AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 8
According to dental records, none of the human remains at the Waterston ranch belonged to Jacquelyn and Chris Waterston, or Malin and Astrid Thor. However, no one has heard from them since their Timo and Lincoln were killed. So, where are they? Are they, in fact, being held hostage? If they are, for what purpose?
A week after the attack, the world continues to speculate. Anarchy, Inc. hasn’t struck yet, leaving everyone in a sense of limbo: knowing it’s coming but not having any clue when.
“It’s like walking through a minefield,” says Ann Parada. “You try to be careful but at any moment you feel like you could explode.”
She has no fucking idea.
“I’m not suggesting I’m worried for myself,” she continues. “But every day you wake up and immediately check the news, expecting to see some big, red Breaking News header. Like, it’s only a matter of time.”
“Have you seen the online gambling sites? Vegas bookies are giving odds on who will be their next target,” says Michelle Cross-Yarrow.
Well of course they are. That’s not surprising. I wish I had a phone so I could look up who’s on it. Is Anton on the list? Jamison Hardt? Evo Griekin? Franco Silvestri? I’d love to know.
“People are frustrated,” adds Michelle. “They want to know why the people from Anarchy, Inc. haven’t been found.”
Probably because all the evidence burned, you fucking idiot.
Apparently fires started in multiple locations from around the ranch, almost as if a half dozen small bombs detonated at more or less the same time. All of the security recording equipment was destroyed, leaving no witnesses to what transpired.
The only good news was that Waterston’s eight horses were found wandering the grounds, staying away from the fire. None were harmed.
If only they could talk.
It’s almost kinda funny to think that I could, in five seconds, set the world on fire: Lincoln Waterston and Timo Thor belonged to a powerful cabal called the Masters. I’d die, obviously, but for once I’d be telling the world the truth. Sadly, would anyone believe me at this point? I doubt it.
What’s disturbing to me is the fact I haven’t heard anything from Anton lately. Has he accepted that I have no idea who’s behind Anarchy, Inc.? He could just be busy dealing with the fallout of losing two members of his organization. How many plans of his did that ruin? I imagine he had planned to kill off Thor and Waterston eventually, but not until he was ready. Someone has to take over their organizations — Anton would want people he could control. Maybe he hasn’t recruited replacements yet; he could be doing it right now. That would explain his absence.
“I called a few private security outlets,” says Parada. “They’re all completely booked. Anyone wealthy enough to think they might be a target has tightened their circles. They’re canceling travel plans, holding key meetings remotely — they’d never admit it, but they’re scared.”
She’s right.
I do a better job now of hiding how much I’m enjoying the news. Maybe Anton’s just leaving me alone because I’m complying with what he wants.
“Well,” I say at the end of the show, “let’s just hope that whoever these people are, the authorities find them and stop them.”
The post-show routine goes by so fast I hardly notice it. I don’t know how long I’m going to ride the high of Thor and Waterston’s deaths, but it’ll probably be a long time.
Two of my regular guards ride the elevator with me; I’m not paying them any attention, still lost in thought, when the fire alarms go off.
“Report,” one of the guards barks into his com. After a minute, he says, “Understood. Meet us out front.”
“What’s going on?” asks the other.
“Car fire in the loading dock. They say it’s under control.”
“Whatever.”
I haven’t gone out through the lobby, like a normal person, in months. It would feel refreshing if I wasn’t flanked by Anton’s goons, but at least they aren’t dragging me away like a prisoner. For once, I smile and wave at people, putting on an act I think Anton would like.
The car is waiting at the curb, engine running. We’ve almost reached the door when the first shot rings out. At first I think what everyone thinks, that it’s just a car’s clogged exhaust system, but then the guard on my left crumples to the ground.
Blood blooms like a rose across his gray suit and white button-down shirt.
My brain breaks. I freeze up, wondering how he could be shot when I know they wear armor underneath their suits. Then the next shot takes out my other guard, this time with a bullet to the head that sheers his sunglasses in half.
Now people are screaming and running, racing for the entrances to stores and the subway, taking cover behind cars and just running as fast as they can.
