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The slayer was here.
People gasp, heads turning. The letters are still wet, and I can tell by the viscosity that it’s real blood, not paint. Lochlan and Roan run up to me, asking what to do. Big, blinding globes flash as the press hungrily snap photos like fucking vultures.
“Get these people away from here,” I bark at them. I spot Finn and shove Stella’s phone into his hand. “Find out where this text was sent from and take her to my apartment. Wait there for word.”
Roman and I lock eyes, and I flick my head at the door. He takes his place beside me, we work together like a well-oiled machine. We draw our guns in sync, and then pull open the doors.
What greets us inside is even worse. The antique mirror we just had painstakingly restored is shattered again. I don’t even know how many gallons of blood are splashed over every surface. White tablecloths are drenched red. We step carefully to avoid slipping in the puddles. It’s a bloodbath in the most literal sense.
“What the hell…” Roman mutters, and it's the first time I’ve ever seen him shocked by anything. I’ve seen the man walk out of gunfights and burning buildings looking like he just took a damn yoga class or something.
I follow his gaze and my own shock is tenfold.
On the bar, is a pig. An entire fucking eviscerated pig. It must be one straight off the hooks from our meat locker because I recognize the green abattoir stamp from the slaughterhouse we buy from. Roman guards my back, continuously scanning the floor, which is eerily quiet except for the thrum of people still on the sidewalk, eager for a peek at the newest June Harbor Slayer crime scene.
The pig’s skin is a pale gray and looks cold to the touch, its mouth is frozen open. There’s something poking out of its side, and my pulse quickens when I realize it’s the handle of a knife. For someone who’s witnessed and committed crimes much more gruesome, my stomach still churns when I see the photo skewered by the blade onto the pig corpse.
It’s the same photo Harlow received from the killer, only now her face is scratched out and the knife plunges through her body. I heave a sigh, puffing hot air in and out of my nose as I dislodge the blade. I flip the photo over, and find the previous message is crossed out and a new one is typed out below it.
Oink, oink. Come find your little piggy.
And a phone number.
I immediately pound out the numbers. My rage swirls under my skin, making me hot and itchy, and I want to fucking scream. Especially when the call is sent to a generic voicemail box after two rings. Instantly, however, a new text pings on my phone.
The message contains an address in the warehouse district on the city’s perimeter. And a simple instruction: Come alone.
“The cooks were locked in the kitchen, and I found this outside the door.” Roman holds up a black box with several antennae.
“A jammer.” My nails bite into my hands as I clench my fists into balls. “I have to go, but check the security tapes, though I doubt there’s gonna be anything. This fucker is thorough. I also want every single photo from every person that was on that sidewalk. Maybe someone caught something in the background.”
“Done. I can have Alfie do that. I will come with you.”
“No. I have to do this alone—”
“I can’t let you do that, Cash.” Roman’s deep, brown eyes meet mine, imbued with a level of severity. He’s as loyal as he is stubborn, and there’s no getting around this.
“Fine. Pull my car back out and I’ll meet you there.” He nods, satisfied, and heads out the front door into the throng of people that are still there.
I make my way out back, but I have no intention of waiting for him.
2I let my Harley purr for a moment before cutting the engine. I scan the abandoned lot, grass and weeds sprouting through cracks in the old cement. There’s no other vehicles, only a light off the side of the building. It flickers dully.
Satisfied there’s no one out here waiting to ambush me, I park and head inside the building. It’s a simple, sheet-metal structure with a wide rolling door, which is currently drawn up. The foundation is the same aging concrete as the parking lot, and other than scattered rubbish from squatters, there’s only one thing of note in the entire space.
A simple, wooden dining chair sits next to a camping lantern illuminating a small radius with a dusky-orange glow. The corners of the room are pitch black, and ice crawls up my back knowing there’s so many blind spots.
My phone alerts with a new message.
Weapons on the ground. Handcuff yourself to the chair.
I don’t drop my gun. No, I grip it tighter. “I came here, but I’m done taking orders from a fucking coward. Come out and face me.” They must be somewhere close, if not in the building itself. Close enough to know I am here, and whether or not I play along with their little game.
Another text comes through, and this time it’s just an audio file. My heart drops to my stomach the second I press play. Harlow’s voice is choked by her sobs as she pleads with someone. There’s the sharp sound of a smack, and I hear her scream before the audio recording ends.
My teeth grind together as her cries echo in my head. I growl, but set my gun on the cement floor and make my way over to the chair. My blood is pumping like a steam engine with each step. There’s a set of handcuffs on the seat. I put my hands through the bars in the back of the chair and fasten the cuffs, hoping Finn gets something useful off Stella’s phone.
“Such an obedient little slut.” Her voice cuts like the crack of a whip through the air. I whip my head back and forth, trying to see where she is.
