“What the fuck are you grinning about?” Keane snaps.
I just smile at him and get out of the vehicle when Dante pulls over along the tree line.
We’re about a half-mile from the cottage. Don’t want to alert anyone of our presence by driving right up to the front door.
Enzo goes around to the back and opens it, tossing us our bulletproof vests. Marco and the other men park behind us and follow suit. I slide my knife in its holster under my pants leg and check the ammo clips for my guns.
Keane is talking into an earpiece, getting a status report from the guys already in place. I salute my friend with the muzzle of my gun and take off through the understory. The thick carpet of pine needles littering the forest floor help dampen the noise of my footfalls. I constantly scan my surroundings as I move swiftly from tree to tree. The damp forest air smells of rotting detritus and pine sap.
Within four minutes, I have eyes on the cabin. No movement or sound, other than the fucking squirrel that is shrieking its alarm call, telling his forest buddies there’s a predator in the woods.
I spot one of our soldiers, Garrett, to my right. He gives me a go signal, and I sprint to the side of the small house. Its basic wood construction and rectangular shape make it easy to surround and cover all exit and entry points. Keane and the rest of the men should have caught up to me by now, which means the place is surrounded. Anyone who steps one foot outside the door will be gunned down, which is a pity because I’m hoping to get a little playtime with my knife. Bloodlust is a real thing, and I’m swimming in that shit right now. The mass of bodies I’ve racked up the past two days has only amplified my addiction.
I get as close to a window as I can and cock my head, listening for any sounds coming from inside. I don’t react when Keane brushes up behind me. The guy moves like a wraith, no sound. I turn my head and give him a nod when I don’t detect anything. No noises. No movement.
Keane holds up a hand signal. Dante and Enzo come out from the woods and flank the west and south sides of the cabin.
Keane grips his guns, touching the muzzles to his forehead as if in prayer. With a deep inhalation, he marches up to the front door, busting it in with a swift heel kick. He disappears inside with Garrett and Marco right behind him. This is Keane’s show now. As much as I want to protect my friend, he’s more likely to put a bullet in my head if I try to stop him.
I make my way to the back of the house. As I approached from the woods, I noticed the cabin had a back door. As I slip around the corner, I stop when I see the large doors exposing an open cellar.
Fuck. No. We’re too late.
Several voices call out “clear” from inside as Keane comes out the back door, looking more pissed off than I’ve ever seen him.
I’m standing at the open cellar. A silent message passes between us when we lock eyes. I descend the old wooden steps, praying that her body isn’t down here. There are no lights to guide me. It could be another trap, but my gut tells me it isn’t. I switch on the flashlight on my phone. Before I reach the bottom, I’m immediately hit with the stench of death. It’s a scent I know all too well.
“Jesus Christ,” Enzo heaves out as he and Dante follow Keane down the stairs. Enzo and Dante are carrying utility LED pocket flashlights that illuminate what’s in front of us like spotlights.
The staged scene is gruesome, yet nightmarishly beautiful. I study it like I’m witnessing an original Banksy for the first time.
I admire the artistry of how Max is positioned on the chair, the bodies of the capos and Dom draped around Max’s dead, slumped form at his feet. Someone placed Max’s hands on the heads of Dom and Lorenzo, like they’re his pets and Max is petting them.
“Fucking hell,” Dante whispers.
A smile stretches across my face when I see ALEXANDRIA carved into the flesh of Max’s chest.
“What the fuck is that in his mouth?” Dante is barely able to speak because he’s gagging on vomit that is trying to force its way up his esophagus.
Not everyone in our organization has the stomach for this life.
“It’s what you think it is,” Keane coldly tells him, stepping forward, rage roiling off him in waves. “Jax, help me check the bodies and make sure she’s—”
“She isn’t,” I assure him.
“How in the hell can you be sure?” he shouts, the loud crack of his anger echoing off the cellar walls.
Because our girl left a message. I step over a few dead bodies and pick up my red knife which is resting in the “V” of Max’s open thighs on top of his missing groin. It’s been cleaned and polished. I bring it to my nose, sliding its hilt under my nostrils, breathing it in. Breathing her in. My eyes almost roll into the back of my head.
Keane smashes the hilt of his gun into the earthen wall, another piece of himself breaking off. Unraveling at the seams. He’s so used to being in control, being one step ahead of everyone else. He’s the cat that likes to play with the mouse before killing it. Right now, nothing is in his control, and he doesn’t know how to process the feeling of weakness.
“Where is she, Jax? Did she escape on her own?Goddammit!”
I don’t have an answer for him. Things have just gotten exponentially more complicated, and it has Andie’s name figuratively and literally written on it in blood.
I focus on the facts. Facts are concrete and indisputable. Rafe took Andie. He’s been working for Declan Levine. And Andie? I look down at Max’s naked and mutilated body. My sweet, savage girl, what are you up to?
“Burn this entire place to the ground,” Keane shouts at Dante and Enzo. We have to protect our woman and make sure there is nothing left that can lead back to her.
