Chapter 6
Arcane
His words are a relentless echo in my head, even now as I’m standing outside the warehouse, looking into the open space while checking if there are any stains left.
Turns out, disposing of a body is one fucking messy ordeal.
Blood littered the walls in every direction from the gruesome murder, not solely from the pools that formed around the body but also from the fresh trail left behind as I dragged it. Another telltale sign that could blow my cover and reveal someone has been here.
Two hours later, the blood has been bleached away, though the crimson stains my shirt and loose-fitting jeans. I’ll be forced to burn them as soon as I get home to rid myself of all evidence.
Dragging my bare hand through my hair—having discarded the gloves—I realize my fingers are prickled with blood as well. How did I even get blood in my hair?
With a heavy sigh, I look back at the warehouse from the open garage door, its minimal interior stretching out before me, devoid of any signs of the corpse or gory scene I witnessed.
“I think we’re done, yeah?” A deep voice comes from beside me, and I glance at Alec standing by the doorway to the warehouse.
His shirt clings to his chest with sweat, panting and huffing from the work of getting rid of a corpse. Said corpse is a fucking bulky guard as well, clad in a uniform adorned with the Grimaldis’ emblem on the front.
I called Alec the moment the video feed stopped on my phone, erased without a trace. It dawned on me that whoever had been there, carving my initials into the body, possessed greater hacker skills than I. I’ve never gotten rid of a body before, so the first person I thought to call was Alec, although he wasn’t very happy when he realized I went on this mission without Viper.
I know I can always count on Alec to show up when I need him to, and within ten minutes of calling, he was here, helping me clean up the bloody mess.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but it was fucking stupid of you to go against my father’s orders like you did.”
“You’re right; I don’t want to hear it.”
I turn my back to Alec, but he grabs my wrist harshly. “I care about you, A, but you had one mission. Goddamn it. If my father finds out about this—”
“Then don’t tell him,” I cut him off, glaring into his eyes to emphasize my seriousness.
An ominous feeling settles over our surroundings as I stand inside the warehouse with Alec, and I know we’ll have to leave soon if we want to avoid getting caught. It feels as if someone, somewhere, is watching me.
Could it be him? The man who carved my initials into the dead guard? The biker I’ve heard so much about? But why would he be here?
Because you’ve pissed him off, a voice chimes in my head.
“You know I can’t lie to him,” Alec says.
“Then ignore the subject.”
“I know how mad he’ll be, but I will be forced to tell him if you don’t follow his orders.”
“You don’t even know half of the shit he has done to me.” I shudder at the recollection of what Benjamin Valenti has put me through—ordering me to kneel, kiss his shoes, degrade myself for his liking. Rage overtakes me as I suppress the memories. “But I appreciate you not telling him.”
Alec squeezes my shoulder, but there’s something off in his expression—a coldness or calculation I can’t quite place, as if he harbors secrets.
Casting one final look inside the warehouse, he begins his walk from the dock, and I greedily follow him, eager to leave the construction. The corpse is already rotting away in the trunk of his car, and I’m glad he’ll be the one completely disposing of it.
After saying goodbye to Alec, I’m left alone, annoyed at not having received what I’d planned.
I can’t help but feel that sense of being watched again, more prominent than before. It’s as if the breeze of the wind reveals where this someone is, and I cast a glance over my shoulder once more, paranoid and searching through the darkness, revealing that indeed no one is there. It’s only me and the vast expanse of the sea stretching out before me.
The wind picks up its pace, its weight bearing down on me, and the first drops of rain begin to fall, drowning the world in a shimmering glow and persuasive dampness. The unsettling feeling of being observed persists, but I attempt to ignore it, turning back to my bike, more than ready to leave this place behind.
I know that the initials carved into the guard was a warning, but from whom, I do not know. Tomorrow, I’ll have to return to attempt to find the schematics once more. Deep in my bones, I feel that something isn’t right, yet I cannot grasp the nature of this impending unease.
——————
The wind howls outside, causing trees to scratch against the windows as if they are animals demanding to enter. I toss and turn in bed, unease trickling through me, only increasing with each passing second.
The image of the corpse with my initials carved into its flesh is seared into my mind, fueling my paranoia. I can’t shake the feeling that evidence of us being there remains, that the Grimaldis will believe it was us who killed one of their guards.
My gaze is blurry as I look at the clock on my nightstand, the red text shining through the otherwise pitch-black room, showing that it’s three a.m.
The drive home on my bike, usually exhilarating, lost its thrill in the rain. It felt like a storm had brushed over town, wind gusts making my bike sway at every curve, and the asphalt slippery from puddles. Throughout the ride, an eerie sensation of being watched gripped me, intensified by the unknown biker’s cryptic message through the video feed. Despite driving alone in the middle of the night, it was as if I could hear the breaths of someone following, the distant revving of an engine trailing my bike.
With a deep breath, I glance at the clock, now revealing that it’s three thirty a.m. The wind continues to brush against the apartment’s window, branches knocking against the panes, only growing more violent. Through the curtains, I see the first strike of lightning splitting the sky with a silver glow, contrasting greatly with the blackened color of the night.
Soon after, thunder strikes, rumbling through the windows as if it’s inside my bedroom. I hug the blanket closer to me, hating the fact that I’m still affected by the frightening sound of thunder. There’s something about the thunder’s intensity that always makes me unnerved, like a disconcerting echo. I take a deep breath to compose myself as a memory comes washing over.
“What are you so scared of?”
A deep grumble emanates through his throat as he stands in the doorway, his bare chest showcasing a chiseled, well-sculpted body. He casually props himself against the door, eyes meeting mine from across the room, with a smirk hinting at his lips.
