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"Alright, what's the situation?" I demanded, my voice slicing through the tension like a blade.
"Another body found, Nash," one of the dispatchers—a hawk-eyed shifter named Marco—said grimly. "Same M.O., down to the fucking letter."
"Shit," I cursed under my breath, feeling the itch beneath my skin, the call of the hunt. "And let me guess, our friend left us another pretty message?"
"Yep," another dispatcher, a pixie with a sharp tongue named Elsie, chimed in. "This time on the wall: 'Justice is blind.' Sounds like the bastard's mocking us."
"Or calling us out," I growled, fists clenching. "Thinks he can taunt the big bad wolves?"
"More like the big bad vamp," Simone interjected with a coy smile.
"Focus, people!" I snapped, the last vestiges of my patience fraying. "We've got a killer on our hands who thinks he's hot shit, targeting our turf, our kin. This isn't just about cleaning up the streets anymore; it's personal."
"Always has been for you, hasn't it?" Marco observed, not unkindly.
"Damn right," I spat, thinking of my brother, of that grave that didn't need to exist. "Let's put an end to this son of a bitch before he takes another swing at us."
The room nodded in agreement, a silent pact amongst predators.
"Alright, listen up," I barked, my voice a blade slicing through the silence. "We've got a goddamn psycho playing puppet master in our backyard, dangling corpses like fucking Christmas ornaments." My hand slammed down on the table, rattling the paperweights. "This ends now."
The team shuffled papers, their faces grim masks of determination. They were good—no, they were the best—but this killer was a shadow, eluding us at every turn, and the weight of responsibility pressed against my chest like a damn steel vise.
"Marco, I want you and your team on the streets. Hit every dive bar and shit hole where our friends hang out. We need eyes everywhere," I commanded, feeling the itch beneath my skin, that dark craving I struggled to cage. Celeste... I couldn't let her see what lurks within me, the monster wearing my face.
"Simone, get on the tech. Hack into whatever you need to, find patterns, connections, anything that'll lead us to this asshole before he strikes again," I continued, my thoughts splintering between duty and the need to shield her from the abyss that gaped wide open at my feet.
"Got it, boss," Simone replied, tapping away at her keyboard with a ferocity.
"Good. Elsie, I'm counting on that sharp tongue of yours to keep the media off our asses. We do not need them sniffing around, complicating shit further," I snarled, the burden of my late brother's memory a phantom weight on my shoulders. His voice echoed in my mind, a relentless whisper urging me to fight the darkness both without and within.
"Will do, Nash," Elsie responded, already drafting up a storm of diversions and deflective press releases.
"Everyone else, you know your roles. We need to be swift, silent, and deadly. Like fucking ghosts." I clenched my jaw, steeling myself against the surge of adrenaline that threatened to drown me in its depths. This wasn't just about justice; it was about retribution—a promise etched in blood and pain.
"Let's move!" I called out, the team dispersing like shadows at dawn.
As the room emptied, I allowed myself a moment alone, the solitude a stark contrast to the chaos of my mind. Goddamn it, Celeste, why do you have to haunt me? Her image, fierce and defiant, flickered behind my eyelids, a beacon in the smothering dark.
I shook my head, dispelling her ghost, and turned my focus back to the hunt. The killer had no idea who he was fucking with. Nash Rigby didn't just play the game—he was the goddamn rulebook. And when I caught up to him, it'd be his last lesson in irony.
Watch your back, you son of a bitch, because I'm coming for you. And hell's coming with me.
The last echoes of the meeting reverberated off the sleek, cold walls as I stormed out of the conference room, my head a clusterfuck of plans and contingency strategies. The digital displays lining the corridor flashed with coded messages, but all I could see was Celeste's face superimposed on every goddamn pixel—her defiant eyes daring me to keep her safe in this cesspool of a city.
"Shit," I swore under my breath, raking a hand through my hair. It was like trying to protect a candle flame with your bare hands in the middle of a hurricane. Fucking impossible, but hell if I wouldn't try.
I flicked my wrist, and the lights dimmed in response, the building's AI attuned to my restless energy. It wasn't just Chicago's underbelly that had me wired - it was the incessant pulse of danger that seemed to shadow Celeste, drawn to her light like moths to a fucking inferno.
Focus, Nash. I told myself. You've dealt with worse shit than this.
But had I? Because it wasn't just some nameless killer I was up against—it was the relentless pull of my own darkness, the part of me that hungered for more than blood. With each thought of Celeste, I felt that darkness stir, licking at the corners of my control.
"Damn it." My phone vibrated in my pocket, a reminder of reality's relentless pace. I thumbed the screen, barely registering the string of updates from my dispatchers. Instead, Celeste's latest message burned in my mind, her words laced with challenge and an undercurrent of raw sensuality that hit me straight in the gut. Artistic my ass. She'd seen right through my mask, and it pissed me off as much as it turned me on.
"Fuck artistic," I muttered, picturing her smug grin. "I'll show you creative, Little Shadow."
I needed to get back to her before the night bled into dawn, before the dangers lurking in the dark found their way to her doorstep. But first, I had a killer to catch—a twisted fuck who didn't know his days were numbered. The lines were drawn, the hunt was on, and I'd be damned if I let anyone—even Celeste herself—stand in my way.
