Chapter 13
RYKER
We moved deeper into the warehouse.
The place was a carcass, corrugated steel and old concrete, tarps hanging like skin from rafters, the scent of oil and rust trapped in the cold. Every sound echoed too long. Every breath was louder than it should be.
I shook it off. Adrenaline did weird shit.
Death led us through a narrow corridor past stacked crates and a half-collapsed section of shelving.
A single work light burned in the distance, harsh and white, throwing a cone over a makeshift holding area with chain-link panels, ratchet straps, and a chair bolted to the concrete, like someone had tried to build a room inside a room.
He was in it. A middle-aged man, thinning hair streaked with grey at the temples and a widening bald patch at the crown, slumped awkwardly against the restraints.
His body appeared soft and he was sweating through his shirt.
He lifted his head when we entered the light, and his eyes snapped straight to Death like his instincts recognized the apex predator before his brain could lie about it.
“Please,” he rasped. “I— I don’t know what you think—”
“Shut up, Mick.” Death sounded as if he was reading a fact off a file.
Kip leaned against a support beam. “They always start with that one.”
The man’s gaze darted to me, and I felt it. The calculation, the way he tried to categorize each of us and figure out who was weakest. Who might listen. Who could be bought. The sick son of a bitch was looking for mercy, too stupid to understand it didn’t come wearing masks.
“I can give you names,” the man blurted. “I can give you buyers. I can—”
“You sold your underage daughters,” Death said. The words landed heavy with no room for an argument.
Mick’s expression twisted, defensive anger trying to crowd out the fear. “I didn’t force anyone. They—people wanted—”
Kip laughed under his breath. “There it is.”
The man’s throat worked. “I made mistakes.”
“Mistakes are leaving the stove on,” Death replied. “You trafficked children.”
I felt the push dagger’s grip against my palm, and my fingers flexed. My body already knew what it wanted to do. It did. I’d assisted Death in the past, but this was different. I was feeding off the man’s fear. Excited at the idea of his blood coating my hands and blade.
Death stepped closer to the captive, and Mick’s whole body tightened. “What do you want?” he demanded, trying for control and failing.
Death held his stare for a long moment. “You’re going to run.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You’re going to run,” Death repeated. “I’m giving you a head start.”
Hope flashed across Mick’s face so fast it made my stomach turn. He actually believed it. That he could bargain his way out of consequences if he ran hard enough.
Kip’s mouth twitched. “Oh, he’s stupid as hell.”
Death crouched and unfastened the restraints at the man’s wrists with methodical precision. No anger. No rush. Just inevitability. The cuffs loosened and fell away.
Mick stared at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him. Then his focus shot into the dark beyond the light, frantic and hungry, mapping routes like a rat in a trap that suddenly found a crack in the wall.
Death stepped back, giving him space. “When I say run, you run.”
Mick agreed too quickly. “Okay. Okay, I will.”
Death’s gaze slid to me without turning his head. “Rules. Stay alert.”
My pulse slammed. “Always.”
“Make him suffer.”
I liked these rules. “I plan on it.”
Kip pushed off the beam, rolling his shoulders once. “I’ll go first and keep an eye on him.”
Death nodded, and Kip disappeared into the shadows to the left. Death lifted his hand with two fingers, his soundless countdown.
I felt that prickling sensation again, the excitement surging through me.
Then Death’s fingers dropped. “Run.”
The man jumped up, nearly tripping over the chair legs, and bolted into the dark like the devil himself was behind him. He was.
Footsteps slapped concrete, loud and panicked, ricocheting through the warehouse. He crashed into something, but kept going, his ragged breathing trailing behind him. The door leading outside clanged.
Death didn’t chase him immediately. He waited. It was all about dominance, control, and allowing the prey to think he had a chance.
Death turned slightly toward me. “Stay on my shoulder.”
I tipped my chin at him and then we moved.
The cone of light fell away behind us, and the darkness swallowed everything. My mask warmed against my skin, holding the heat of my adrenaline as if it wanted me to become what it was.
