We referenced the names against the police database, and lo and behold: each of the names on our list is on there.
I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to clear it in this lifetime, certainly not of the names we don’t know.
That would mean breaking back into their hiding spot, and that’s too risky this far down the road. But we’ve done a damn good job so far.
The only problem is, with what we uncovered, their memberships grow every year.
The same number, the same group, the same backgrounds.
The same crimes.
I sigh. “Four more until the main event.”
We’re saving the best until last.
The ones who did this to us.
We’ve spread out most of the deaths so far that they won’t see it coming. None of the ones we’ve taken care of have been reported as single murders, just unfortunate deaths and getting caught in the crossfire of a break-in.
Regina and I have never been able to find the source of how these men cover up their crimes so well, or what kind of powers they’ve been given when they were initiated into their society, better known as the Sumus.
We don’t even know what they do after they’ve left, whether it was something just during their time at school, or what they did was some kind of sick act before breaking into the world.
There’s no deep conspiracy subreddits about them, nobody even mentions them, or that some of the very people who are household names are tied to it.
And when people would ask if anyone knew about a secret society at school, you were laughed at.
That’s just a dumb rumourorsome rich kid career groupis what the responses were during our time at university.
A club that used to hold graduation parties that were things of legends.
The only thing that’s blatantly true, is they’ve gone on to become powerful names across Kingstone.
I’ve toyed with the idea that it’s a birthright. Thankfully one that didn’t find its way to me.
“It’ll be worth the wait.” She pats my shoulder, then puts away her laptop in her bag. “I’m gonna drop the rental car back, you wanna head to the apartment?”
“Meet you there in thirty?” I answer as we both rise to lock up and leave.
When we get to the main entrance, we split up.
We never take our own car to marks; that would just be idiotic, and a sure-fire way to have trouble sniffing at our door.
We don’t even live in our apartment; it’s purely for show and to link our business.
Plus, if our parents ever want to visit, they won’t find something that makes them question that their daughters are a pair of vigilante killers.
My mom would have an aneurysm if she saw my back room.
It’s a twenty-minute walk to the apartment, and I gave up on the heels about three blocks back.
I hate office attire; my body is craving my leggings and a baggy shirt. But it’s all for show, for the companies that visit us to provide services for them, our employees who see us like normal people, and our neighbours that think they’ve caught us after a hard day’s work.
My real work attire is usually clad in black.
Boots that have accessible knives tucked into the side, and a gun hidden under my sweatshirt.
I’m probably biassed, but I love it.
