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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

JASPER

I place the child into the van as gently as my shaking limbs allow and she shuffles across the seat into the arms of one of the older victims. “Bella, come here.” It’s number two, the young woman with more strength than I could ever muster. She’s holding them all together by a thread. I tried not to spill blood in front of them, but it was impossible.

“Jasper?” Falin’s voice cracks. She’s behind the wheel, eyes wide, taking in the chaos unfolding.

“I’m okay,” I smear the blood on my hoodie. “It’s not mine.”

She visibly shudders and her gaze moves to Mischa Orlova. I’m still in shock myself. Blake’s asking the questions we’re all wondering.

“Are you hurt?”

Mischa holds her head higher, but I see the mask she wears. “I’m fine.”

“Why are you here?” Blake asks.

“Listen,” Damon interrupts. “We’re running out of time. Angel, I need you to go with Leon and Falin to meet up with Ray’s team. I’ll meet you back home soon.” He blocks Mischa’s body, not so gently moving her out of his way to get to Blake. She falls into his arms, speaking softly so only he can hear.

My eyes stray back to Falin and I have the same urge to hold her. I don’t know if it’s reassurance that we’ll come out the end of this unscathed. Or maybe I simply need to feel her against my skin. I should say something to break this thread of tension between us. “I’ll get him back to her in one piece.”

“You better,” she says.

Blake climbs into the van, attention focused on the girls again. Leon pats my shoulder. “You know what you have to do?”

“Yes.” At this point it’s not about what I have to do. It’s about what I want to do. I’ll take pleasure in ending his life. My eyes stray back to Falin, who’s nervously tapping the steering wheel, her lips moving.

“I’ve got them,” Leon says. “Don’t worry, brother.”

“And what are we doing with her?” Damon asks, his words like venom. Mischa wraps her arms around her chest and I barely notice her begin to sway on her feet.

“Grab her!” I yell.

Damon holds her by the shoulders right as she’s about to go down. “Fuck. She’s not right. She should go with you guys, if we keep her here with us, she’ll be a liability,” he says.

Leon nods. “Let’s search her for weapons or anything she can use to communicate with King or her father. Be quick.”

Mischa’s high-pitched laughter breaks through Leon’s words. “You think I’d try to reach him? He couldn’t care less if I was found rotting in a ditch.”

The three of us exchange baffled looks. We don’t have time to discuss any of that at the moment. Damon gives Mischa a quick pat down and ushers her into the van with the others. He pats the top of the van and stares at Blake like a lovesick puppy again. These two really need to read the room. “I love you,” he tells her.

“She loves you. They love you. We love you. There’s love all around,” I joke. “Let’s get going.”

As soon as he slides the van door shut, his posture changes. The Damon that I need slips back into place. I take one last look at Falin through the foggy window and tell myself she’ll be safe with Leon. For this, I need a clear head.

We check the surroundings once the van is safely down the street. With all the commotion, we could have woken neighbors or busybody late night pedestrians. I point to the hill across the street. “Should we check up there?”

Damon thinks for a moment. “Eh, there’s nothing up there but dead trees and snow.”

I shrug. It would only take a few extra minutes to jog up there and check it out, but that’s usually Damon’s thing. Plus, like Leon said, this needs to be fast. “We should finish this.”

I slide my gloves on, not that it’ll matter if we leave prints once we’re done. This place is a dump. I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to live here. Okay, maybe that’s not true… but plain and simple, it’s fucking nasty. Crumbling walls stained with ash and tobacco, the stench of piss in the air, rotting food and beer cans strewn around the filthy floor.

I try not to imagine what’s crunching under my boots with each step. “And you thought I was a slob?”

Damon shakes his head. “There’s slob and then there’s this. I wish we had fucking hazmat suits.”

We step over a body—the big guy I shot earlier. I kick him with the toe of my boot. Damon notices and flashes me a confused look. “What? I want to make sure the fucker’s dead.”

“I think the bullet through his skull is telling enough.”

He would think, but I’ve heard some wild stories about people surviving gunshots to the head. “You never know.”

