Footsteps.A door.A rough zip.My phone skitters under a parked SUV.The last thing I see is the black of my new ring winking up from the floor like an eye.
twenty
I love my knife.
There’s no rush with a blade.It’s quiet.No flash or bang.Just pressure.Pull.Patience.
He’s zip-tied to a chair, wrists bound behind him, shoulders already dislocated from fighting the restraints.I set the tip beneath his collarbone, angle the edge, then pull slow and shallow, carving a whisper-thin line across his chest.He jerks.Whimpers.
I do it again, lower this time, diagonal, letting blood bead in clean, red lines.I’m not looking for screams yet, only the sound of fear catching in the throat.The silence that stretches before agony begins.
“I asked you a question,” I say.“Who do you work for?”
His eyes roll toward me, already glassy with pain.I carve another line, jagged this time, dragging across his ribs.The noises he makes are gurgled now, more breath than voice.He’s already missing two fingers and part of his ear.I take my time, let the silence between his sobs stretch.Pain isn’t about speed.It’s about the space between mercy and madness.
I crouch in front of him, grab his left leg, and wedge it against the table’s edge.
“I want you to think very carefully,” I murmur, “about how important your kneecap is.”
He thrashes.Too late.The blade presses in and I peel.Skin pulls away like damp paper, exposing the white gleam of bone.
That’s when he screams.A wet, broken sound, like an animal dying in the dirt.
I step back, wipe the blood from my blade onto my jeans.My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Sava.
I answer with a clipped, “What.”
“She’s not here.”
I don’t move.“Say that again.”
“Melinda.I shadowed her after you left like you asked.I was already nearby and had eyes on her within three minutes of you being off-site.She was sad after you left but I swear everyone was trying to help her have a good time.I watched her on cams and from the service corridor until I had to step out for a five-minute call.It couldn’t wait.When I came back, I heard Caleb tell Adrian she was heading home.Logan was right behind her.She texted when she got to her car.”
My chest hollows out.“How long.”
“No one’s seen her in thirty minutes.Mavik pinged her ring and phone to the fucking parking garage.”
“She wouldn’t leave me without telling me.”I hang up.I lean close enough for the bastard to taste blood on my breath.
“It’s your lucky night.”I drag the knife across his throat.
She wouldn’t leave.Not without telling me.Not without trying to reach me.She took her coat and her purse.But herfucking phonewas left in the parking garage.Her ring.The two things she knew I could use to find her.
The cold gnaws at my throat as I slam through the alley behind our offices and take the stairs three at a time.Christmas lights still burn inside the building, flickering reds and golds across the windows.
I push through the front doors.Everyone’s been corralled into the lobby—tenants, contractors, guests, staff, all clustered under garland and glass.Uncle Leven stands like a boulder at the front, arms crossed, daring anyone to move.Adrian is a dark plane by the elevators, cane angled, head cocked, listening to everything.Caleb flanks him, jaw tight.Atlas has the back exit walled off with his stare.Eland paces; Evie and Elsie make statues of themselves in his path.
Sava slips in along the service stairs, keeping the support beam between her and my family.She stands apart, jaw tight, phone in hand, eyes scanning everyone, memorizing every face.Her coat’s off.Her hair’s wild.She’s scared.Which meansI should be terrified.
I move through the room like a storm.Half-drunk beers sweat on the tables, condensation pooling beneath the glass bottles.Her scarf, red to match those sinful heels, draped over the back of the chair she was sitting in.I pick it up, shove the fabric to my face and breathe in her strawberry scent.The hairs on the back of my neck rise, not from panic, but calculation.I move through the building checking the locks, the windows, the perimeter cameras.No fucking sign of her.
I slam my hand into the wall.Plaster spiders across the paint.Blood slicks the fresh letters on my now-cracked knuckles.I can’t breathe.
“Where the fuck is she?”I snarl.
Caleb steps toward me, trying to keep his voice steady.“We locked the building down.No one’s left since we noticed she was missing.”
