look to see that they’re naked and kneeling with their limbs tied up and that the other men we brought with us have their guns pointed at their heads.
This isn’t an authorized mission, far from it. I had to get creative with the way I sourced my team for this hunt, reminding me of the night I went out and killed for Cole five years ago. To think that I’m now doing it for his sister fills my veins with the venom I’m about to spill down these motherfuckers’ throats.
My perfect angel. My obsession. My ecstasy.
She’s out there somewhere, waiting for me to get to her.
The invisible punch in the gut comes back, so I shove down the guilt, knowing full well she was never supposed to be in my life. For five years I made sure she was safe, and she had nothing to worry about. Then I came in and claimed her, because I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Now the EFW took her, and all I’m left with are the intricate details of how I’m going to end their lives.
“They’re ready.” Hawke’s voice gets my attention.
I close my eyes for a second, reeling back my restlessness so we can tackle this thoughtfully and get what we need. For the past few days, I’ve been going from one outpost to another, searching for her. No one tells me anything useful, so I slash through bodies like the fucking grim reaper, leaving their buildings in shambles in my wake. Which is why, unfortunately for the men we brought here, my methods are about to drastically change.
I turn away from the skyline and my eyes land on five silhouettes watching me with disdain, as if I’m the one standing naked before them. My lips turn upward as I take in the big hole we dug behind them—five wooden boxes wait for them, all empty and as cozy as a hastily dug mass grave can be. The moon casts long shadows across the small cemetery, making the hole look deeper, darker. Hungrier.
“So,” I say, targeting no one in particular. Not yet. “Which one of you fuckers wants to live to see another day?” One of them laughs, and my eyes instantly dart to him, all the way to the left.
“You’ve been quite the talk of the town, Commander,” he says. “Salister is frothing at the mouth at the thought of having you work for him.”
I take my gun out of the pocket of my combat uniform and fire it at his feet. He barely dodges it, falling on his face in the mud in front of him.
“You have something that belongs to me,” I say, ignoring his remark or anything else he might want to say. “Where is she? Which outpost do I need to go to?”
No one speaks, and my patience is running low. These aren’t average men, after all—they’re way too accustomed to torture and the thought of their impending death.
“Very well, then.”
I glance at Hawke, who steps past me and, without hesitation, lifts his leg to push the first man into the hole.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” another one cries out, looking over his shoulder.
The one in the hole screams for help. I ignore it.
Some might say I’m psychotic for burying these men alive, and I very well might be. But who’s going to stop me? And why should I stop when the woman I love is suffering tenfold more than these assholes are? I can’t even begin to imagine where they’re keeping her right now. I think about it every second of every day, and it sure as fuck helps in fueling my rage. But rage isn’t the only feeling passing through me. My heart, my lungs, my bones, and flesh… they’re crushed by a force so strong, so powerful, that it sometimes brings me to my knees, completely overpowering me.
I crack my shoulders and neck, waiting for the pain to pass, telling myself that this is it—that they will tell me where she is, and I’ll barge in there with my team before the sun comes up. But hope… hope is a dangerous thing for a man like me.
“I’m giving you one more chance to say something actually useful,” I say. “Then I’ll simply move on to another bunch of you. And another. And so on, until I have it my way. No one will remember your names. No one will look for you. They wouldn’t even know where to begin.” I pick an invisible speck of dust from my jacket.
“You know, I truly wonder, Commander,” someone else says, “what kind of deranged woman would love someone like you.” He means to taunt me, I know that, but his voice cracks at the edges when he says the words out loud.
He’s the biggest of them, muscles straining against his dirt-streaked skin. A man who looks like he could split my head in half if given the chance. But strength means nothing without nerve, and his is already breaking. Sweat drips down his temples, tracing filthy lines along his neck. His eyes dart too quickly between Hawke, me, my men, and then back again, as if one of us might hit him any second.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he spits out, louder this time, hiding his fear behind the volume.
I shrug, unbothered. “So what if I am? What are you going to do about it, Gale?”
His jaw locks at the mention of his real name, and a muscle ticks along his cheek. The others stay quiet, listening with detached resignation. One stares at the ground like he’s already accepted what’s coming. Another shifts his weight, shoulders tensing, but keeps his mouth shut.
Only Gale falters.
His chest heaves, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His gaze flickers to the hole behind him for a moment.
“You know where you’ll end up if you don’t talk,” I say, voice calm, like it’s a foregone conclusion.
He flinches, just barely, but enough for me to notice. Enough for all of us to notice. “Don’t do this.”
I crouch in front of him, lifting his chin with the barrel of my gun.
“What’s that?”
He deflects it, his cold eyes boring into mine.
“I said… don’t fucking do this. You looked into me. You know.” He bares his teeth.
“I do know, Gale. I know all about your irrational fear of being buried alive. I know about your recent regression in Salister’s ranks. What are you fighting for here? A cult that played you from day one? That doesn’t give a fuck about where you are right now? Hmm?” I look back at Hawke. “Wrap this up and cover the hole.”
Combat boots pass me from behind. Hawke and the others finish the job as the screams get louder, and Gale’s panic grows deeper by the second.
“You can feel it already, can’t you? The wood trapping you inside. The darkness seeping into your pores, clinging to your lungs, and chipping away at your sanity,” I tell Gale. He grunts, squirming into the ropes we tied him with. “The roaches. The snakes. They’ll crawl all over you. Into your mouth, nose, and ears. They’ll eat you up from the inside out, and you’ll be awake to feel it all.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you sick son of a bitch!”
“Give me what I need, Gale, and I won’t bury you alive with the rest of them. You have my word.”
“Your word means nothing to me!”
I’m so close. He’ll talk. He has to.
I keep silent, watching the deliberation unfold on his face.
He glances at the hole behind him for the second time, then back at me. His breath comes faster now, shallow, ragged, but the next words coming out of his mouth are nothing like what I expect him to say.
“I don’t… I don’t know where they took her.”
I close my eyes, defeated, feeling my rage flicker inside me like the start of a wildfire before it burns the forest down. Standing up, I’m this close to pushing him into the last empty casket when he speaks again.
“… all I know is who did.”