Something moves in my peripheral and I twist, aiming my gun. “Is that a fucking rat?”

“Probably. I’m sure that’s not the worst of what’s living in this place.” He moves toward the stairwell, stepping over an ancient-looking pizza box. “Remind me to have Leon or Falin find out who holds the deed to this place.”

“Yeah, okay.” I’ll try to remember. Kinda difficult when there’s one main focus in my brain right now.

“I’m going to check the rest of the house, make sure we didn’t leave anyone behind. I’ll see if there’s any useful information in this hovel. Meet you upstairs.” He doesn’t wait for me to nod before he’s stomping into one of the bedrooms, gun aimed forward.

Each stair groans under my weight as I climb, my heart racing with anticipation. How will I find the scummy bastard that I hog-tied earlier? Will he be broken? Crying and pissing his pants? Or maybe the arrogant streak that I quickly witnessed still runs through him, forcing me to pry every word from his filthy mouth. I hope for the latter. It’s much more fun.

I steel myself as I step into the bedroom. The smell is almost too much to bear. The way these victims were kept… I have no words. Dirty mattresses along the floor, a large dog cage in the corner. Restraints everywhere… ropes, chains, handcuffs. The worst of it isn’t in this room though. It’s in the second bedroom, the one with the cameras.

There he is, face down on the filthy mattress. His ankles bound tight to his wrists, forcing his legs to bow backward. He squirms as he hears me enter, mumbling incoherently. He’s afraid. Fuck yes. That’s what I was hoping for. I know the fear he’s feeling isn’t a fraction of what those girls felt, but it’s something to fuel me. I crouch beside him, keeping my voice casual. “Having fun?”

He lifts his head as much as he’s able. “I’ll kill you. Motherfuc?—”

“Hey, hey, no need to bring my mother into this.” I press my boot against the small of his back, giving him my weight. “If you stay nice and still, I’ll untie you. We need to have a little talk.”

“I’m not telling you shit.” At least that’s what I think he says. Hard to tell with his face smashed against the mattress.

Man, what I wouldn’t give to blow off some steam and really take my time with him. I’m so tense, and as vile as this house is, it’s the perfect place to have a little fun with a monster. But first I need to turn him over so I can see the light leave his eyes.

“Suit yourself. I was going to let you up the nice way.” I yank his bindings, dragging him from the mattress over the splintered wooden floor. Using all my strength, I swing my arm, tossing him against the wall with a loud thud. His head makes contact with the ancient plaster shooting dust into the air. I’m with Damon, we need fucking hazmat suits or gas masks in this damn place. The way his body settles has me chuckling. “You ever do yoga? Pretty sure you’re doing a pose.”

He doesn’t find me hilarious, which I guess I understand, but seriously, I can’t stop laughing. Not until the floor creaks behind me, letting me know that Damon’s come to join the party.

“Umm, I think you’ve officially lost your mind,” he says.

I point, ignoring our floor friend’s threats and curses, and say with a laugh, “He’s doing yoga.”

Damon tilts his head, letting loose a dry laugh of his own. “You know, you’re right. Bet we can put him in a better pose though.”

“Corpse pose?” I offer. Damn, I’m clever.

“I knew you did yoga in Florida. You lying ass,” Damon accuses. “How else would you know pose names?”

“Let me go. You’re dead men. Both of you.”

Damon drops into a crouch, jabbing a finger in my direction. “You better spill the truth later. Those yoga pants I found in the dryer—definitely yours.”

I flash him my innocent smile, the one that women fall over themselves for. Well, most women. Falin’s been immune to its charms. Wait, is it weird that I’m giving my best friend my sexy look? Eh, question for later. “Let’s get his name.”

There’s no need to waste our time asking when we know he won’t tell us. Damon moves him every which way, using his binds for leverage. “I see something in his pocket. A bulge. Maybe it’s his wallet. Grab it while I hold him.”

“I don’t want to feel around this fucker’s bulge. I’ll hold him and you do it. And can we gag him while we’re at it? I’m sick of listening to him, he’s so unoriginal.”

