Page 47 of Darkest Before Dawn (His Perfect Darkness #2)

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I can divide my life into a series of before and afters.

Before my family was murdered, I had a happy childhood. After their deaths, I felt alone. Before Lacy found me, I lived on the street. After she took me in, I decided to become a detective.

Before Rex. . . everything was different.

There’s so much that’s changed. Before him, I was closed off.

I clung to a cold concept of justice, keeping a moat between me and the rest of humanity.

I saw myself as a warrior priestess, someone who would go to the dark places to keep innocent children safe.

I refused any human contact and condemned myself to be alone.

Rex was the only one who could break through. He refused to let me be and rudely trampled on my boundaries because he’s a fucking psycho who needs a few decades of therapy, but he’s the psycho I need. I needed someone to rescue me from myself.

He’s the master of my afters, and I know he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Before Rex, I did things by the book. I’d never think of heading an investigation with a team made up not of detectives, uniforms, or SWAT members but criminals.

The blond twin enforcers are at my back, and a tall, lean assassin with white-blond hair is helping me break into Ted’s squalid apartment.

“You’re sure about this?” Hamish murmurs in my ear. I’m linked to him and Mina by an earpiece.

He’s giving me an out. I can still go to Bonds or even the chief and conduct this investigation the legal way.

But there’s no time. The wheel of justice turns too slowly, which is fine for the victims who are dead. But while Rex is still alive, I’m not waiting.

I guess I agree with Rex now. Walking a moral line is a luxury I can’t afford. Sometimes, you have to descend into the darkness to fight monsters. Sometimes, you become a monster yourself.

“I’m sure,” I tell them, then signal my teammates.

Victor steps back and allows one of the scary twins to kick in the door. The two of them rush inside, guns in hand.

I hang back, my heart pounding. I’m wearing what feels like seven hundred pounds of body armor. I’m even in a Rex-style helmet that Hamish found in my size.

“Clear,” Scary Twin One calls out.

“He’s not here,” Victor says.

“All right.” I step inside Ted’s bachelor pad. I didn’t expect him to make it easy. “I can still look for clues.”

Victor joins me in tossing Ted’s apartment.

“We’ve searched his place before,” Hamish says, “when we first suspected Ted. I’m reviewing those notes now.”

There’s a corner of his tiny living room that holds a hospital bed and medical equipment, including a breathing apparatus and an oxygen tank. I report this to Hamish. “Was all this equipment here, then?”

“Yes, Ted claimed it belonged to an infirm uncle who was now deceased. We are still in the process of confirming this.”

I remember BK’s coughing and his raspy voice. “Is it possible Ted’s ‘uncle’ was the Bondage Killer?” I ask my team. “BK had definite respiratory issues on the roof. This medical equipment could be his.”

“It’s possible. We’ll keep digging.” Hamish sounds grim.

“Don’t beat yourself up for missing it,” I say. “Ted could’ve stashed BK somewhere before you searched here.”

“You think Ted was taking care of BK while they planned and executed the final showdown?” Victor asks. “Or was it Ted who decided it was time for BK to die and set up the explosives?”

I imagine the second scenario, and bile rises in my throat. I don’t want to think of BK as a helpless old man, so it’s possible Ted was calling all the shots in the end. “We’ll never know.”

To distract myself, I grab the TV remote and turn it on to a news channel. On-screen, the helicopter explodes over and over.

We find photography equipment in Ted’s bedroom, along with some notes.

I read one aloud, “‘Pool cleaner, fuel oil, duct tape, zip ties.’ He used the last two to tie up the Walkers.”

“The first two are useful for creating explosive devices,” Victor says coolly. More evidence that Ted was rigging the explosions.

We finish tossing the room, but I don’t find anything of use. No journals laying out his master plan or any dead birds. He must keep them offsite.

“Look for keys,” I tell Victor. “Or bills with another address that he might be using as a hideout.” I head to the kitchen to give it another pass.

“Mina, is there any property in Ted’s name? Even a storage unit?” I keep seeing Rex held in a dark room with photographs taped to the walls. But there’s no room like that here.

“When we dug into him earlier, there was nothing like that,” Hamish says. “But we must have missed it. Perhaps he has access to someplace through his work?”

“On it,” Mina says.

I find a set of keys in a junk drawer and go out to the hall to try them in the front door. The twins hover close, keeping guard.

One of the keys works, but the other doesn’t. What door does it open?

The neighboring door opens, and a stooped senior lady appears, holding a white bag of trash. Her eyes fall on the twins and she jerks back, her hand grasping for the doorknob.

