Chapter 6 Witness
Witness
I was heading downstairs, humming softly to myself while balancing my toolkit and a fresh roll of plastic sheeting.
Mr. Carter had finally given me a name—Dimitri Volkov, younger of the two brothers, scheduled to personally inspect a shipment next Tuesday.
The information had cost Carter three fingers and most of his pride, but he'd been surprisingly resilient for a man who trafficked children.
The bell above the door chimed.
"Bunny?" His voice carried down the stairwell. "You down there?"
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"Just grabbing inventory!" I called back, too bright, always too bright when caught off-guard. "Be right up!"
But footsteps were already descending. Slow, careful, like he knew exactly what he might find. My hands tightened on the toolkit. I could explain away a lot of things, but Carter was very much alive down here, very much restrained, and very much missing pieces.
"Actually," Nathan's voice got closer, "I wanted to talk to you about—"
He stopped. I didn't need to turn around to know he'd reached the bottom of the stairs, could see into the main basement room where I'd set up shop. The overhead bulb cast harsh shadows over my workspace, illuminating Carter spread out like a butterfly pinned to a board.
"—something else," Nathan finished quietly.
I turned slowly, meeting his eyes across the space.
He stood perfectly still, cataloging the scene with that detective's precision.
Carter on the table, wrists and ankles secured with zip ties.
The neat row of tools I'd arranged by size.
The blood—God, there was always more blood than expected—pooling beneath the drain I'd thoughtfully installed last week.
The fingers I'd removed laid out like piano keys, waiting to be counted.
And me. Standing there in my pink uniform with pigtails and blood splatter, holding forceps in one hand and humming Brahms' Lullaby under my breath.
"You're early," I said stupidly.
"You're busy," he replied.
Carter made a noise through the gag—probably trying to beg for help. I'd explained to him already that help wasn't coming, that Nathan was just another customer, nothing special. But even gagged screams have a certain desperate quality that's hard to misinterpret.
I watched Nathan's face, waiting for the horror. The disgust. The moment when he'd see what I really was and run for the door, maybe straight to the police. I'd have to kill him then. The thought made something in my chest constrict painfully. I'd gotten attached—a stupid, sloppy mistake.
But Nathan just walked further into the room, examining my setup with professional interest.
"Plastic sheeting's smart," he observed. "Though you might want to double-layer near the table legs. Blood has a way of finding gaps."
I blinked. "What?"
"Also, your knot work could be better." He moved closer to Carter, who tried desperately to shrink away. "See here? You're relying too much on the zip ties. A few strategic rope placements would give you better control of movement."
"I—" Words failed me. Nathan Cross was critiquing my torture setup like he was judging a science fair project.
"Is this about the Volkov brothers?" He picked up one of Carter's fingers, examining the clean cut. "Nice work, by the way. Very precise."
"He knows where they'll be next week," I heard myself say. "Dimitri specifically. He's inspecting a shipment personally."
"Risky for someone at his level." Nathan set the finger back down, perfectly aligned with the others. "Must be a special cargo."
Carter made more noises. Nathan glanced at him with mild irritation, like he was interrupting our conversation.
"Do you need him alive for more questions?"
I shook my head slowly. "Got what I needed."
"Good. The smell gets worse the longer they linger." He loosened his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves with the same methodical precision he used for everything. "Need help with disposal?"
The words hung in the air between us. Such a casual offer. Such an impossible moment. I'd been seen—truly seen—and instead of running, he was offering to help hide the body.
"You're not..." I gestured vaguely at the scene. "This doesn't bother you?"
"Should it?" He met my eyes directly. "A man who traffics children is slowly dying in a basement. The only thing bothering me is that you're doing it alone. Seems inefficient."
"I like working alone." But even as I said it, I was imagining what it would be like. Someone to help carry bodies. Someone to watch the stairs. Someone who understood that some patterns needed to be cut out of the world with sharp objects and careful planning.
"Do you, though?" Nathan moved closer, and I realized there was blood on my cheek. He reached out, thumb brushing the splatter away with surprising gentleness. "Or is that just what you tell yourself because you've never had another option?"
Carter's struggles were getting weaker. I should finish it, but I couldn't look away from Nathan's eyes. Green like forests where bodies could disappear forever.
