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The reporter frowns and I feel like she’s looking straight at me. “I think the woman’s name is Zoe Miller—”
“I have a message for Zoe,” the woman screams, repeating it over and over. “Give up now, Zoe. You won’t like what else we have in store for you.”
The reporter cries out, tears brimming in her big, doe-like eyes. “This is Betsy K and I’m fucking done.” She makes a strangled noise and we all watch as she tears the earpiece out and throws it at someone, maybe her cameraman. “This isso fucking sick. I need to go home. My family. My—” a sob cuts her off, but I know exactly what she feels.
This is all too fucking much and the Reapers have just proven they don’t care what it takes.
They won’t stop until they have me back.
Grayson
I’ve never wanted to go against all the planning we’ve done and just let loose to the rage inside me more in my life. Those fucking sick fucks are using other women to flush Zoe out. Innocent bystanders that have nothing to do with our war, yet they have been dragged into it and lost their lives in such brutal tragedy for it.
It’s only natural that Zoe feels responsible for it. She knows it’s not her fault, but the kind heart that beats inside her chest is wracked with guilt that these women are paying the price for her defiance against the Reapers.
Against Gunner.
Fuck. Having my hands wrapped around his throat can’t come soon enough.
To make matters worse, after a day of doing exactly what they said and delivering up woman after woman every hour in different public locations around Santa Cruz for the news teams to report on, the community is fucking terrified. People have stopped leaving their homes. Businesses have closed their doors with notes stuck to the window that they will reopen soon, but no one knows when soon is.
With more new intel coming in from the Diamond Crew daily, we start planning our attack. We have to be smart about it, making sure all bases are covered, sono one gets away.
Most of the planning happens in church. Zoe sits by my side watching and absorbing, offering thoughts every so often, while my brothers take her suggestions and make her feel like one of them.
A part of me still fucking hates that she has to be exposed to all of this planning and intel, but I refuse to keep anything from her. The more she knows, the better she can use that knowledge or protect herself should something happen.
“What are you scheming?” I ask Zoe as she lowers herself to my lap in the main clubroom.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She pokes her tongue out and curls up on my lap and fuck I suddenly don’t care what her and the Cruz Cunts have been whispering about over the last few days. It’s probably another strike or some pranks to liven up the dull mood that has swept through the club.
“Turn on the news,” Slasher calls, storming into the main clubhouse room, and all eyes dart to the TV over the top of the bar as Tex turns it on and it flicks to life.
An audible gasp sounds from the Cunts as they merge together in a group, holding on to each other as we all prepare for the worst.
“I’d hoped it was over,” Zoe whispers as she shifts on my lap, eyes darting to the TV as the sound fills the room.
“The Reapers have struck again, after a long delay which had the community wondering if they had finally been caught, but as you can see behind me, the Santa Cruz Police Department have taped off the Pier, where it seems another body has been strung up on display.”
Behind the reporter is an array of police vehicles and barriers put in place to stop anyone from entering the pier and my heart fucking sinks with wonder of who the new victim might be.
According to Loretta, all the women that the Reapers took from the Sleep-Eazy have turned up dead, all bar the last one who had a message for my princess. So who the fuck is their latest victim?
“According to our sources, the latest victim is a male who suffered a very brutal end before being hung by theneck from a light post toward the end of the pier. Police have not revealed who this man is yet, and we all wait with bated breath for confirmation on who it is.” The reporter clears her throat before stepping closer to the camera so it’s only her face that fills the screen. “My network would like me to apologize for my outburst when the last victim was found. The only thing I will apologize for is that there will be no apology. I am a local Santa Cruz woman. I have lived in this community since the day I was born, and to see this level of heinous atrocity targeting our locals is utterly heartbreaking and quite frankly, stomach turning. I will not pretend that this doesn’t affect me right to my core.”
She waves in front of the camera then, and the live feed cuts out, going straight to the newsroom where they start speculating on who the latest victim could be.
Zoe remains staring at the screen, her body stiff, her spine rigid.
“Zo,” I rasp, leaning into her ear which seems to snap her out of her trance.
“Call Tido. I need to know who it is.”
I was already intending on doing that after I made sure she’s doing okay, but there is a layer of steel to her voice. A hardness I’m not used to hearing from her, so I don’t coddle her. I don’t argue. I take out my phone and call Tido.
“Ma, I’m busy working,” he says down the line, and I snicker, knowing he must be around his colleagues if he just called me Ma.
“Who was it?” I ask, watching Zoe’s blue gaze lock on mine as she turns to face me on my lap.