“Excuse me,” I call to the neighbor.

One of the twins catches the door before it closes. The lady cries out, looking terrified.

“It’s okay,” the twin says in a kinder voice than I expected. “We won’t hurt you.”

The lady doesn’t look convinced.

“We don’t mean any harm,” I say, stretching out a hand. “We’re just looking for Ted.”

“I don’t know any Ted!”

“Your neighbor,” I correct. My guess is Ted was antisocial. “You might have seen him with a camera? He’s a photographer.”

Camera. Dark room. No windows. . . Photographers sometimes use dark rooms, right?

“Is there any storage space available in this building?” I hold up the keys.

“Basement,” the lady says and points toward the stairwell.

Yes! That must be it.

“Thank you,” I say. Twin One sticks his head into Ted’s apartment and whistles for Victor to join us.

“Is this trash for the dumpster?” Twin Two asks the lady. When she nods, he lifts the bag out of her arms. “We’ll take it for you. You stay inside for a bit, okay?”

The lady blinks but nods. He lets her shut her door and turns to catch the rest of us staring at him.

“What?” he shrugs.

“Aren’t you just a good boy?” Victor purrs. “By all means, let’s take out the trash.”

The men close around me as we head downstairs. Each step I take jostles my sore muscles, but the pain carries me forward, singing sweetly with every step, and it’s like Rex is with me.

Then we hit the bottom of the stairs, and it’s like I’ve stepped into a cloud of black, acrid smoke. I hold my breath, trying not to cough out the stinking miasma stinging my eyes. It feels like ashes are coating my throat.

“He’s here,” I whisper.

The twins box me in. Twin Two must have set down the trash bag because he’s got his gun out. I draw my weapon and flick the safety off. Victor goes first, a long knife glittering in his hand. We all move quietly into the basement.

We pass several wire cages containing dusty furniture and long-forgotten exercise equipment. My helmet shifts to night vision, and I can see the shapes outlined in green.

Victor stops, and we stop with him. He crouches down to pick something up. When he rises, he holds it out for us to see.

It’s a black feather.

We’ve found Ted’s lair. But where is he? And where is Rex?

Victor points out a room in the corner. The closer we get, the louder someone speaking gets.

Ted.

I reaffirm my grip on my gun and move closer.

“—never respected me.” He’s raving. “He was obsessed with her.”

In my mind’s eye, I can see the room through the dark haze. The walls are covered in faded photographs. Rex is there, sitting restrained on a hospital gurney, his clothes gone, his arms pinioned with cords.

He’s straining against his bonds, his muscles bulging until blood runs down his bare chest.

Ted hovers close, livid and holding a knife. “I’m going to carve you up. Then I’ll call her down here and kill her, too.”

Ted wants me? I’m here, and I’m pissed.

I signal to the men surrounding me. “I’m going in.”

One of the twins puts out a hand to stop me, and I shake my head at him. I’m wearing a helmet and armor. I’m as protected as I can be. Plus, I’m armed. Ted won’t know what hit him.

Before Rex, justice was an abstract concept, but now, faced with a threat to the man I love, I’m not waiting to do things the right way. There’s no justice on a battlefield. If saving Rex means spilling the blood of my enemy, I’m not just willing to spill blood; I’m willing to bathe in it.

When you love someone, you don’t hold back. Rex taught me that.

The guys pause in silent deliberation. I make a move toward the door, and Victor signals his surrender. He crouches by the door and pulls out a pick for the lock. I let him break in for me.

I raise my gun. I don’t need the door to open to know where Ted will be. I can sense him. My gifts crystalize the scene, and I know just where to aim.

Victor stands to the side, his hand on the doorknob. He counts me down—three, two, one—and throws the door open.

I step forward, and the scene I saw in my mind is there, laid out in shapes of black and green.

Ted turns toward me, his mouth falling slack in surprise.

And I blow him away.

***

Rex

One second, I’m fighting for oxygen while Ted taunts me, and the next, I’m showered with his blood.

A short, helmeted figure steps into the dark space. “He wasn’t wearing body armor,” a feminine voice says, observing Ted’s body. “That was a mistake.”

Gun drawn, she scopes out each corner of the room. “Clear,” she calls, and whoever was backing her up rushes in to help me while she covers them.

I blink back a sense of deja vu. It feels like I’m back in the Abyss with Jaeger and Kaiser. Only this time, I’m in the victim’s place. Ted’s place.

The woman steps in front of me, and my grasp on reality shifts. Maybe I’m imagining this, but I’ve seen the way I look when I’m in my body armor, and the small figure looks a lot like a mini-me.