Page 11 of Spitfire

Kill Ashmaker.

"NO!" The roar ricochets off wet brick, as every instinct inside of me tears in opposite directions. One demands survival, the other strict devotion. I bare my teeth in rage at the suggestion that I will have to choose.

Let them be caught or kill them. Those are your choices. We will not go down with them.

"NEITHER!" I roar, a surge of adrenaline allowing me to fight back against the attempted subterfuge, as I wrestle with the control of my mind. I rise to my feet, my mind a collage of pain, distorted colors blending like water racing down a drain. "As long as I breathe..." my voice shakes, "... no one touches Ashmaker. They belong to us. We do not abandon them." The pain recedes, but not because I've won, because, for now, the argument is over, and I can take my first deep breath since I walked into this alleyway.

Then be done with it before we are caught in their place, fool.

The pain decreases so that I can focus on the scene before me, ensuring that I've left no trace of Ashmaker, or myself, behind for those naughty FBI agents to find, at least not one I don't wish them to. I firmly shut George's mouth, disguising the contents of the final detail Ashmaker left behind. I burn my fingers through the thick gloves I wear, and white-hot rage momentarily blinds me. The crack of ribs beneath my boot echoes in my ears as I snarl, "Fucking cock sucker," slamming my heavy boot down on George's chest again and again, causing his ribs to cave in and the fire to rush over him like a hungry predator devouring its prey.

The fire hisses, and the smoke thickens, as sirens begin their shrill singing somewhere in the distance. I reach for the blade tucked away at my lower back, hold it in my aching fingers, and bang the hilt hard into George's feverish temple. Good, they're almost here, and I have one final gift to leave. The sharp blade kisses the soot-blackened brick as I draw a question mark, and then a crooked, lopsided smile shaped like a capital 'L', into the blackening brick wall behind George's body. It's childish and mocking, an invitation only one person will understand.

Will those impossible dark eyes linger on it just a heartbeat longer than everyone else's? Will she realize someone is speaking directly to her? Not to the Bureau, not to the pesky profilers, or her cunt of a partner. Her. I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle the cackle that attempts to breach my mouth.

What are you doing now, you imbecile? That's a sure way to get us caught?

Soon, she too will be mine, just like Ashmaker. A warmth spreads through my chest at the certainty. Soon... neither of them will be alone. Ashmaker and Scarlett. The only two souls in this city who are worth saving.

No one will be ours if you don't get the hell out of here! You should have allowed me to take control. Your weakness will get us killed.

"Ours?" Yes, I like the sound of that. It brings a warm feeling to the dead places inside of me that have been barren for so long. "I'm tired of being alone."

I know, Xavier. Soon we won't be. Now fucking move.

I blink hard, clearing my thoughts. The sirens are much closer now. I slip quickly into the rain, mount the black motorcycle concealed beneath the shadows, and disappear just as red and blue lights flood the mouth of the alley. I don't look back. I have no need to. I know she's coming. Scarlett always follows the clues, and tonight... I've left one just for her.

Soon, both Ashmaker and Scarlett will be mine forever.

Ours.

EIGHT

SCARLETT

Something buzzes close to my ear, and it has me groaning as I swipe at the thick, heavy mass attempting to suffocate me. I try to pry my lashes apart, only to realize with a harsh cry that my mascara is stuck together, causing my eyes to water. "Fuuuccckkk," I whimper. My tongue feels thick, coated in something metallic and stale, as though I've slept with pennies beneath it, and I'm pretty sure I have drool sliding down my face. Gross.

I force my body up onto my elbows, feeling sharp protests from my back and neck, as the dull light stabbing through my still partially-sealed eyelids makes everything spin. What the hell happened to me? I'm groggy and out of sorts, as if I just woke from a deep, restless sleep, or drank too much, but I never touch alcohol. The disorienting sensations churn my stomach as a rising wave of anxiety pulls me further into unsettling confusion.

I finally pry my eyelids apart to find where the annoying sound is coming from, as I reach to grab my vibrating phone off the bedside table next to me. I stare at the screen with a mixture of alarm and trepidation as Jasper's name flashes across. "Hello?" I say, voice hoarse and uncertain. Have I lost my damn mind now? I clear my scratchy throat and try again, "Agent Lyssa."

"Where the fuck have you been, Lyssa?! I've been calling you for almost an hour, we have another fucking crispy body!" Jasper's gruff, irate voice penetrates through the rest of the fog, and instantly has me on alert. I immediately dart into a standing position, almost meeting the floor in my haste, and already looking for where my badge and gun are. One look down my body's length shows me that I'm wearing nothing but my panties, bra, and one sock. What. The. Hell.

"Lyssa, are you even fucking listening to me?" Jasper shouts through the receiver, and I have to pry it away from my ear to avoid blowing out my eardrum. "This one's just as bad as the others, same M.O., but this victim had connections. There's a shit storm of reporters already down here, and the director and the mayor are both on their way. Get the fuck down here now!"

"I'm on my way..." My eyes roam my bedroom in panic as I stumble forward, grasping for the discarded clothes scattered all over it, in disbelief at the disorderly scene before me. I lift the black shirt to my nose and groan at the scent of sweat, deodorant, and the faint aroma of smoke.

My eyes narrow on a spot on the cuff, slightly darker than the black fabric itself, looking like a heavy, sodden shadow absorbing the ambient light. Slowly, I turn the cuff toward the sunlight glaring through my bedroom window to get a better look, as I squint and attempt to ignore how dry my eyes are. I press my fingers to the material, sticky, cold, but half-dried. What the hell is that?

Blood, my mind calmly supplies. I rapidly pull them away from the material as if I've been singed by the substance, my breath whooshing out of my lungs when they come away stained dark red. I drop the phone, and it skids across the floor with a bang as I freeze.

Don't contaminate the evidence, whips through my mind. Evidence? Is my bedroom now a crime scene? The mere thought is incredibly chilling and disturbing. My gaze remains glued to the ridges of my fingerprints. Everything seems to come to a halt. The air. The sound. Nothing exists except the blood slowly drying on my skin.

Was I drugged and raped? The thought blares through my mind like a cannon determined on destruction. It's every woman's worst nightmare, and I'm not immune to it. I quickly do a self-assessment, checking if I can feel if anything has penetrated me.

Other than my body feeling tired, disoriented, and queasy, nothing else seems to be amiss. I try to shake off the sudden chill assailing my skin, as a sudden pain shoots through my skull that has my legs trembling and threatening to buckle. The shirt slides to the floor before a wave of nausea attacks me so strongly that I have to force myself to rush unsteadily toward my ensuite. I barely make it before the contents of my stomach void themselves.

When I can manage to lift my head, without my internal organs demanding to make an appearance, I drag the back of my hand across my sour mouth. My mind whirls with possible explanations for my state, and the stain on my clothing. Maybe I had an allergic reaction to something I ate and hurt myself? I stare down at my bare limbs but see no evidence of a cut anywhere. Maybe it wasn't blood, could it be a red food or fuck... I don't know, anything but fucking blood? The panic starts deep in my stomach, threatening to have me doubled over the toilet again, but I know I have nothing left to spew.