Chapter Twenty-Four
Vik
Inever thought I’d feel like an empty shell of myself on this day of all days.
Hannah’s trying her best to keep me on the righteous path. I suppose it’d be hard for any normal person to understand what drives a man to kill. Since I’ve spared her the gory details of my hunt for these men, it’s easy for her to believe they’ll be my first.
In the end, I did it to preserve her sanity.
If the thought of these three men dying is eating away at her soul, I don’t want to imagine what she’d become if she knew everything.
Letting her think these will be the first lives I take is easier than confessing about the bodies I’ve buried along the way.
Even now, Frank Coleman remains imprisoned inside the Bunker. Awaiting a trial that’ll never come. Only his execution.
I lied to her again tonight. Hopefully for the last time. When she asked where I was going, I told her I needed to conduct fieldwork. That I simply needed to do my due diligence. Make sure they really were my targets.
I said I have to tail them. Learn their habits. The usual bullshit you’d see in a movie.
She tried to convince me to let it go.
Again. But eventually she relented after I promised nothing would happen.
Abandoned factories surround me as I step out of my car. The streetlights stopped working in this part of the city years ago, leaving only crackheads and bums to wander the darkness. They pay me no attention as I climb the fence surrounding one of the abandoned lots.
The location Brian Harris arranged for us is almost comically appropriate. Years ago, this was one of the biggest abattoirs in the city. They slaughtered five hundred to a thousand pigs and cattle here every day. The place hasn’t seen any blood in decades.
Tonight, that changes.
My plan is simple. Exchange pleasantries. Earn their trust. Negotiate the deal while lowering their guard with jokes and small talk.
Then... Draw my gun.
And fire without hesitation.
Yeah... simple.
Bet this is going to go swimmingly.
It’ll be a rushed job because I don’t want Hannah thinking I’m out doing something stupid.
The abattoir is dark. Empty. No voices. No scurrying.
Nothing to suggest another soul is here.
Through walls crumbled by years of neglect, a dim yellow light—candles, I suspect—draws me deeper into the building.
I approach cautiously, gun in hand, trusting my instincts more than my eyes if something feels out of place.
When I arrive at my destination, I find only one familiar face.
Brian Harris.
He’s strung upside down, stripped to his boxers. His body is battered and bloody, criss-crossed with knife wounds. A quick inspection tells me what ultimately killed him.
His throat was slit.
They left him here to bleed out.
I knew they were smart. I just didn’t expect them to spot my trap when I’d given them so little reason to be suspicious. Then again...
You don’t survive in their world without being cautious.
I reach for my phone to call my clean-up crew and notice something lying in the pool of Brian’s blood. My briefcase. It still contains every dollar I gave Brian a few nights ago. Not a single bill is missing.
“City morgue?” a voice answers. “You kill ’em, we chill ’em.”
“Need a carpet cleaning at the Lamen’s abattoir.” I end the call.
Avoiding the blood as best I can, I crouch down beside Brian again. His skin is still warm. But the bruises are days old.
As his body slowly turns on the hook, the pieces begin to fall into place. They kept him alive. Tortured him. Then brought him here to die.
It’s a message, but what are they trying to tell me?
The answer comes as Brian sways again. An eight-inch knife with a dark wooden handle is buried in his back. It’s pinning something to him.
My pulse slams to a halt. It’s a Polaroid. A photograph of Hannah standing in the back garden. Across it, scrawled in Brian’s blood—
She’s Next.
I sprint back the way I came. Gun raised. Expecting an ambush every second.
None comes.
I reach my car untouched.
Somehow that feels even worse.
I fumble with the touchscreen as I speed through the abandoned streets, calling Hannah.
“Hannah!” I barely give her time to answer.
“How’s your stakeout going?” she asks lightly, as though everything’s perfectly normal.
Relief floods through me.
They’re not there.
Not yet.
“You have to get out of the house, Hannah.”
There’s no time for explanations.
“They know who I am. They know who you are.”
“What?”
I can’t imagine what must be going through her mind.
Only a few hours ago we were lying in bed together, talking about the weekend.
“Listen to me.” I force every word out as calmly as I can. “You have to leave the house. Now. Take one of my cars and drive as far away as you can, then get a taxi the rest of the way to our parents’.”
“What about you?” Even now... she’s worried about me.
“Just go, Hannah. I’m not far away. I’ll call you as soon as this is over.”
At the speed I’m driving, I should be home in under fifteen minutes.
It’s still too long. More than enough time for—
No.
I won’t think it.
I’m the reason Hannah’s in danger. I’ll be the one to get her out of it.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll do it. Will you stay on the line with me?”
“I wi—“
Metal screams against metal. The impact slams into the side of my car. The world spins. The airbags explode with a gunshot crack.
Too late.
My head whips backward into the headrest, dazing me, and every dream I’d dared to have with Hannah...
Twists back into the nightmare that brought me here.