We cut left between stacked shipping crates, then right into a long aisle lined with broken machinery. Shadows fractured and re-formed.
We followed Mick outside and joined Kip, who had moved ahead, making sure we didn’t lose our guest.
A curse. A scrape. The prey was close.
Death slowed and we stopped.
My breath sounded too loud in my ears. My grip tightened on the dagger until the T-handle bit into my palm.
Death tilted his head, leaned in, his voice barely there. “When I give you the signal … you go. Fuck with his head and make him hurt.”
Mick appeared at the end of the path, half-crouched behind an oak tree, his eyes wild and chest heaving. He saw us and froze. The prey finally recognizing the predators that surrounded him.
Death lifted two fingers, pointing once.
My signal. I took one step forward into the night. The crow-feather shimmer flashed for a heartbeat as the light shifted—blue, violet—gone.
Mick didn’t wear terror well, and it made me grin. “I bet your daughters felt the same terror that’s written all over your face, motherfucker.” I raised a brow.
His white shirt was drenched with sweat, clinging to his soft belly. “I’m curious. What made you think selling kids was a good idea?” I already knew the answer. Greed. These monsters didn’t see others as human beings, they saw them as cash flow. Cash wasn’t the only thing that was about to flow.
Seizing his arm, I jerked him to his feet and ran the tip of the blade down his cheek, blood blooming.
“Please don’t. Don’t kill me.” Tears slipped down his cheek.
“Did your daughters beg you not to sell them as well?” I sneered. “I bet I already know the answer to that.”
The blade ran down his chest and over his stomach, and then I slipped it between his legs and nudged his balls. Terror twisted his expression while I turned the blade over in my hand. His dark slacks were shredded in the crotch. Urine streamed down his leg as he trembled against the tree.
“Hands up, motherfucker,” I growled.
Mick lifted his hands over his head. I glanced toward Kip’s knife, and he walked it over, taking mine to hold.
I grabbed Mick’s wrists, pinned them above his head against the tree.
My sleeve rode up with the stretch, moonlight catching the rabbit on my forearm for a single breath.
With one quick motion, I speared both palms to the bark.
He screamed, blubbering, as I took my knife back from Kip, lowered it, and sliced his nuts.
Blood flowed freely as his head rolled to the side.
“He passed out.” Death chuckled. “Too bad. I was enjoying the show.”
As much as I wanted to slice off his dick, I wasn’t in the mood to pick it up and dispose of it properly. The last thing I wanted to do was leave evidence.
“Yeah. Definitely a disappointment. Guess I should have saved the nuts for last.” A dark chuckle slipped from me.
Even though he wasn’t conscious, I cut open his shirt and carved “child seller” from his chest down to the top of his pants.
At least when the cops found him, they’d know what he’d done, unless Kip destroyed the body.
Occasionally, Death liked to leave a message for the police, that yet another sick fuck had been removed from the earth.
Finally, I shifted slightly and shoved the weapon into his neck.
Blood spurted from the wound and coated my dark shirt and hands.
I looked down at my hands. Dark. Warm. Real.
This was what I’d wanted. What I’d needed since I clawed my way back from the dead.
The fog that had lived behind my eyes for a year lifted for exactly three seconds, and in those three seconds, I felt like myself again.
To my surprise, he regained consciousness and stared at me, his brain not connecting that he’d been stabbed right away.
He was in shock. I understood what that was like.
In a few seconds, clarity would land for a fleeting moment.
Unable to talk, his words came out as a blood-filled garble.
His body lurched forward, freeing Kip’s knife from the tree as he dropped to his knees, his skin turning pale with the loss of blood.
I stepped back, grinning like the devil himself.
Death stepped forward. “Good work. Let’s get this motherfucker out of here and clean up.”
Kip joined us as I looked at the man I’d just killed with my own hands. But this time, there was no nausea bubbling up or regret. I felt nothing more than pure satisfaction as I retrieved my blade from his lifeless body.