Another roar from outside makes my body flinch as it splits the sky, feeling as if Thor is raging war against the clouds with his hammer. A pathetic squeak escapes me, causing my cheeks to redden, which he notices. The corner of his lips twitches, revealing an even bigger smirk.
With one step over the threshold, he comes closer before settling down beside me in bed. He puts his hand above mine, staring into my eyes with a glance that doesn’t reveal his emotions.
Leaning closer, he whispers into the silence of the night. “Are you scared, little sister?”
“Don’t mock me!” I exclaim, my cheeks flushing at the humiliation.
I don’t want to seem weak or pathetic in front of the only person I look up to, a fifteen-year-old girl terrified of the rumbling sound of thunder. He brings his hand up to ruffle my hair, which only has me scowling at him, knowing how tangled it will be the next morning.
“I’m not.” However, the smirk on his lips tells me otherwise.
Another ominous rumble rolls through the sky, but this time, it’s a sharp, explosive clap that punctuates the atmosphere all around us. The intensity of the sound has my heart nearly breaking out of my ribcage, a faint panic taking on that I cannot get rid of. Without thought, my body moves closer to his. There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he looks at me, shoulders subtly shaking from his chuckle. I hit his arm playfully, yet still rattled by the frightening sound.
“Stop it, Kaiden!”
“Okay, okay,” he concedes.
Despite that, he still laughs at me, before his expression turns into a somber one when a louder, more vibrating and pulsating thunder explodes in the air.
Throughout the night, he holds my body close to his, my frame underneath the covers and his on top. He gently plays with my hair, allowing me to sleep while his husky yet soft voice drowns out the sound of thunder, hushing me into tranquility.
Gritting my teeth, I damn myself for the persistent memories of him that refuse to fade, despite the many years that have passed. It would be so much fucking easier if I could forget him. I’d rather do that, throw him and his haunting presence out of my mind before locking the gate to it, leaving him no possibility of ever entering again. If I could, I would erase his entire existence from my mind and past in the same way he destroyed me after promising to always be by my side.
The thunder roars again, and I decide to go grab a glass of water in the kitchen, knowing something cold will calm me down. Making my way to the kitchen, the quietness inside the apartment appears almost eerie, with the storm violently raging on the outside.
Right as I step foot inside the kitchen, goosebumps ripple across my skin, sending shivers down my spine and transforming the room into an instant ice world. The tension in the air thickens with my inability to breathe, and my eyes widen in response to the sight before me.
There’s something on the window frame, a cryptic message that leaves me damn near gasping for breath.
What the fuck?
Written in what seems to be freshly formed fog is a message, as enigmatic as the one I encountered in the warehouse by the dock with the same handwriting. I swallow harshly, knives slicing through my throat.
“The reaper watches you when you sleep. You’re as exquisite as a blood angel from hell.”
Something is chilling about the words on the windowpane, as if someone has exhaled onto it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the words came from within my kitchen.
That’s impossible.
With deliberate steps, I approach the sink that is the closest to the window, and grab the gun from the kitchen drawer—tucked away in case of emergencies.
I’m not sure what I plan to do with it. It isn’t as if I’ll shoot through the glass if someone is outside, but the heavy weight in my hand is reassuring.
No one seems to be there.
With the gun still in hand, I return to my bedroom, forgetting what I’d intended to do in the kitchen.
As I’m about to lie down in bed, I notice the crimson droplets on top of my sheets, growing larger as I lift the blanket draping across them. Shock renders me motionless as I stare at the smeared blood, a contrast against the pristine fabric.
Frowning, I inspect myself for any signs of injury but find nothing at first, deepening my confusion.
I continue searching my body, standing in front of the full-length mirror on the other side of my room. Turning around, I look at my reflection, only to realize that I am indeed bleeding.
The frown marring my brow etches itself into my features as I discover a deep gash sliding across my shoulder blade to the front of my breast. Dried blood smears across my skin, evidence of the profuse bleeding. Despite the quantity of blood, the wound isn’t deep. The adrenaline surging through me dulls the pain, but a lingering stinging sensation persists.
Suspicion gnaws at me, knowing I couldn’t have inflicted it on myself while asleep, especially considering its clean, precise appearance, looking as if it was made by a sharper knife.
What the fuck is going on? Ever since I began preparing for this heist, mysterious things have happened. It’s as if I’m descending into madness, my sanity slipping away once again.
Have the rivaling families found out about our little tryst and plans? Do they know about the USB drive I’m going to steal?
The lingering feeling of someone watching me remains.
Then, my phone pings with two incoming messages. One is an image, the other a text. My heart rate spikes up as I load the former, nearly bursting in half when the scene is displayed on the screen.
It appears to be a man clad in uniform, skin once vibrant yet now a pallid hue, draining away by the grip of solitude. Rigor mortis has settled in, leaving a stiffness in the limbs that are unyielding in an unnatural position. Nausea burns my throat as I look at the person, recognizing the carved flesh on his chest, the crooked letters A.V.
Hours later, his body appears more decayed, frozen in a position revealing a tortuous fate, skin wrinkling in death.
My eyes fixate on the Grimaldis’ emblem, its letters a beacon, both inviting and dangerous, like a predator luring its prey in the night.
This can’t be true. Alec got rid of the body.
Then why does it look as if it’s at the Grimaldis’ dock? I’d recognize that place anywhere—a place me and him used to play hide-and-seek when we were too bored with following our father around the dock while he dealt with shipments.
My breath constricts the moment I feel the trembling in my hands, opening the next message from the unknown sender—a warning that threatens to expose the entire heist and my involvement in it.
UNKNOWN: Fail to meet me again, and the next thing you’ll see is his severed head on their doorstep. Perhaps my little angel would like to be exposed to the wolves for her treachery instead. And you know damn well how malevolent the Grimaldis are.