The wind cuts through my jacket, offering some relief to my hot skin. The meth is still in my bloodstream, keeping my eyes and thoughts sharp. My body is sore from restraints andinjections and being forced into submission over and fucking over again. I’ve gotten used to being forced into things over the years, but this is the worst. My mind isn’t even mine anymore.
He’s taking everything from me. My feelings, my memories. They’re blurring now. How does someone do that to a person? Now I can barely pictureherface without flinching or feeling rage. I...I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.
I pull up to the location just after midnight. It’s a quiet street, with only a few houses, all separated by dense trees. The house itself isn’t impressive, and it definitely doesn’t look like some evil man lives there who deserves to die.
I kill the engine, and silence crashes in. The car parks behind me with their lights off, watching me through tinted windows. I swing my leg over the bike and set my helmet on the seat. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the house. Then I reach into my jacket for the mask.
My fingers hesitate only a second before lifting it. I’ve worn the damn thing all day, hours of it swallowing my face and erasing me. I slide it on, and I’m surprised at how normal it feels. Soon, I won’t be able to tell if I’m wearing it or not. There used to be a difference. Jude with the mask. Jude without it.
The man beneath it used to be someone who stillfeltthings. Someone who dreaded killing people. Who remembered why killing was wrong in the first place.
That line is fucking gone now.
I walk to the door and knock once. It opens faster than expected. The man looks confused at first. His eyes land on the mask, and I see the moment recognition hits. Fear. Pure prey animal instinct kicking in. It’s funny how quickly you remember that humans are mammals.
“Wait—” he starts.
I don’t hesitate. The gun is already in my hand. The shot is loud in the small house, even with the silencer. His body jerks,then collapses, a dead weight hitting the floor. Blood pools fast beneath his body, dark against pale tile. The metallic smell hits me a second later. I stare down at him.
Nothing.
There’s no sudden panic, no voice in my head screamingwhat have you done.
Just…silence.
I wait for something to come crashing in. A memory, perhaps. My parents, my little brother, my sister,her.Or even a flicker of humanity somehow clawing its way back to the surface. But there’s nothing. My chest doesn’t tighten. My hands don’t shake. My stomach doesn’t turn.
I feel the same as I did before I walked in.
My gaze drifts over him clinically. Mid-forties, graying hair, expensive watch, and a wedding band. A thin silver chain glints faintly at the base of his throat, half-hidden beneath his shirt collar. I don’t know why I notice it, but I crouch anyway. My fingers hook into the fabric at his collar and tug it down just enough to see the pendant resting against his chest.
It’s matte silver and circular. Heavy for its size. Etched into the surface is a sharp, angular symbol. Slavic in origin, but distorted. Intersecting lines forming something almost like a broken sun, or a fractured compass. It looks old and violent. Men who wear symbols like this believe in power, not law. Someone wearing this would rather conquer than show mercy. Still, when I glance back at his wedding band, I wonder who I stole him from.
I brush my thumb over the engraving before unclasping it. The chain slips free, and the pendant falls into my palm. Without hesitation, I slide the silver chain around my own neck. The metal is still warm as it settles just below my collarbone.
I step back, already disengaging. The mask reflects the carnage inside and outside of me.This is how far I’ve fallen.
I leave the house without another glance, slipping back into the night like I was never there at all.The car behind me pulls away, satisfied with the job being complete. I stuff the mask into my jacket pocket and put on my helmet. As I mount the bike and twist the throttle, the engine roars to life, drowning out the world. And then I ride back toward the guesthouse, toward hell.
I park the bike beside Alexei’s mansion, close to the grass, and kill the engine. The silence of living out in the forest surrounds me as I pull my phone from my pocket. I tense at the text awaiting me. It should make me feel something, but I just stare at it instead. Probably longer than I think.
Mom
Please, Jude, come home. We’re scared for you. Call me? We can talk about anything. We miss you, son.
My throat tightens, but not really enough to matter. With a slow exhale, I type back.
I can’t come home. I love you and Dad. And Vanessa. Please know that. I can’t talk. I’m sorry.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then slide the phone back into my pocket and swing off the bike. Erik and Aiden are on the back patio, always fucking watching me. I don’t look at them. I just want to shower and get some sleep.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Alexei. He’s praising me for completing the task and informing me that payment has been sent to my account. I almost laugh. Paying a slave is a comical fucking thing, honestly. As if money means anything here. It’s likely just to further implicate me should anything everhead south for him. I shove the thought aside and head for the guesthouse. I’m almost to the door when I freeze.
Screaming.
It’s high-pitched and horrified.
Adriana.
