Chapter 84 #2
A girl is laid across the Collective symbol on the floor. Her arms are pinned back. Her legs are forced apart. She’s crying and thrashing, and the only reason she is still moving is because they are letting her.
They talk over her like she isn’t human.
One of the masked men laughs and says something to the others. Another replies, still calm, still entertained. Their voices sound normal. That is what makes it worse.
John lifts his hand slightly, and the room settles like they’re trained.
“Before we begin,” John smiles, “let’s make a toast.”
The girl’s scream turns into a choked sob.
John tilts his head like he’s listening to music.
“I’ll go get the wine,” he adds.
He steps away from the group and walks toward the hall, unhurried, confident that nothing in this villa can touch him.
Brooke watches him go. Her body changes without her moving. Her focus narrows. Her breathing turns quiet.
She leans toward me and whispers, “I’m gonna follow him.”
I keep my eyes on the room. “Go.”
Brooke slips back into the hallway and follows John at a distance. She moves close enough to keep him in sight, far enough that he won’t feel her presence until she wants him to.
I step into the room without drawing attention to it. My pistol is already in my hand with the suppressor threaded on the barrel. Sound carries too easily in a place like this, and every second we waste inside this house increases the chances someone comes looking.
The masked men don’t notice me right away. Their attention stays fixed on the girl. The men stand around her as if she is a centerpiece.
That arrogance is about to kill them.
I raise the pistol and fire twice.
The first shot hits the closest man in the upper chest. His body jerks backward and the knife in his hand drops before he can lift it. The second man takes the next round a fraction of a second later. The bullet punches through his sternum and drives him back a step before he collapses.
The suppressed shots are short and controlled, but the room changes immediately.
The third man snaps his head toward me. He tries to pivot, tries to bring the knife up, and tries to move around the girl without stepping on her.
He’s too slow.
I close the distance and grab him by the head.
My hands clamp against both sides of the mask and I twist with everything I have. His neck gives under the pressure. The break runs through my arms and into my hands as the vertebrae snap. His body loses strength instantly and drops against me before sliding to the floor.
The fourth man comes at me without thinking.
He charges across the room with the knife raised and his weight thrown forward. The swing is wide and desperate. The blade catches the fabric of my sleeve and cuts through the cloth without reaching skin.
I step into him instead of backing away.
My shoulder slams into his chest and drives him into the wall. The impact forces the air out of his lungs in a harsh grunt. His knife arm drops just enough.
I drive my blade into his abdomen.
The knife sinks deep beneath his ribs and I feel the resistance of muscle give as the steel pushes through. His body stiffens and a strangled sound pushes through the mask.
I pull the blade free and stab him again.
The second thrust lands higher. His body jerks once and then the strength drains out of him. The knife slips from his hand and hits the floor with a dull clatter while he slides down the wall.
I step away from him and turn to the girl.
She’s shaking so hard the symbol beneath her looks like it’s moving. Her face is wet with tears. Her mouth opens, but she can’t get words out.
“Stay still,” I tell her. “You’re safe now.”
She nods fast, terrified, trying to obey.
I crouch beside her and cut the restraints quickly, guiding the blade so it never touches her skin. The ropes fall away from her wrists first. The skin there is raw and swollen from the pressure. Her breathing comes in uneven pulls as her body tries to recover from panic.
She curls inward, arms folding toward her chest as if she can make herself smaller.
“Look at me, stand up,” I whisper. “You need to move.”
She pushes herself to her feet and sways. Her entire body shakes hard enough that her teeth knock together.
“Go downstairs,” I point toward the hallway. “Beau will help you.”
She hesitates for half a second, then turns and runs. Her bare feet slap against the floor as she disappears into the hallway.
A moment later Beau’s voice comes through my earpiece.
“Any other girls?”
The girl answers him somewhere below us. Her voice trembles through the connection.
“It was just three of us they brought in here.”
Beau responds immediately. “Go to the boat.”
Her footsteps move quickly down the stairs, then fade toward the dock and the open water.
“Beau.”
“Yeah?”
“After you get them on the boat, grab the spare fuel.”
A brief pause follows.
“How much?”
My eyes stay on the hall.
“As much as you’ve got,” I respond. “We’re burning all this shit down.”
“Copy that,” Beau replies. “I’ll bring them up.”
The house goes quiet again.
I scan the door and hear movement somewhere down the hall. A cabinet door opens. Glass shifts against glass. Someone moves around with the casual pace of a man preparing for a celebration.
I remain in the center of the room.
The bodies lie across the tile where they fell. Their masks have slipped out of place, jaws tilted sideways and ears pressed against the floor. Blood spreads slowly beneath them.
Then footsteps return in the hallway.
John walks into the room carrying a bottle and glasses as if he is entering a private dinner. He steps through the doorway mid-thought, the bottle balanced casually in his hand.
Then he sees the room.
He stops, lowering the bottle slowly. John turns his head, taking in the scene piece by piece. Then his gaze settles on me.
I stand in the center of the room with my pistol lowered but ready, my knife still wet in my other hand.
Brooke steps in behind him. She closes the distance without rushing, gun aimed at the back of his head. Her voice is low and calm.
“Hello John.”
John doesn’t move at first.
He exhales once, and the goat mask tilts toward me like he’s trying to make sense of the impossible.
“So,” John sighs, “you found me.”
Brooke shifts her aim a fraction closer. “Yeah, I told you I would.”