Chapter 84
Seth
We ride the boat in silence while the engine hums low beneath us.
The sound stays muted enough to blend with the water moving against the hull. Warm night air clings to my skin and clothes. The scent of Florida water hangs heavy in the dark, brine from the ocean mixed with the smell that settles into coastal ground.
Brooke sits on the bench in front of me with her gun resting across her lap. Her attention stays fixed on the horizon where the black line of the island cuts into the sky. She twists the suppressor onto the barrel of her pistol in one quick motion.
Beau handles the wheel with quiet confidence. His shoulders remain loose while he guides the boat through the water with small adjustments.
The private island appears first as a dark shape stretching across the water.
As we move closer, the outline of the villa becomes clear.
The structure rises behind a wall of palms, larger than any house built for simple living.
A few windows glow with soft interior light that spills across the stone exterior.
The place carries the polished weight of money and privacy.
I scan the shoreline again.
Only a handful of guards move near the dock and outer path.
That isn’t an oversight. That’s arrogance. Someone here believes distance and money are enough to keep them safe.
They're wrong.
Beau cuts the engine before we reach the dock. The sudden quiet settles over the boat while it glides the rest of the way forward on momentum. The hull brushes against the wood, and the dock answers with a quiet creak before the water steadies us.
Brooke reaches and squeezes my forearm once.
I answer with a single nod.
Beau steps out first. His boots land on the dock without a sound. He moves into the darkness along the palm line and disappears between the shadows without saying a word.
Time stretches while we wait.
I focus on the island and listen carefully for anything out of place.
A dull sound carries across the water from the direction of the house. The noise fades quickly and the island returns to silence.
Beau’s voice comes through my earpiece. “Front is clear.”
Brooke exhales once and steps onto the dock. I move with her.
We cross the yard toward the villa, keeping close to the palms and the darker edges of the property. The back entrance comes into view quickly.
The door is unlocked. Brooke pushes it open and steps inside. I follow with my knife already in my hand.
The hallway is dim and quiet. A heavy candle scent hangs in the air, trying to cover the stale odor of sweat and blood.
We move through the house one room at a time. Brooke keeps her breathing quiet and her steps light. She knows how to move through a space without drawing attention.
Light spills from beneath a door at the end of the hall.
Voices come from inside. Men, talking and laughing.
The laughter cuts off when a wet cracking sound breaks through the room. A girl lets out a weak cry.
Brooke’s eyes harden. She opens the door without hesitation.
We enter together.
Two men stand inside the room.
A young woman is tied to a chair in the center. Her wrists are bound behind the backrest and her ankles are secured to the legs of the chair. One of her eyes is swollen shut. Blood runs from her split lip down her chin. Her head hangs slightly forward as if she is struggling to stay conscious.
One man holds a knife streaked with fresh blood.
The other leans close to the girl’s face, speaking to her in a quiet, mocking voice.
Brooke raises her pistol.
The first man turns his head at the movement.
Brooke fires before he can react.
The suppressed shot cracks through the room. The girl flinches violently in the chair, the legs scraping against the floor as her body jerks. The bullet punches through the man’s chest. He drops where he stands.
The second man snaps toward Brooke, his hand flying for the gun at his waistband.
I throw my knife.
The blade leaves my hand in a straight line and sinks into the side of his throat. His body locks up as the steel drives deep. He grabs at his neck, choking as blood pushes between his fingers. He stumbles backward and collapses hard against the floor. His legs kick once before the movement stops.
Brooke moves to the girl immediately. When she reaches the chair and sees the ropes, she holsters the pistol and pulls a knife from her pocket.
“It’s okay,” Brooke whispers. “We’re getting you out. Stay quiet.”
The girl tries to speak but only a thin breath escapes her mouth.
Brooke cuts through the ropes at the girl’s wrists first. Her arms fall forward, shaking from the strain. Brooke slices the rope at her ankles and steadies her as she slumps forward.
“You need to listen to me,” Brooke says firmly.
The girl nods quickly, eyes wide.
“Go outside,” Brooke continues. “There’s a man named Beau waiting near the dock. He’s here to get you out.”
The girl stares at her for a second, trying to process the words.
