Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
JUDE GRAVES
The mask grins up at me from my hands, my thumb dragging slowly over the fucked up smile. I can still feel the restraints on my wrists even though they took them off an hour ago.
Today was bad.
Not the usual bad. Not the routine pain, the conditioning, the “lesson.” It was longer and...meaner. Like Alexei woke up and decided another piece of me needed to be cut away. I swallow, but my throat still tastes like blood.
I know I’m losing it. I can feel it happening in real time—thoughts slipping, memories blurring, that rage I’ve tried for so fucking long to tame now catching fire again.
Sometimes I notice myself staring at nothing for whole minutes.
Sometimes I look at my hands, and they don’t even feel like mine.
And tonight I get to kill four men.
I huff a dry laugh, still staring at the mask. “Busy day.”
Alexei’s voice replays in my head from earlier. “A meeting with associates. They’ll expect me. Instead, you’ll go. Clean it up.” Four associates. Four bodies. Then I have to show up at some stupid party afterward. Living the goddamn dream.
Erik steps into the kitchen, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. His eyes move past me almost immediately, lighting up. “Well,” he says, voice smooth, “don’t you look stunning.”
I glance over my shoulder.
Adriana stands near the doorway, already dressed. The red gown clings to her body perfectly. She looks beautiful, yeah, but mostly she looks tense. Her shoulders are always tight when she’s around anyone else but me.
Erik takes a slow step toward her, smile widening. “A perfect choice.”
She doesn’t smile back. “I’m not going with you.”
His expression barely changes. Just a small sigh, like she’s mildly inconvenienced him. “You are.”
“No.”
He rolls his eyes, then gestures casually in my direction. “Your boyfriend will be joining later.” His tone turns lightly amused. “After he finishes his task.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, worry flashing across her face. I give her a small nod, which is about the only reassurance I can manage right now. I’ll survive. That’s what the nod means.
I always fucking do.
Erik reaches for her arm, already bored with the conversation. “Come along. We’re leaving.”
She resists for half a second, then lets him guide her toward the hall, but not before throwing one more look over her shoulder at me.
I want to tell her it’ll be fine. I don’t, because we both know that would be a lie.
I, at least, am not entirely concerned that Erik would dare hurt her, considering I killed the fuck out of the last man who did.
The door closes behind them, and I’m left in the quiet of the guesthouse.
I stare at the mask for another few seconds, then set it down on the counter.
My reflection catches in a small mirror on the wall, and my eyes are darker than I remember them being, with a fresh bruise on my jaw.
The Slavic pendant is warm against my chest.
“Let’s get it over with,” I mutter, snatching the keys and my gun.
I head for the car, each step feeling a lot like slow motion as I think about what I’m about to do.
I’ve never killed this many people at once.
I’m not nervous, though. If they kill me, they fucking kill me.
I don’t even care anymore. I’d have to feel to care.
I slide into the driver’s seat of the Lamborghini, toss the gun into the passenger side compartment, and start the engine. The roar of it is loud enough to drown out the thoughts for a second. Just a second.
The engine screams as I push the car faster, the city lights smearing into long streaks through the windshield. “The Undertaker (Renholder Mix)” by Puscifer blasts through the speakers, bass pounding hard enough to rattle the doors. It’s loud and aggressive, which is perfect for me right now.
The mask sits in the passenger seat, tilted toward me like it’s watching me with that horrific smile and empty eyes. I glance at it once at a red light, then look away, my body absorbing every beat of the music. The light turns green, and I hit the gas.
Alexei’s location is an old warehouse district near the river, mostly abandoned except for the occasional late-night shipment.
It’s quiet and isolated, a perfect place for committing murder.
The song continues as I pull into the lot, tires crunching lightly over gravel.
I kill the engine but leave the music blasting for another second, letting the last violent pulse of sound fill the car before everything drops into silence.
My heartbeat sounds louder without it.
I pick up the mask and turn it over in my hands before sliding it over my face.
My chest immediately settles the moment it’s on, like I just stepped into the version of myself I’m most comfortable with.
