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A Serial Killer Who Can’t Stop Crying

Hypothetical Question: If you could erase one word from the English language forever, which one would it be and why is it ‘moist’?

Nate

Pain.

A deep, throbbing ache radiates through my skull as consciousness claws its way back. My body feels heavy, like I'm wading through thick, suffocating fog.

What the fuck happened?

A voice slices through the haze. "Nate!"

The sound is distant at first, then closer—Kai's voice, sharp with urgency. Footsteps pound across the house, then halt just as I manage to push myself upright.

He stares down at me, eyes scanning, calculating. "Where's Carina?"

The question slams into me like a bullet. My mind sharpens, panic surges through my veins.

No.

I whip my head around, scanning the room, searching. She has to be here. But the truth gnaws at me, cold and merciless.

She's gone.

Still, I search the entire house, tearing through rooms, ripping open doors, overturning furniture—anything to prove myself wrong. But with every space, the weight in my chest grows heavier, suffocating.

When I finally stop, my legs give out. I drop to my knees, my hands shaking as they clutch my face. A broken, guttural sob tears from my throat.

Kai stands over me, his expression grim. He doesn't say "We'll find her" or "Calm down" because he knows better. Instead, after a long moment, he lowers himself beside me, wraps his arms around my shoulders, and holds me together when I'm breaking apart.

Kai isn't the comforting type.

Which makes it worse.

Tears spill down my face as his fingers press against the back of my head, a steadying touch. “We’ll get her back,” he whispers, stroking my head.

My best friend is comforting me like I’m a small child. And me? I’m a serial killer who can’t stop crying because the love of his life is gone.

I don't remember standing up. I don't remember wiping the tears away.

But when I speak again, my voice is steel.

"There has to be a way to find her. Can you check CCTV footage?"

Kai scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Of course. But…” His hesitation is out of character.

I frown. "But what?"

"There's someone who might be able to help more than me."

I wait. His fingers drum against his thigh like he's debating to say the next words.

"Her friend. Enzo." He exhales sharply, watching me. "He's from the Italian Mafia."

The words hit like a slap.

I blink. "Huh."

Didn't see that one coming.

Kai watches me carefully as if he's expecting me to lose it. Instead, I nod.

"I'll call him."

Because if Carina were here, she'd want me to.

Kai already has his phone out, his fingers moving fast, and then my phone dings. It's a text. A number.

I don't hesitate. I hit a call.

It rings once.

"Nate." There's no surprise in Enzo's voice.

I don't waste time. "Carina's gone."

There’s a pause.

"Gone… how?"

"Her father." The words taste like acid. "He tricked us. He took her."

A sharp curse in Italian—then silence.

When he speaks again, his voice is deadly calm. "I'll be on the next flight. Meet me at her place. We'll come up with a plan."

The line goes dead.

Kai drives us home.

I barely notice.

The rain streaks down the windows, and the city is a blur of neon lights and wet pavement, but all I see is her.

Her laughter. Her fire. Her touch.

The space beside me feels hollow, wrong, unbearable.

She is my heart. And now it's lying in pieces at my feet.

I can't function without her. Not anymore.

Enzo shows up the next day, weary, but there’s determination shining in his expression. His dark eyes land on me, assessing me. I hate how he looks at me—like he's measuring me, deciding if I'm worth his time.

We don't waste it on pleasantries.

“First thing you guys should probably know is her real name.” Those are the first words from Enzo.

“Naomi Beckett, I know.”

Enzo looks surprised for half a second before he masks it. “So, you know who we’re dealing with.”

For three days, we go in circles. Dead ends. No leads.

Nothing.

I barely sleep. Barely eat. Every hour without her tightens the noose around my throat.

"How the fuck could she just disappear?" I snap, pacing the room and dragging my hands through my hair. It's already a mess from the thousand times I've pulled at it.

Enzo exhales hard, rubbing his temples. "He knew we'd try to find her. This was planned."

I whirl on him. "Planned? He had a fucking day!"

Enzo doesn't flinch. "You think this was last-minute? He was always going to take her. You just gave him an opening."

Silence slams into the room.

My stomach drops.

He's right.

Carina was never safe.

I just let myself believe she was.

"Fuck."

Like a gunshot in the room's dead silence, Kai slams his laptop shut. His jaw clenches, and frustration radiates off him in waves.

"There's nothing. No cameras, no witnesses, no chatter. It's like she vanished into thin air."

A sharp pain pulses in my skull as I press my fists into my temples. Three days. Three fucking days of hitting dead ends, of chasing ghosts. Every lead has dried up; every door slammed in our faces.

I can't breathe. The walls feel too close, the room suffocating.

"Damn it!"

I push to my feet, the chair scraping against the floor as I shove it back. Pacing. Moving. It's the only thing stopping me from breaking something—or someone.

"There has to be something. A slip-up. A mistake. Something." My voice is raw, edged with desperation.

Enzo watches me from his seat, his expression unreadable. "Men like him don't make mistakes."

I whirl on him, rage and helplessness a storm inside me. "Everyone makes mistakes."

His lips twitch—not a smirk, but close. "Not him."

A sick feeling coils in my stomach.

Kai leans forward, his fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the table. When he speaks, his voice is quieter—but heavier.

"If he doesn't want us to find her, he'll put her somewhere we'd never think to look."

A chill creeps up my spine.

"Somewhere even she wouldn't know how to get out of.”

My pulse slams against my ribs.

I see her. Trapped. Alone. Her eyes are wide with fear. Her hands are raw from clawing at walls, her voice hoarse from screaming for help that will never come.

I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles white.

She's out there.

Somewhere.

And I'll burn the fucking world down to bring her home.