Brooke grips her shoulder once. “Go. Now!”
The girl pushes herself to her feet and moves toward the door, unsteady but moving.
I retrieve my knife from the floor and wipe it on the dead man’s shirt. I don’t look at their faces again. I keep my focus on the hall.
Brooke steps back beside me.
We move down the hall. Low music pulses behind the next door. Someone turned the volume up enough to shake the walls.
Brooke opens the door.
The smell reaches me before anything else. It carries the thick metallic weight of blood that has already begun to dry.
The overhead lights buzz faintly while the scene comes into focus.
A girl lies on the tile floor.
She can't be older than twenty. Her skin has already gone pale beneath the harsh white lighting, and her eyes remain open, fixed on the ceiling as if she had been staring there when everything ended.
Blood has pooled beneath the back of her head and shoulders, spreading across the white tile in a dark stain that has begun to thicken along the edges.
Her body sits twisted at an angle that immediately explains how she died.
But that is not the worst part of what I'm looking at.
A man is between her legs.
His pants hang halfway down his thighs while his hips move slowly against her corpse. The motion shifts the girl’s body slightly across the floor with every push forward. The man grunts each time he forces himself into her.
A wolf mask covers his face.
For a moment my brain refuses to accept what it is seeing. My grip tightens around the knife until the handle presses hard into my palm.
He turns his head toward us slowly, like we interrupted him.
“I got this,” Brooke says quietly beside me.
Before I can respond, she moves.
She rushes him.
The man snarls and pushes himself off the corpse while yanking his pants upward with one hand. His other hand reaches for the knife lying beside the girl’s shoulder.
Brooke is already moving.
Her blade flashes into view as she pulls it free while charging toward him.
They collide near the center of the room.
The man swings the knife toward her head in a wide, desperate arc.
Brooke drops beneath the swing and drives her shoulder into his chest hard enough to send him sliding backward across the tile. His shoes skid through the blood on the floor as he struggles to stay upright.
His hand shoots out and grabs a fistful of Brooke’s hair before yanking her forward with enough force to pull her off balance. His other hand comes across her mouth with a violent slap that cracks through the room.
Her head snaps back from the impact.
The second his hand connects with her face, I move.
I close the distance in two strides and drive my shoulder into his back, slamming into him hard enough to break his balance. My hand grabs the collar of his shirt and jerks him away from Brooke before he can swing again.
Blood appears along Brooke’s lip as she steadies herself. Her arm drives forward.
The blade punches into his chest. The knife sinks deep between his ribs while he screams behind the wolf mask.
I step fully behind him and grab his shoulder to hold him upright.
My knife comes across his throat in one clean motion.
The steel cuts deep.
I pull hard and feel the blade drag across muscle and cartilage before catching briefly against bone. Then the flesh opens under the pressure and blood erupts down his chest, spraying across Brooke’s arm and the front of my shirt.
The man staggers forward with a choking sound trapped in his throat.
For a moment something darker inside my head pushes forward.
I want to drive the knife deeper. I want to keep cutting until his head separates from his shoulders and rolls across the same floor where he violated her.
But there isn’t time for that.
The man collapses between us. His body strikes the tile with a heavy thud while he chokes on the blood flooding his airway.
Brooke rips her knife free from his chest as he falls.
The wolf mask turns sideways against the floor. His legs twitch once before he goes completely still.
Brooke and I both look down.
The girl still lies on the floor. Her empty eyes stare at the ceiling.
My hands tighten around the knife.
Brooke steps over the wolf mask man like he’s trash. She keeps her gun up as we move back into the hall.
We take the stairs fast and quietly.
The top floor is warmer, and it smells like expensive linens. Light spills from the end of the hallway. Voices drift out, casual and smug, like they’re in a private club.
Then I hear a girl scream. It isn’t a startled scream. It is pain. It is panic. It is the sound of someone realizing nobody is coming to help her.
Brooke’s grip tightens on her gun. Her eyes flick to mine.
I nod once. We move.
We reach the doorway and stop just long enough to take inventory.
John is in the center of the room. He’s wearing the goat mask again. Four other Collective members stand nearby, all of them wearing animal masks. Their knives catch the overhead light every time they shift.