Chapter 4
Indie
It's Not Over – Daughtry
Present day
The office for Egnever it’s basically so tiny it’s tucked away at the back of the tenth floor of this building. It could have been a damn storage cupboard.
It’s pretty basic; the space is split into two rooms and set up with a computing station for the girls. Though, they mostly work from home, so it’s hardly ever used.
Through the back is Regina and I’s office.
We visit every couple weeks, only when we actually need to turn up and do some real-life work. I think our team believes we’re the best employers ever. They only come in if they need to, have flexible hours, and are handsomely paid.
Regina is well equipped at working the books to make this all look legit.
If anything ever happens, we’ve got enough cash stored for each of our girls that they would be able to survive a good few years without job hunting.
I’m hoping it never comes to that; they’ve been through enough.
Our company is all women, the ones who had their lives impacted by Kingstone’s secret.
They don’t know it’s Regina and I that have helped them outside of here, they’ve just seen an all-women’s company offering a job they couldn’t refuse.
Now we’ve had them all working for us for over four years.
We’ve removed every shred of evidence that they’re linked to what we’re doing; the police won’t be able to trace a single thing to them.
They all work away blissfully under our protective eye.
They don’t realise how much they help us in return; they let us blend in with society. It’s a small way to give back from the blood money we’ve gathered from those that have wronged us all.
Some would probably be on the fence if they found out what their managing directors do.
But the others?
They were more than happy we went ahead with the hits.
“Eight left across both chapters,” Regina says to my right, and I lean back, feet up on the desk to look over at her laptop.
We’ve been working down this list for almost five years; there’s a lot more a part of this hidden group, we’re just not able to get the total figure.
We were only able to grab the information readily available to us, and that only accounted for two yearly intakes at our university.
We referenced the names against the police database, and lo and behold: each of the names on our list is on there.
I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to clear it in this lifetime, certainly not of the names we don’t know.
That would mean breaking back into their hiding spot, and that’s too risky this far down the road. But we’ve done a damn good job so far.
The only problem is, with what we uncovered, their memberships grow every year.
The same number, the same group, the same backgrounds.
The same crimes.
I sigh. “Four more until the main event.”
We’re saving the best until last.
The ones who did this to us.
We’ve spread out most of the deaths so far that they won’t see it coming. None of the ones we’ve taken care of have been reported as single murders, just unfortunate deaths and getting caught in the crossfire of a break-in.
Regina and I have never been able to find the source of how these men cover up their crimes so well, or what kind of powers they’ve been given when they were initiated into their society, better known as the Sumus.
We don’t even know what they do after they’ve left, whether it was something just during their time at school, or what they did was some kind of sick act before breaking into the world.
There’s no deep conspiracy subreddits about them, nobody even mentions them, or that some of the very people who are household names are tied to it.
And when people would ask if anyone knew about a secret society at school, you were laughed at.
That’s just a dumb rumour or some rich kid career group is what the responses were during our time at university.
A club that used to hold graduation parties that were things of legends.
The only thing that’s blatantly true, is they’ve gone on to become powerful names across Kingstone.
I’ve toyed with the idea that it’s a birthright. Thankfully one that didn’t find its way to me.
“It’ll be worth the wait.” She pats my shoulder, then puts away her laptop in her bag. “I’m gonna drop the rental car back, you wanna head to the apartment?”
“Meet you there in thirty?” I answer as we both rise to lock up and leave.
When we get to the main entrance, we split up.
We never take our own car to marks; that would just be idiotic, and a sure-fire way to have trouble sniffing at our door.
We don’t even live in our apartment; it’s purely for show and to link our business.
Plus, if our parents ever want to visit, they won’t find something that makes them question that their daughters are a pair of vigilante killers.
My mom would have an aneurysm if she saw my back room.
It’s a twenty-minute walk to the apartment, and I gave up on the heels about three blocks back.
I hate office attire; my body is craving my leggings and a baggy shirt. But it’s all for show, for the companies that visit us to provide services for them, our employees who see us like normal people, and our neighbours that think they’ve caught us after a hard day’s work.
My real work attire is usually clad in black.
Boots that have accessible knives tucked into the side, and a gun hidden under my sweatshirt.
I’m probably biassed, but I love it.
The men I’ve killed have no idea what I’m up to when I arrive uninvited.
Those that are lucid enough to take me in probably think I’m an unhinged serial killer, escaped and managed to get into their home.
