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THE GATES

ASHER

T he urge to barge into Vincent’s house, drag Diya Sharma by her hair, and make her kneel in front of me, was so strong I nearly tripped on air. Just the thought of Vincent’s body pressed against hers... Vincent’s hands touching what should be...

What should be?

Mine?

God, I need to get a grip. This is becoming ridiculous.

I didn’t even know what was wrong with me anymore. Every time I thought about that woman, a little part of my brain died.

Cursing, I walked out of her room and reached the parking lot.

I pulled my helmet on with a grunt, running my hand along the black, sleek body of the motorcycle.

Swinging my leg over the bike, I settled into the seat. My fingers tightened around the handlebars and the bike roared to life, vibrating beneath me with a throaty rumble. Familiar. Nothing in my life was familiar anymore, but this was. This had always been.

I revved the engine, feeling the surge of power. I felt the same as the motorcycle—full of pent-up energy that needed to be unleashed.

“Wait for me, Hannigan.” With one last glance at Diya’s room, cursing the woman for everything she was, I eased the bike into gear and tore down the road to say hello and goodbye to my next prey.

I shouldn’t be thinking about Diya right now, not when I was walking straight into the lion’s den. There were a hundred ways this could go wrong, but all I could do was hope Hannigan had fully bought into my alternate persona, no questions asked. My entire plan rested on his stupidity—and my own, too.

The club was just outside Hollow Heights, and they catered to wealthy men who had too much time on their hands. I had already checked the club and hacked into the only two cameras inside The Gates. When the time came, they would see only what I wanted to see.

I parked the bike just outside the eyeline of the guard, behind an alley. I removed my helmet and jacket, secured them to my motorcycle, and adjusted my jacket and wig. I looked creepy enough to fit in.

I walked toward the club, hoping this would go better than my second kill.

Killing Doctor Tomlinson was easy until Diya stumbled upon it. I thought I had a perfect plan, but now there was a witness—an unhinged, psychotic witness. If she was normal, I could have…

No distractions.

Shaking my head, I walked toward the entrance. The guard’s eyes narrowed when he saw me. I reached into my suit pocket and pulled out a gold-embossed card—Hannigan had delivered it to my old P.O. box as promised—holding it up for him to see. His expression shifted, clearly not expecting me to have access, especially not a gold one.

“Welcome, sir.”

“Thank you.” Giving him a nod, I strolled in. The inside looked completely different from the outside. The air carried a faint scent of leather, tobacco, and whiskey, and the sound of hushed whispers.

“Whiskey, sir?” the bartender asked.

It had been a while since I’d indulged in alcohol, and after Diya Sharma and her lacy underwear, I needed a stiff drink. But…

I shook my head.

I had to keep a clear head for this.

“No.”

I walked around the club, taking my time studying the place, before moving toward the back stairs, making sure not to catch anyone’s eye. Everyone was too lost in their own world to even notice me.

I knocked, and a middle-aged man in an ostentatious suit opened the door, giving me a suspicious look.

“You’re Mr. Christopher Mulls?” he said. “You look young.”

“You don’t need to be old to learn to make money. You just need to be smart. I hope you are.”

He smiled, showing off his gold front tooth.

I walked in and locked the door behind us. It was dangerous to kill him here, but I had no way to lure him out. I just had to be careful.

“Did you tell your staff not to disturb our meeting?” I asked, fingering the syringe in my pocket, filled with Midazolam I had swiped from the asylum. A very high dose of it, and Hannigan would sleep soon enough. “This is going to be a lucrative venture, but it has to be a secret.”

“I’m a man who can keep any secrets for money.” His smile was vile, and my blood screamed for violence. I didn’t know how he was involved in Riley’s death, but just knowing he had a part in it was making my skin burn. “The room is sound-proofed. So don’t worry about—”

It was better than I expected. I was going to be discreet, but now that I knew no one was going to hear even if he screamed… I lunged at him and thrust the syringe into his neck before he could say another word. His eyes widened and his howl filled the massive room and died within it. Screams became whimpers.

It took him a while to stop struggling. When he finally went limp in my arms, I strapped him to his leather chair with a rope, turning to his massive desk.

The first three drawers were unlocked. The bottom one was locked as I hoped it would be—men like him always had something to hide.

I studied the lock for a while before grabbing the lock pick. It took me a few tries to open the drawer. There was a gun. Pushing it aside, I searched through the files and documents. Nothing made sense to me anyway. I quickly snapped pictures of everything before putting them back inside.

“Time to wake up, Hannigan,” I said, pulling out another syringe filled with flumazenil. He groaned when the drug pulled him out of unconsciousness, but not entirely.

“Wh-what?” he slurred, looking drunk and distorted. His eyes widened when he saw me standing there with the syringe. “You-you…”

“We’re going to play a game, Hannigan. It’s called… tell me what I want to know, and I won’t hurt you,” I said, taking his gun and pointing it at his head. “How many bullets are in this gun?”

