Page 150 of On Edge

The entrance isn’t locked, so I ease inside. Music blasts, heavy metal, I register. At least this time it’s not too loud that Ican’t hear myself think. At the far end, a door to another room is cracked open; voices spill from the other side.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” says a voice, low and distorted. “What happened that night?”

There’s a groan in response.

My eyes are transfixed through the gloom on the shards of brazen light around the door’s edge, which dip and flicker as someone moves on the other side. Heart in my throat, a dark thrill twisting through my veins,I step closer and spy through the crack.

A work light hangs from the ceiling. Its harsh white glare throws shadows over the crumbling brickwork and the two men in the room. Troy stands with his back to me. He’s taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The other man is slumped in the chair, wrists bound, head lolling forward, his shirt torn and stained red, his breath coming in ragged pulls. I can’t quite see his face.

“Time to tell me the truth now…you killed her, didn’t you? Did he order you to do it, or was it just a bit of fun for you?” Troy asks, exhaling slowly, rolling his shoulders.

When he doesn’t get an answer, he tuts and yanks out something buried in the other man’s leg, only to ram it into his chest. The man screams, curdling my blood.

“How about now? Does that jog your memory?” Troy crouches next to him and twists the knife lodged between his ribs.

“Burn…in…hell.” The man gasps like he can’t quite breathe.

As the light swings back and forth, moving shadows, I see the interrogator’s face.

But it’s not Troy, like I was expecting.

It’s a demon.

I suck in a breath, a cry sticking in my throat. But I clamp my mouth shut, swallowing it down, unable to look away from themask with hollow red eyes and two short horns, its lips pulled back to bare sharp teeth.

It’s the demon I saw covered in blood the first night I came to Grayfleet.

Troy isthatdemon.

I should run a mile, have some self-preservation, but I can’t move, not even when he continues to dig the blade in the other man’s chest. With every shattered breath, a rush of adrenaline surges through my body like a narcotic drug, keeping me frozen, watching hell unfold in front of me.

“Been there. Got the fucking shirt. How about I send you there, just for being a stubborn prick?” snarls Troy, his mask half in darkness, his voice different, modulated.

But his body, and his tattoos…I’d know him anywhere.

“F-fuck you, Sweeney, you bastard.”

Sweeney.

He called Troy,Sweeney.

I knew it.

“Good, you know who I am, at least.”

The man spits blood in Troy’s red eye, but Troy doesn’t flinch. Instead, the face beneath the mask chuckles and presses on the blade.

The man’s scream turns to choking on blood.

Now I feel sick. The sight of all that torture makes me gag, reminding me I have limits. As my half-eaten dinner threatens to rise, I avert my eyes just long enough to steal a breath and stop it.

Barely.

But Nell’s voice slices through the haze.You need to see him for who he really is.No more secrets.

I drag my gaze back.

“Did Richard order you to do it, or did you decide to do it alone? I have a hard time believing a gutter shit like you would do anything off his own back.”