The bitter tang of blood assaults my taste buds as I bite the inside of my cheeks. Disgust, anger, and frustration claw at my gut with the reminder of how many times I’ve had to sit and watch as victim after victim was slain by the four brutes—their ritualistic brand of killing mimicking that of my adopted family twelve years ago.
My eyes snap shut, and I grant myself the one moment I’ve allowed myself to feel before shutting my emotions off.
Because you can’t be meticulous if you run on emotions.
Mistakes are made when you’re ruled by your heart and not your head. It’s one of the many rules I live by—one of the many I’ve beentaughtto live by.
“Please tell me we got a good batch this time.” The sound of Griff’s voice is like nails against a chalkboard, irritating beyond measure. Not to mention, he’s about as smart as a block of wood, which is an insult to a block of wood’s intelligence if I’m being honest.
I roll my eyes before opening them and peer down at the scene illuminated by the high beams of the trucks as Mikah steps onto the grass.
He slams the door shut before striding for the trailer and opens it. “That’s what I was told,” he replies.
A knot the size of a Mega Jawbreaker lodges in my throat as eight people, strung together by chains and blindfolded, are led down the ramp.
This year’s batch deserves to die. But it’s notwhothe people are that gives me pause—it’s the number.
Eight.
Sevenmembers—murdered, and theonewho got away.
Me.
Every time they come out here, there are always eight people as they try to right the perceived wrong.
“They’d better last longer than last year’s batch,” Fredrick whines like the whiny punk he is. “It’s boring when they die after only being on the run for like twenty minutes.”
Jackson hums his agreement. “Twenty minutes is being too generous. It was more like fifteen, and none of them put up much of a fight. Even your siblings fought back more, Mi?—”
My molars begin to ache, and I know I’m seconds away from breaking skin with how hard my fists clench together. The rage blinding me slowly clears in time to see Jackson eat the rest of his words. He flipped the invisible trip wire.
“Jackson,” Fredrick sighs. “You’re not usually this level of stupid. Why the fuck would you even bring them up?”
He mutters something unintelligible to the naked ear, but my drones and mics are all up and running. So, I don’t miss him calling Mikah a pussy ass bitch for his little girl emotions over his dead brothers and sisters, and I make a mental note to force feed him his teeth when I serve him his death on a gourmet platter. The cold, heartless dick will be lucky if I don’t skin him alive.
“Let’s just fucking get started already,” Griff complains. “I have a girl waiting for me at the house.”
“Is she willing this time?” Jackson snorts.
Arching a brow, Griff retorts, “Does it matter?”
Jacksontips his head back, barking out laughter at such an obnoxious decibel that it causes three of the eight victims to jump. He’s so lost in his own amusement that he misses the look of retribution, promising to make him pay for his earlier words, that crosses Mikah’s face.
Stomping to the gate, Mikah punches in the code.
10T31A-2017.
“Even the fucking entry code is predictable,” I huff, studying every move made. A spec of dust can’t float by without my observation of it. Then, I wait, counting every rhythmic beat of my heart.
Fifteen minutes pass before I make my next move.
Always wait until the dust settles and then wait some more.One of the many recon rules I’ve learned over the last several years. Just as I begin my descent, a shrill cry booms into the autumn air.
Freezing instantly, I refocus my gaze on the potential origin of the sounds.
“You stupid bitch!” I can’t make out who’s shouting, but they’re pissed beyond measure.
A branch snaps to my right, forcing my attention away for the briefest of moments. It’s enough to assess that something or someone moved, but not enough to figure out who or what made the noise. But I don’t get a chance to dwell on the unknown before three people are charging towards the gate.
