The night reeked of smoke and gunpowder. The warehouse floor was painted red—
Not with paint.
With blood.
My blood?
No. Never mine. Theirs.
A man twitched at my feet, gasping, gurgling, his chest heaving against the knife I'd driven through his lungs.
Pathetic.
He wasn't worth the mess he made. I crouched beside him, a smirk tugging at my lips, and twisted the blade once—slow—savoring the way his scream broke into silence.
His eyes went blank, wide, pleading for mercy.
Mercy was for saints. I was never one. Never close.
The other bodies were already cooling on the floor: two riddled with bullet holes, one with a neck snapped clean. They had all thought numbers would overwhelm me.
They were wrong.
I yanked the knife free, wiped it on a corpse's sleeve.
"Tsk. I'll be getting a new baby." I tossed the little killer onto the ground beside its fallen toys, then pulled out my gloves and dropped them across another corpse's face with a sigh.
Outside, Keal waited with drums of fuel. One nod from me and he understood. He doused the bodies, the walls, the floor. I stood watching, head tilted, as he dragged the trail of fuel outside and lit the match.
Flames bloomed. Fire chewed through the warehouse, swallowing it whole.
A smile lingered on my face as I slid my hand inside my coat, brushing the grip of my gun—always ready, always waiting.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
keal Ludcrate dropped. My bullet found his skull before the fire did. I shoved his body closer to the flames, letting him feel the same burning hell as the men he once pitied.
My car waited outside—sleek, black, untouchable. I lit a cigarette, slid into the driver's seat. The smoke curled through the air, mixing with the copper tang of blood still clinging to my hands.
The engine roared to life. My phone buzzed. Ethan's text lit up the screen: Job's done?
I smirked. Always.
Tossing the phone aside, I flicked ash out the window and pressed harder on the accelerator.
Then I heard it.
Not the usual hum of the city. Something sharper. A voice. A woman's voice, trembling, laced with fear.
I slowed, eyes narrowing toward the alley cutting through the slums. The laughter of drunk men. The sound of something cornered.
I should've kept driving. My rule was clear: don't play hero, don't look back.
But something pulled.
I killed the headlights, rolled the car to a stop. The cigarette burned between my fingers as I stepped out. Shadows wrapped me whole. That's when I saw them.
Three old fools circling a girl. She clutched her bag like it was her last shield, her voice shaking as she pleaded. They jeered, hands clawing at her waist.
Tch. Wrong night. Wrong prey.
I dropped the cigarette, crushing it under my boot.
"Let her go."
My voice was low. Sharp.
The biggest one turned, grinning.
"And who the hell are you supposed to be, pretty boy?"
Pretty boy?
I smirked. That would be the last thing he ever called me.
They laughed, shoving her aside. One spat on the ground, stepping toward me.
"Walk away before we rearrange that perfect face."
The girl's wide eyes flicked to mine. Pleading. Shaking her head. Don't get involved.
Fake. She wouldn't have screamed if she didn't want saving.
The first punch cracked bone. Clean. Fast. Brutal. His nose exploded under my knuckles, blood spraying as he staggered back with a muffled scream.
The second didn't even get a chance. My boot slammed into his chest, driving him against the wall until his ribs splintered like wood. He crumpled, choking.
The last one lunged, grabbing my shirt.
Disgusting.
"Damn it!" I snarled, slamming my fist across his face again and again. His blood splattered across my coat, but I didn't stop. I dragged his chin up, smashing his face until it was unrecognizable. One final stomp cracked bone under my heel.
I turned at last.
The girl stood frozen, her bag clutched to her chest. Her lips parted but no words came. Her chest heaved, eyes wide, searching me like she couldn't comprehend what she'd just witnessed.
I didn't wait for gratitude. Didn't care.
Wiping the blood from my hand onto my coat, I let my gaze linger on her one last time.
Fragile. Trembling. Alive.
"They won't bother you again." My voice was ice. Final.
Then I turned, walking back into the shadows. My phone buzzed again.
Ethan.