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Callan roared against the ropes. How could she sacrifice herself like this? He couldn’t lose her to this madman’s twisted games.
Oblivious to Callan’s anguish, the Game Master chuckled. “Excellent. I do admire pragmatism. The address will arrive shortly. Come prepared to stay… indefinitely.”
The Game Master ended the call, leaving Callan thrashing and screaming futilely against his bonds. The Game Master’s parting laugh echoed hauntingly as he slipped out, off to prepare for Roseline’s impending arrival.
Alone again, Callan was swallowed by despair. His worst nightmare was coming true—the Game Master capturing Roseline to torment them both in his sadistic spectacle. Raw desperation coursed through Callan’s veins. He had to find some way to save her from this fate, even if it killed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
As dusk fell over New Orleans, the last fiery rays of the setting sun cast an ominous blood-red glow across the crumbling warehouses and deserted lots on the outskirts of town. Roseline pulled up in her sedan to the location specified by the sadistic Game Master, the monster who now held Detective Callan Hemlock captive.
Callan.
Her hands trembled on the steering wheel as she surveyed the area. This forsaken, once thriving neighborhood was a ghost town nowadays, suggesting no quick rescue would come even if she screamed. All that remained were boarded-up brick buildings covered in creeping ivy and spray-painted gang signs. Overgrown weeds sprouted up through cracks in the pavement everywhere she looked. The silence hung heavy, broken only by the crunch of broken glass under her feet as she reluctantly stepped out of the car.
Roseline’s pulse pounded in her ears as she spotted a single dim light peeking through a side door of the warehouse halfway down the long row. She wanted to flee, to wake up from this nightmare back in the comfort of Callan’s arms. But she forced leaden feet to move forward. She would devise a plan to save her love… or die trying.
The Game Master had given strict instructions to come alone, or else Callan would face brutal consequences. As a cop, Roseline knew backup could mean the difference between life and death. But refusing the psychopath’s terms would surely end Callan’s life before she could even hope to intervene. So, she swallowed her fear.
Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, Roseline stepped out of the car. Her hands were clammy, but she forced herself to move forward. She had to save Callan, no matter the cost. Entering through the open door, she was stunned to find herself in what appeared to be an abandoned police precinct. Old booking desks and holding cells, now covered in years of dust and debris, were still in place. This must have been one of the older stations before the new one was built across town. An ideal hidden lair, or maybe even ironic, for the Game Master’s sinister operations.
Descending the cool, damp concrete staircase, Roseline felt her pulse skyrocket, throbbing in her temples. She wished Beckner had insisted on providing backup despite the Game Master’s threats, but showing up alone was her only option now. Her footsteps echoed eerily in the enclosed stairwell, the heavy metal door at the bottom slamming behind her with an ominous clang that reverberated through her bones.
Stepping cautiously into the murky basement, the frigid air raised goosebumps on her skin. She could barely make out shapes in the shadows. As her eyes adjusted, a spotlight switched on, blinding her. Heart lurching, she discerned two figures bound to chairs center stage. Squinting against the glare, relief hit her like a tidal wave: Callan! Despite the swollen eye, split lip, and blood staining his light blue shirt, her love was alive.
Callan’s gaze met hers briefly, oceans of unspoken words flowing between them. Though his features were battered and bruised, the way he drank her in revealed his desperate longing through their forced separation.
Roseline tried to telegraph reassurance with her eyes, reminding him to stay calm and vigilant. The other bound man had a black sack over his head and an expensive watch on his bruised wrist; he was probably one of the mobsters Callan had been trying to protect. Surely, the Game Master planned a deadly performance, but Roseline vowed to get them all out alive.
Emerging from the darkness, the imposing figure of the masked Game Master approached Roseline menacingly. “Welcome, my dear! I’ve been expecting you,” he rasped.
Roseline forced herself not to recoil in fear or disgust from his hulking figure looming so close behind her. Instead, she surveyed the surroundings, observing the cameras, studio lighting, and computers set up to facilitate the Game Master’s live streams.
“Are you going to broadcast my death, too? Add me to your collection of victims that needed to be put down?” she asked coldly, keeping her voice steady.
The Game Master let out a chilling laugh. “No, my dear, this is a private showing, just for you. But I wanted you to experience the full ambiance of how my streams appear to my devoted audience.”
Roseline suppressed a shudder, reminded again of this killer’s detached cruelty. But she needed to keep him engaged to buy time, so she continued conversing near the computer table. “Well, you have quite the elaborate setup here. Although hacking into the city’s electrical grid to steal power is hardly original.”
The barb hit its mark as the Game Master bristled at her insult. “You underestimate the skill required to reroute power sources without detection. But I wouldn’t expect the police to comprehend such refined tactics,” he spat.
Roseline’s hands clenched into fists, outrage simmering inside her. “You had no right targeting the police. Kidnapping an innocent cop just doing his job crosses every line.” She glanced briefly at Callan, heart aching at seeing him beaten up and bound. Roseline tried to signal reassurance. “You dragged me into an impossible situation,” she continued, glaring at the imposing masked figure lurking nearby. “I came alone, just as you demanded. Now let Callan and the other one go.”
The Game Master scoffed. “As if you have any leverage to make demands. No, your presence serves a different purpose.”
Roseline had to tread carefully. “And what purpose would that be exactly?”
“Why, to enlighten you, of course!” The Game Master swept his arms wide theatrically. “I provide true justice while your broken system cossets vipers. You will witness my righteous crusade firsthand! I knew that when sending that link to my first stream with that deadbeat drug dealer to Beckner and then making contact with you within the dark web would spark your curiosity and trigger the chain of events I planned from the start.”
Outrage simmered within Roseline, but she kept her tone icy. “The only thing I’ve witnessed and investigated is your delusions justifying sadism. Whatever you cling to is rotted through with the stench of your victims’ blood.” She held the Game Master’s gaze unflinchingly. “I came here on faith you retained some speck of humanity. Don’t prove me wrong by harming more innocents.”
His eyes glinted feverishly behind the mask. “Such crusades require sacrifice. I will enlighten you, one way or another.”
Roseline clenched her jaw, eyes flashing. “Don’t pretend your vicious actions serve justice. Murdering bound captives in cold blood? That’s the work of a coward, not a crusader.”
The Game Master bristled, his broad shoulders tensing. “I eliminate parasites poisoning society’s fabric. The public applauds their demise.” He leaned in, rancid breath assaulting Roseline’s senses through his ornate mask. “Or perhaps the decorous Roseline Fontenot doesn’t have the fortitude to stomach necessary evils. Does witnessing my theater of justice hit too close to home?”
Revulsion simmered in Roseline’s gut, but she stood firm. “The only evil here is you. What I’ve witnessed turns my stomach because I still have a shred of humanity left.” She paused, letting contempt fill her voice. “But a monster who preys on the defenseless, all while hiding behind a mask? You’re nothing but a spineless coward.”
