Page 7 of From Hell

Now is not the time.

Taking out my phone to dial Shepherd—my father’s rottweiler, who calls the shots for the Archkey when acolytes get out of line—I turn and walk away. I step into the shadows, out of view of the glaring parking lot lights and lone CCTV camera the club owner never bothers to switch on.

Buck’s Nightclub, with its ugly red brick and glass windows, sits squat like a toad in the middle of Buck’s Wood—a lonely strip of green beyond the old city walls of London Town. Behind it sits an abandoned railway line and miles of marshy woodland. It’s the perfect place to kill someone, and even to dispose of a body. Henry only comes here once a month, when his itch is too much not to scratch. An easy job, if I’m honest. I’m pissed that my hands are tied.

“Jaxon,” Shepherd says gruffly down the secure line, his family having dinner in the background. “Hold the line.” There’s the sound of him leaving to go to another room. “Right. Go ahead.”

“I followed Henry Wickham, like you asked,” I say calmly, keeping annoyance from my tone. I’ve been back less than a week and already, he has me doing his dirty work. I glance back through the club window at Henry. He has my vixen trapped against the bar, his hands all over her. Red flashes before my eyes until I get a handle on it. “He’s out hunting.”

“He’s killed again?”

“About to.”

He sighs. “Fuck. Alright. Bring him in.”

“What about her?”

“Take care of it, as usual.”

I pause before disconnecting the line, the edge of my teeth running over my lower lip as I contemplate what to do. I’m not a blind soldier doing whatever Shepherd wants. Henry is perverse in his tastes, so much so that his late-night activities have attracted unwanted attention, and I’ve been asked to follow and neutralize his urges. Bringing Henry in will be nothing but a ball ache. The easiest solution would be to kill them both and then go home since I’ve got an early start tomorrow. She’ll be dead by sunrise, anyway. Putting my vixen out of her misery would be kindness. Killing Henry, despite orders, would be pure fucking pleasure.

Unfortunately, he’s not to be touched. Shepherd may tell me what to do, but it’s the Archkey I answer to.

Glancing at my watch, I mentally calculate the hours until I return to work. I have fourteen hours before the start of my shift, and I need to eat, sleep, and finish some paperwork during that period. Cleaning up this mess the right way is doable. Tight, but doable.

Fuck it. If he tries anything, he’s dead.

I get as far as pushing the door to the bar open when I notice the mysterious girl is gone, and Henry is no longer inside. No one left while I was talking to Shepherd, and Henry’s car is where he parked it, hanging off the curb.

Where did she go?

Fury coils in my chest. If he so much as touched her…

Then I see her drive past in a shitty BMW with Henry slumped forward in the passenger seat, out cold. I quickly retrieve my car and catch her at the lights. She’s driving slowly along the lanes until she gets to a deserted cemetery. I park on the road, waiting and watching as she gets out to open the gates before driving through.

It’s not hard to follow her. Pulling over beyond the gates, I continue on foot up the side pathway, close to the surrounding woods. There’s nothing but the sound of trees rustling, and the threat of rain… but something feels off. Like a storm about to hit, there’s a stillness in the air. And that’s when I hear the scuffle, a sharp gasp, and a muffled, gurgling moan. Tree branches carve out parts of the path, making shadows and obscuring her car in the darkness under a crop of trees.

Her figure is outlined in the moonlight.

The other is a crumpled heap on the ground.

I creep closer. She’s panting, her chest rising and falling sharply. Her lips are parted, and her eyes are narrowed to slits. She’s barefoot, and her hair wild, darker, more lustrous in the moonlight. She must have been wearing a wig earlier. There’s blood spattered on her cheek. Following the trail, I also notice the substance is coating her arm and hand, which is holding a knife. The other hand is clutching the other like it’s been injured. The electric pulse that made me pay attention to her in the first place returns, jolting down my spine and thickening my cock.

Fuck. I let out a dry chuckle—she’s killed him for me.

What will she do next?

I pause, hidden in the foliage, taking in her wicked silhouette. Raven hair and full lips painted jezebel red—or is it blood?—she stands over the limp form of a body on the ground, spattered with gore. She doesn’t move for half a minute, so I stay where I am. My little murderess will have to drag the body away from the path at some point; the place where she killed him is the worst she could have picked, but she does nothing but stare.

You’re doing it wrong.

Then, my sweet psycho bites her bottom lip, a frown forming on her brow like she’s only just seen the dead man for the first time, and stumbles back. A sigh taints my breath as she keels at the waist and vomits.

Fuck, that’s disgusting.

I should make my move right now and get rid of her—knock her out and take her somewhere more private to deal with. But I’m curious to see if she can handle herself better than this.

Minutes tick by, and I don’t move. I stay hidden in the dark, watching until she finally pulls herself together and drags the body from the pathway and into the open. The ground is soft from the light smattering of rain, so she can move him, if a little slowly. Twice she trips over the tangled undergrowth, and each time I have to steel myself from striding into view, grabbing his ankles, and moving him for her.