It leaves just enough uncertainty to let the mind wander. Usually when they see the knife or gun in my hand, that’s when they realise the past has come to fuck them up.
I also know my way around words to taunt them.
I reach the apartment and lock the door, changing out of my clothes and into the ones in my bag. I stuff them into the basket, leaving them there as another trail of proof we live here.
The air caresses my skin as I enter the bedroom. Evidence of vacancy along with approaching winter lingers throughout the place. Cranking on the heating, I set it for a couple of hours after we leave.
If our landlord ever visits, he’ll think he’s walked into a fucking morgue with how cold it is in here.
Sitting down on my bed, I open up the group email for the work girls, letting them know we’re back from vacation and asking for updates on how they’re getting on.
Whenever one of our marks results in a kill, Regina and I make sure to take a few days off to cover our asses, disguised as annual leave. She’s even worked out how to photoshop images of us and blend them into the background of wherever we’ve decided to visit.
The best part is the two of us posing against the white wall of her bedroom; we actually look like we’re having a good time, because the two of us are always fucking laughing at how ridiculous it is.
It would be easier if we didn’t have to keep up this facade. Just remain blended with the night, but Regina is smarter.
She knows it isn’t like the movies; there’s real-life problems out there. Two girls with a ton of money behind them, no jobs, and no mega-rich families?
We’d have an investigation on our hands before we could weave a lie.
Plus, it helps out our alibi. No one would look at us and suspect a damn thing.
Knowing we’ve helped these women does make it worth it. By helping them support their families or fatally removing a worthless piece of shit so they can live freely.
That’s what makes it worth the risks.
Their lives were ruined, some even blackmailed into silence. It’s made it hard for them to get decent living careers, and that’s where the money we’ve stolen comes into play.
Then there’s our families.
They’d be the first to sniff something out, especially Louisa.
If she thought there was even a hint of criminal activity within her family, she’d have a fucking heart attack. Her image is pristine, much like Barry’s.
Me and my need to kill powerful men to make them pay for their actions, is a sure-fire way to ruin anything planned against their future.
Plus, I don’t think she’d ever look at her baby sister the same way again.
Regina’s voice pulls me from my thoughts as she unlocks the front door. “Car’s back, you ready to go?”
Getting up from the bed, I walk towards her as she changes at the front door.
“Any issues?” I ask, watching her add to the ever-growing pile.
She scoffs. “Nope, I don’t even think the guy looked at me once.”
A little bit of tension leaves my body; we might cover our tracks well, but it’s the little things like this that can catch us out.
She slips on her puffer jacket, one that matches mine.
Regina and I are pretty similar in most ways.
We’re low maintenance and don’t have a want for the finer things in life.
I got that jacket for her birthday, seeing as I originally bought it for myself, but I was sick to death of having to hunt her closet to get it back.
We head outside after locking up, the sky already darkening as it clouds to grey, blocking any earlier signs of the sun being present. A gust of wind whips around us as we step onto the sidewalk.
“Oh fuck, it’s freezing,” I groan, tucking my chin into the puffer’s collar, hand stuffed into my pockets.
I’ve lived in the state my entire life, but that doesn’t mean I’ll exempt myself for complaining about the winter months.
Gina on the other hand?
“Snow is on its way. I can feel it.”
There’s a huge grin on her face as she’s smiling blissfully with her head back, the wind gently sending strands of her red hair around her.
Regina loves the snow, she always has.
The only thing I like about it is how stark it stands out against a good clear night sky.
We head toward the centre of town, rush-hour traffic now easing as it gets later into the evening. I grind to a halt as I stare at Regina.
“We don’t have a spare car?”
She took the rental back, and we didn’t bring another for the way here. She turns to me, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Yeah, didn’t think about that. I guess we’ll need to catch a bus.”
Oh fuck no, that will take hours.
“We’ll still have time to get a train. I know you like the scenic route, but I like the logistic.”
I pull out my phone, searching the website for times and tickets available.
“There’s one in thirty minutes.” I tuck it back into my pocket, Regina checking hers for the time. “We’ll need to run.”
I pick up the pace, then hear Regina groaning from behind me. “Oh, fuck off with that, Indie. You shouldn’t even enjoy running with those damn short legs.”
Turning to see her lip curled, I know exactly how to get her enjoying some cardio. It’s the only thing that’s worked our entire lives.
I jog back to slap her shoulder, shouting into the street, “Tag, you’re it!” and the entire street echoes with the screeches of our laughter.