His eyes, scared and wild, flitted around.

“No one’s coming to save you.”

“Chris, I have money.”

“Answers. I only want answers. You can keep your money,” I said. “Now, tell me about the man you worked for.”

“I do-don’t…”

“Wrong answer,” I said, waving the gun with a sigh. “Listen, I want to make it easier for you. You must have heard about Doctor Tomlinson and how he was tortured.”

He gasped, eyes glassy from fear. “Yo-you killed him.”

“I did. It was easy. I honestly thought you were going to be hard to kill, but here we are. So… Doctor T was your contact inside the asylum. Was he the only one?”

“You-you don’t understand what you’re getting into. I’m only a…”

“Not what I asked you. Eight years ago, a girl from Hollowhaven committed suicide, and Doctor Tomlinson told me your name before he died,” I said, walking closer to him. “So, is he the only one who helped you?”

“I didn’t even know it was Doctor Tomlinson.” He gasped.

I grabbed his middle finger and pushed it against his forehead. He was sweating, but I knew bastards like him were good at keeping their malevolent secrets tightly under wraps.

I bent his middle finger until I heard the snap of his bone. A scream tore from his throat, broken. He gritted his teeth, his face twisted in agony, eyes wide and wet.

“Pl-please—” he choked out, voice broken.

“The girl… Riley McLaren. Her autopsy report said she killed herself. Do you remember her?”

“I don’t know he-her. I don’t know anything.” He groaned.

“You’re going to tell me what I need to know,” I said, grabbing the hammer from the table and gently tapping it against his forehead. “Don’t be stupid. Don’t die like Doctor Tomlinson.” I laughed when he growled. I smashed the hammer against his teeth and knocked out the gold one. He screamed, thrashing against the rope. “Answers. I need to understand what you’re saying when you finally give in, and that’s the only reason I’m not breaking all your teeth, Hannigan. Do you, or do you not, know Riley?”

His eyes turned dark. The desperation was quickly replaced by malice as he looked up at me.

“You’re not going to get any-anything from me, Christopher. Is that even your real name? You can kill me, but you won’t walk out of this place. They’ll roll both our bodies out in a fucking gurney,” he spat out, blood dribbling down his lips.

“Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself,” I said, placing his finger on the armrest and slamming the hammer into his thumb until he wailed. “Still don’t remember Riley?”

“There were a lot of bitches. Which one was this?” He laughed, spitting down the blood with a leer.

When I first killed, I had puked my guts out. When I killed Doctor T, I was only looking for answers. But now… now I seemed to be enjoying this darkness that was slowly overtaking me, becoming a part of me.

I had no control over it. It thrived on blood and pain.

“Well then, let me help you out a bit with your memory.” I picked up a pair of pliers from the table. Hannigan’s eyes widened as I examined the tool for a moment before turning back to the bastard. “We’re going to have fun.”

Reaching down, I gripped his hand in mine, smiling at him. I pressed the pliers to his thumb, pausing just long enough to let the fear sink in before I began to deliberately pry it off. He wasn’t so stoic anymore.

Hannigan screamed, thrashing against his restraints, sobbing.

I tossed the pliers aside and grabbed the dagger.

“Now?”

Tears stained his cheeks. “No.”

“If your life’s the price...”

“I-I didn’t…”

Sighing, I thrust the dagger into his thigh. He jerked up and wailed.

“I came all this way for nothing. What a fucking waste.” Grunting, I pulled it back. “Die then.”

“No-no. No. I don’t know. Someone blackmailed me and… p-paid me. I-I have never seen the girls.” He finally relented, his haughtiness smashed to smithereens at the edge of death. “The girls come out, drugged, wearing a black mask. Fu-fully covered. The man who brought them to my van called himself Rip. It-it wasn’t the doctor. I bring the girls to the woods and leave them.”

“Who did you leave the girls with?”

“I… tied them to a tree…” Hannigan whispered. “Please, don’t kill me.”

“The place?”

“Duskwood Park. Near the stream.” Blood bubbled from between his lips, and he wailed, shaking his head, tears streaming down his face. “Tha-that—”

“How does this man pay you?”

“They leave a leather bag. I-I take the money and leave,” Hannigan said with a whimper. “I-I don’t know. I always assumed it was for sex, but I don’t know. I never saw anyone.”

“Weren’t you curious?”

Pale and bloodless, Hannigan shook his head. “No questions. Tha-that’s the first rule when he contacted me.”

“Do you still do that? Take girls from the asylum and…”

“N-no. I don’t. He stopped. Please. I told you everything. Let-let me go.”

“If I let you go, you’ll come back to bite me in the ass, Hannigan,” I said.

I moved to his back and stuck the knife to the back of his neck, at the base of his skull, severing the spinal cord.

I waited until he was gone before untying him and packing everything in my bag.

“Sleep tight.”

I pulled off the gloves, stuffed them into my pocket, and walked right out.