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Wolf started looking around, quiet as an assassin. There was a lot of important stuff in here — documents about chemical shipments and details of companies that the Death Division do business with. He didn’t have time to go through it too carefully and reading in the low light was tricky.
He was in there for quite some time, and the longer he looked, the more despondent he became. Eventually, it became clear that there was nothing in here that would help him find Sophia.
All this effort, all this danger, for nothing.
That’s when he noticed the barrel. It was the gas that Crank had brought to the warehouse, stored in the corner of the room. God damn, he had the chance to burn this place down.
There was just the small issue of the guy passed out in here.
Pouring the gas was satisfying. He was generous with it. No doubt the chemicals inside the lab were highly flammable, too, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He needed this baby to burn.
While he worked, he considered what to do with the guy in the office. Wolf had already taken out the documents that might be useful. He’d go through them in detail with Baron and Rainer to see if there was anything in there that could pin the DD to local government or law enforcement.
The guy was the issue.
Wolf was angry — so angry that, at first, he’d been happy to discover that he’d be able to burn the guy alive. It was an added bonus.
The Death Division was a criminal, Nazi gang, full of horrendous men with no regard for anyone in their way. They’d committed heinous acts. They’d killed. They deserved to die.
But the more Wolf thought about it, the worse he felt. This guy — some poor chump, passed out, clearly a drug addict — was it his fault that Marcus had died? Was it really down to him that Sophia was missing right now?
Maybe it was. In some ways, it definitely was. But even if that was the case, did that give Wolf the right to punish him? Did it give him the right to kill the guy? And not just kill him but torture him. To be burned alive wasn’t a fate thatanyonedeserved.
What would Sophia do?
What would the sweetest, kindest, most honest person he’d met do?
Eventually, inevitably, he thought back to his father. A man who’d never stopped to reflect on whether his actions were justified. A man who always acted in anger, who took out his inner pain on those around him.
His father wouldn’t have hesitated — he’d have slaughtered this Deather.
That’s why he couldn’t do it. Hewouldn’tdo it. He refused to be his father, or be anything like him.
The gas was all out, the place was ready to go up, but Wolf was heading back in. The stink was even worse now, with the pungent smell of the gas everywhere.
‘Well, big guy,’ he said under his breath, ‘you’re coming with me.’
The sleeper still looked out for the count, most likely lost in some narcotic dream. Wolf leaned in and carefully, slowly, lifted up the guy. He was heavy. Seriously fucking heavy. But Wolf persevered. No matter how hard it was, he wasn’t going to give up and take the coward’s way out.
His pace as he carried the Deather out of the factory was slow, and every single step felt like a journey. The man kept snorting and mumbling, and at one moment, he opened his eyes wide. Wolf thought the game was up, but, somehow, the guy returned to sleep. The whole time, it felt as though Marcus was there with him, helping him carry the burden, helping to keep the guy asleep.
Finally, he laid him down on a grassy bank a safe distance from the warehouse.
It was only a few minutes later, with the smoke and flames from the warehouse starting to light the whole area, that Wolf saw it. In the Deather’s top pocket was a small, folded piece of paper.
A wedding invitation.
CHAPTER 22
A wedding dress should be a symbol of freedom — of a marriage freely embarked upon. Of a life, about to be transformed forever.
The dress in front of Sophia, though, was nothing but a kind of prison. She’d been let out of her actual cage and now she was staring at another one.
She’d been staring at it for hours. Next to her were two of her father’s thuggish men. They’d threatened her with pain and beatings, but she still refused, point-blank, to wear the dress. She knew that there was no way that they’d hurt her in such a way that would leave a mark — her father would be far too embarrassed to have a bruised, injured daughter walk up the aisle.
‘You don’t want me to get your father, Sophia,’ said the first guy — a squat, angry man who was called Paulo. Sophia didn’t recognize him. When she was a kid, there had always been unsavory types around, but this guy was off the charts. It was like his whole body was a wicked little weapon, curled up and ready to uncoil.
‘I’m not wearing it,’ she said.