Damon shoots me a look that says I’ll be the next one tied up with rope if I don’t do as he says. Kinky. Too bad I don’t swing that way, even for someone as dreamy as Damon.

“Fine. Just hold him still.” I kneel beside them, shove a dirty rag from the floor into his mouth, and reach into his pocket. “Yup, it’s a wallet.” Thank God, that’s all I felt.

Damon gestures his head toward it. I’m already on it. I flip the black leather open and find his ID. “Yuri Kozlov. There’s a Jersey address listed.” I rifle through the rest of the shit in there—a bank card, a gym membership, a photo of a young woman with light hair. “Who’s this, Yuri? She’s too pretty for you.”

He mumbles through the gag, his face red in the dim light.

“What was that? Can’t seem to hear you,” Damon taunts.

I pocket his ID and bank card, tossing the rest onto the floor. I bend again so I’m closer to his eye level. Keeping my voice calm, I ask, “What is this place, Yuri?”

Silly me, I forgot the gag. I yank it out and he wastes no time spitting in my face. That’s just nasty. He better not be carrying any diseases. Wiping my face with my sleeve, I grab my blade and bring it to his throat. “You forget that we killed all your friends without breaking a sweat. Now, I’ll ask again. What is this place?”

“Ask the whore. I’m sure she’ll tell you whatever you want while she spreads her legs.” Damon and I share a look. We know who he’s talking about. Mischa.

Now it’s Damon with murder in his eyes. “What did you do to her? To all of them?”

I inch my blade closer, smiling as blood beads from a sliver of his skin. “Answer him,” I seethe.

“You think I’m the one who touched them?” He laughs, a harsh sound that settles in my skull. “He’d kill me if I so much as grazed a titty.”

I press harder. “Who would kill you?”

His eyes dart between us, a smirk playing on his lips. “If you don’t know already, you will soon enough. There’s no hiding from him. No escaping. He’ll kill everyone you’ve ever loved.” As his voice trails off, his gaze lands on the discarded picture on the floor.

“That room next door,” I say, growing more and more impatient by the second. “What went on in there?”

For a second, I almost think a flash of pain crosses his face. It’s too late—I have no pity, not for a man like him.

Honestly, maybe we’re better off not hearing the play by play. I’m already filled with more rage than I know what to do with.

Damon lets out a frustrated groan and I move my hand from Yuri’s throat. “He’s useless.” Which means it’s time to end him. “I’ll go prep the house.”

Damon lets the rope loose and Yuri sags like one of these old mattresses. I stand and toy with the locking mechanism on my blade, retracting it and releasing it with soft clicks.

“What are you going to do to me?” His voice is calm, matter-of-fact. He knows the end has come for him.

Do I believe that he never touched those girls? Does that make him less evil than the men who did?

“Give me something, Yuri, and I’ll make this quick.”

His eyes flick to the picture again and he sighs. “Orlov… he’s the one you want.”

I crouch, and meet his pained expression with my own hard one. “Something I don’t know.”

His eyes widen but he doesn’t ask how I know about Orlov. “Get it over with, then. I’m a dead man already.”

I stand, release my blade, and slice across his throat in one fluid motion. No need to drag it out. Yuri stopped being fun ten minutes ago.

He sputters for a moment, his body twitching while blood drains from his neck. I’m already out of that cesspool of a bedroom before he takes his final breath.

I find Damon in the kitchen holding two bottles of vodka. “Having a party without me?”

“Is he dead?”

I grab a third bottle from the top of the filthy refrigerator. “Yeah, he wouldn’t give me shit. Said we need to find Orlov.”

Damon shrugs. “We’ll have to see what we can get out of Orlova.”

He walks through the lower floor, pouring vodka onto pizza boxes, the couch, the dead man's body. I follow suit—pouring extra over the splintered wooden staircase. “I’m out,” I yell across the house. He tosses me his lighter, and I let it spark to life, watching as the staircase erupts, orange flames dancing up the splintered rails.

I make my way to the front door, where Damon waits admiring his handiwork. “Nice job,” I say as we exchange dark smiles. Heat presses against our backs as we leave, and I can’t resist murmuring, “Burn, baby, burn.”