Page 185

The Shadow

T here’s nothing you could’ve done.

You can’t change what has already happened, man.

You can’t save them all.

I’m grateful for Jay. I really am. I don’t trust many men in this field, especially to do a part of the job I have a very hard time relinquishing—but I can’t be on the floor and have my face in a computer at the same time.

And Jay has been more than efficient at helping with that side of the job.

But what the fucker is not skilled in is making me feel better.

He’s trying. I get it.

But I have a hard time appreciating his effort when it’s taking all of mine not to go into Savior’s and blow the entire place up.

If it wasn’t for the fact that there are innocent people who work there—or rather are being kept hostage there—I’d fucking do it.

I was there.

I watched them drink the blood of a little boy. An eight-year-old kid sacrificed on some stone altar to welcome the new members of a devil-worshipping, blood-drinking, pedophile club.

I’ll never understand why. I’ll never understand the desire to hurt someone so young, so pure, so innocent. But those qualities are what attract them. That’s what draws the devil to the angel.

They want to corrupt. To hurt. To taint. To cause harm and suffering upon those that never asked for it. That’s the sick thrill of it.

“He was eight years old, Jay,” I grind out through gritted teeth. “He had a family. Two mothers, three brothers and a sister. He was loved. He was brought up in a good home by parents who loved him. And they stole him in a fucking grocery store and sold him to the skin trade and used him as a fucking sacrifice.”

Jay stays quiet, seeming to realize his standard feel-better responses are moot.

I was there.

And I did nothing to stop it.

I open my mouth, ready to go on another tangent when another call comes through. I glance at the phone and a feral snarl takes over my face.

“I have to go,” I snap, hanging up the phone on Jay and immediately answering the call.

“Daniel. So nice to hear from you,” I greet. Like a blanket being thrown over a fire, my tone is cool and collected.

“Zack, sorry to call so unexpectedly. I wanted to ask something of you.”

I lean back in my chair, rolling my neck, the muscles cracking loudly. My eyes never stray from the computer screen displaying the picture of the little boy who was killed in the last video.

I’ll never forget him, but gluing my eyes to his face reminds me that there’s more out there in the same situation. And right now, that reminder is the only thing keeping me from going ballistic.

I need my wits. If I lose it now, I’ll ruin what I’ve been working so hard for.

“What can I do for you?”

“Consider it a preliminary initiation. We have our hearts set on what we'll be having for dinner this Saturday, and it’s really special. We want to make sure this goes off without a hitch, so Friday, we decided to have ourselves an appetizer, if you will.”

My brows crease, and a pit of dread forms in my stomach, like the sky opening up and releasing a torrential downpour on a drowning city.

“Without a hitch?” I repeat, my tone dropping.

“Don’t take it personally. Most men who are initiated have been around for years. We're all taking a gamble here, so my superiors thought it best we have dinner beforehand.”