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I shuffled through the mess, every document I unearthed another thread in the web my father had woven throughout the Everglades. I stumbled upon blueprints, scribbled notes detailing modifications to standard arms—illegal customizations that would make them far deadlier.
“Who needs this kind of firepower?” I asked the empty room, knowing no answer would come.
With a sense of dread propelling me, I moved from the study to the workshop. Tools hung in menacing silhouettes against the wall, some stained with oil, others with darker substances. In the corner, a workbench was strewn with mechanical parts, the innards of weapons laid bare like an open wound.
“Got to be something here...” I rifled through drawers, uncovering maps marked with routes snaking across continents. A ledger listed transactions, all codenamed with toxic reptiles, but one stood out: Everglades Viper. Dad’s signature was scrawled at the bottom, proud and unapologetic.
Fucking asshole. That was what he wanted to be called.
“Damn you,” I hissed, slamming the drawer shut after I snapped several photos with the burner phone I’d bought at a gas station on the side of the road. It didn’t even have a working sim card, but it didn’t matter. I just needed a way to gather evidence.
“Got to get this to Sofia,” I reminded myself.
If I managed to get out of here, I would make sure to send this to my sister.
She and the Mercy Blades were my only shot at redemption. The silence of the cabin answered me, a mocking echo.
It was time I do something.
It was time I put an end to the Viper’s venomous reign.
So I couldn’t just leave. I needed to stay, I needed to see this through. Even if it meant that my sister was going to worry about me, I needed to be the one to kill our father.
Who had just gotten back to the cabin.
I cleared my throat, fixing a grin on my face as I stepped out of the study into the muggy embrace of the Everglades. The evening chorus of cicadas buzzed in the dusk, nature’s own surveillance warning me of prying ears.
“Hey, Dad,” I called out to Eduardo, who was lounging on the porch with a tumbler of whiskey, his eyes sharp as a gator’s. I didn’t know when he had gotten there. He was stealthy enough to just sit his ass down with a drink and not let me know about it.
It had been on purpose.
I swallowed as I sat down next to him.
“Do you want a drink?”
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
He smiled at me as he poured me some whiskey. “Alright, son,” he said. “Cheers. To you being here.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “Salud, Dad. Let’s drink.”
***
Days had passed, and I still hadn’t managed to get a message to my sister.
My dad had taken my phone, at some point, when I was sleeping.
He’d said I didn’t need it with a smile and I couldn’t exactly argue with him, so I just nodded along instead and pretended to be interested in his scheming.
So far, he seemed to be buying it.
“Look at this,” Eduardo beckoned, his finger skimming over a ledger so worn it felt like part of the mahogany desk itself. “I’ve been ‘boutique’ for years. Authorities can’t pin a damn thing on me.”
I leaned in, feigning interest, while every fiber within me revolted against the rows of numbers and aliases. My gaze caught on an entry marked with yesterday’s date—another falsified identity.
“See here, Sammy?” Eduardo tapped the page. “Romanov, today. Tomorrow, who knows? Quien sabe? Keeps ’em dancing, always a step behind.”
“Crafty,” I said, the word tasting like ash. The ledger was a chameleon’s skin, each line a slither through legal grasp. How many identities had my father shed and adopted anew?