"You knew what I was doing," I said. It wasn't a question.
"Suspected. The bruised knuckles, the chemical smell, the way certain problems in the neighborhood kept resolving themselves." His hand was still on my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Also, you hum when you're concentrating. Same song every time. I could hear it from upstairs last week."
"And you came back anyway."
"Every day at 3:17." His lips quirked in that almost-smile. "Though apparently I should vary my schedule. Didn't mean to interrupt."
"Yes, you did."
The smile became real. "Yes, I did."
Carter's breathing was getting labored. I should really finish this, but some new tension had entered the room. Nathan's hand slid down to my throat, finding the pulse that hammered there. His touch was clinical, counting beats like evidence.
"Your heart's racing," he observed.
"I'm working."
"No." His thumb pressed against my pulse point. "This is different. This is because I'm here. Because I'm seeing you."
The truth of it should have made me angry. Should have made me kill them both and run. Instead, I leaned into his touch like a cat seeking warmth.
"What are you?" I asked.
"Complicated." His other hand took the forceps from my unresisting fingers. "Like you. Now, should we finish your guest? He's being inconsiderate, dying so loudly."
I watched him walk to Carter with that same controlled grace he brought to everything. No hesitation, no moral wrestling. Just practical assessment of a problem that needed solving.
"Wait," I said. He paused, looking back. "I'm not done with his eyes."
Nathan raised an eyebrow.
"He sold twin girls last month. Six years old. To a buyer who specifically requested matching sets." I moved to stand beside him, looking down at Carter's terrified face. "I thought he should see what they saw. Experience that helplessness."
"Poetic." Nathan handed me back the forceps. "Show me."
So I did. Resumed humming my lullaby while I worked, carefully peeling back eyelid from eye while Nathan held Carter's head still. It should have been horrific—was horrific—but somehow his presence made it feel like a shared ritual instead of solitary madness.
"You've done this before," I noted, watching how expertly he controlled Carter's thrashing.
"Not this specifically." He adjusted his grip as I switched to the second eye. "But I've had interesting hobbies over the years. Traveling for work provides opportunities to... experiment."
"Is that what Lilah was? An experiment?"
His hands didn't falter, but something shifted in his expression. "No. She was a genuine case. A favor for someone who helped me once. I didn't expect to find her. Certainly didn't expect to find her like this."
"Disappointed?"
"Fascinated." He watched me work with that intense focus I'd grown addicted to. "I've never met someone who sings lullabies while removing eyelids. It's very specific."
"Gabriel used to—" I cut myself off, but too late.
"Used to what?"
Carter had gone unconscious. I set down the forceps, suddenly exhausted. "Used to sing to us during punishments. Said it helped with the conditioning. Traumatic events paired with soothing sounds create cognitive dissonance that makes the mind more malleable."
"Us." Nathan's voice was carefully neutral. "There were others."
"Batches. Groups of girls, trained together. I was Batch 47. I didn't know there was others." I laughed, sharp and bitter. "God, I'm just telling you everything, aren't I? Might as well hand you a signed confession."
"Bunny." He turned me to face him, hands gentle but firm on my shoulders. "I'm standing in a basement helping you torture a human trafficker. I think we're past the point of confessions."
He was right. We'd crossed some invisible line the moment he walked down those stairs and didn't run. Now we stood on the other side of normal, two predators recognizing each other in the dark.
"Help me move him," I said. "I have a better spot for the final work."
We worked in synchronicity that felt too natural. Nathan anticipated what I needed before I asked, moving Carter's unconscious form to the drain, helping me position him for maximum efficiency. Our bodies moved around each other with the grace of long practice we hadn't actually had.
"You're very calm about this," I observed, preparing the final tools.
"Should I be panicking?" He watched me select a blade. "Running to the authorities? Trying to save this piece of human garbage who sold children to monsters?"
"Most people would."
"I'm not most people." He leaned against the wall, sleeves still rolled up, a few drops of blood decorating his expensive shirt. "Neither are you. That's what makes this interesting."
I made the first cut, precise and deep. Carter jerked awake for a moment, then went slack as biology took over.
"There," I said quietly. "Now we wait."
"How long?"