The gun feels steady in my hand as I walk toward the side entrance Alexei described. I push it open and step inside.
Four men stand around a folding table scattered with papers and an open laptop. Conversation cuts off the second they see me. Confusion flashes, then melts rapidly into tension. One of them starts to speak.
“Who the—”
I raise the gun. Two shots crack through the room, deafening in the enclosed space. The first man drops before the echo fades, and I know he’s dead instantly. The second collapses backward over the table, chair screeching loudly across the concrete floor. The other two don’t even have time to run.
One grabs his side, blood already spreading through his shirt where the bullet caught him in the guts. The other stumbles, falling to one knee, trying to reach for something tucked at his waistband. But I shoot him again before his hand gets there.
Silence follows, except for the ragged breathing of the two still alive.
I stand there for a moment, gun lowered slightly, watching them struggle.
Nothing moves inside me whatsoever. No racing thoughts telling me to stop.
Just a flat, distant awareness that this is happening and I’m the one doing it.
One of the men looks up at me, eyes wide with panic. “P—please—”
I walk over with confident footsteps. He tries to crawl back, leaving a smear of blood behind him, fingers slipping uselessly against the floor.
I put the gun to his forehead and pull the trigger.
The last man alive wheezes somewhere behind me. I turn, take a few steps, and crouch beside him. He’s shaking, trying to press both hands against the wound in his stomach like he can hold himself together through sheer effort. For a second, I just watch him breathe.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
I wait until he meets my eyes through the mask. Then I fire. The sound rings out, then leaves the warehouse completely swallowed in stillness.
Four bodies. Done.
I straighten slowly, scanning the room out of habit even though I already know there’s no one else here.
Still nothing. No reaction or emotion can be found.
It’s like the part of me that used to feel things didn’t survive the last few months.
Like they carved it out piece by piece until there was nothing left to protest what my hands do.
With my grip still on the gun, I step over the fallen chair and head back toward the door without another glance behind me. Then I text Alexei.
It’s done. On my way.
The mask rides in the passenger seat again the whole way there.
I let out a quiet, humorless snort at the absurdity of it.
The city glows around me, the meth from earlier still lingering in my blood.
My hands feel steady, but the rest of me feels…
off. I guess I should be used to that kind of shit by now.
I glance down at my all-black suit, looking like someone who belongs on the top floor of a luxury building. Maybe dealing with stocks, finances, or even real estate. Not someone who just stepped over four bodies.
Alexei’s city penthouse towers over the block, warm light radiating through the windows against a dark sky.
Valet takes the car without a word, and I grab the mask from the seat before stepping out, shoving it carelessly into the glove compartment.
The elevator ride up is filled with instrumental music playing from hidden speakers.
I stare at my reflection in the mirrored wall—eyes flat, posture relaxed, expression almost bored.
I guess I look fine. I don’t look like anything is wrong necessarily.
The doors slide open, and sound hits me immediately.
Bass-heavy music, laughter, the overlapping excitement of conversations.
Then the purple, red, and blue pulsing lights.
The penthouse living room stretches wide, the city skyline visible through massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Clusters of people move across marble floors, drinks in hand, bodies swaying lazily to the music.
It’s calmer than the last event. There seems to be fewer politicians, but it’s still filthy in its own way.
I step inside, barely making it three feet before Adriana finds me.
Her red dress catches the light like liquid fire as she pushes through the crowd, relief flashing across her face the second she sees me.
Her hands land lightly on my arms, eyes scanning my face like she’s checking for damage.
“You’re later than I thought you’d be,” she says quietly.
“I’m good.”
She studies me for another moment, and I can tell she sees the emptiness sitting behind my eyes.
I don’t try to hide it. I don’t have the energy.
Before she can say anything else, a server passes carrying a tray of vodka shots.
The woman’s outfit barely qualifies as clothing—lace, straps, and nothing else. Alexei’s usual aesthetic.
I take one glass. Then another. Then a third. The burn barely registers going down.
“Jesus, Jude,” Adriana murmurs, touching my wrist. “Maybe slow down—”