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Scott mutters a string of curses beside me. If there’s one thing we know, it’s to always trust Blakely’s instincts. She’s never wrong.
“Okay. Where are you right now?” Her breathing is heavy and laboured through the phone line.
“I’m at the café where we were supposed to meet.”
“Alright. Call Bailey and go back to your place. You do not move from there or open the door, except if it’s me or your brother. Do you understand?” As I wait for her response, I can hear the sound of the café door opening and closing, the bell on the door ringing, indicating that she’s leaving. Scott is already holding his phone, ready to make a call. “Blakely.” My voice booms with force as I speak. “Do you understand what I said?”
“Aye. Aidan, please find her.”
“I’ll keep you updated. Once you arrive and lock yourself in, send me a text.”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
As soon as I end the call, I turn to face Scott. “Aisla was supposed to meet Blake, but she never showed up. She was with her dickhead boyfriend before that,” I inform him, even though he heard half the conversation. “She’s panicking, she doesn’t trust the guy, and neither do I.”
“What do you think he would have done?”
“I don’t know, but we need to call my da’ to check if he has any news from her.” I reach for my phone to call him, but his name pops up on my screen before I can dial.
“Father.”
“You need to come home. Now.” The urgency in his tone is palpable.
“What is it?” I ask, feeling the sensation of nausea rising in me.
“We received some information.”
“Tell me it’s not Aisla,” I beg. No response. “Da’.” My voice echoes through the phone as I yell, “Tell me it’s not her!”
“Come. Fast. And bring Scott with you.” He abruptly disconnects the communication without giving any further details. I can feel Scott’s tension as he looks at me, mirroring my own nerves.
“Let’s go, brother,” he tells me. “Let’s see what it is.”
My intuition is telling me that something is not right.
Everything came crashing down from that moment on.
Trying to push down those memories, I focus on Alasdair in front of me.
“Do you know who I am?” I start.
I notice his eyes darting around frantically as he sees me approaching. With the white skull mask on my face, my appearance takes on a bone-chilling touch of horror. Similar to mine, Scott’s entire face is hidden behind a black bone mask. With eyes that resemble empty sockets, a nose like a skeletal cavity, and a mouth that stretches into a sinister grin, he looks like a character plucked from a horror movie.
The sight of the teeth arranged on the jaw makes it appear even more sinister.
“Y-you’re the Spectre,” he answers, his voice trembling. The nickname is pretty fitting, I have to say.
“Aww, you gave me a nickname.” I look at Scott. “How cute is that? Are you jealous?” I ask him, wiggling my eyebrow.
“Why don’t I have a nickname?” he asks, pouting like a kid and playing with his knife. “That’s not very nice. I’m hurt,” he adds, placing his hands on his heart.
“Y-you,” the fucker starts. “People call you the Slicer.”
Scott jumps with a victorious expression, his fist punching the air. “Yes. I have one. Better than yours.”
I can’t contain my amusement, leaving the guy looking unsure of what is happening.
