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“You left it.”
“Not me. I wasn't the one who did bath time.”
“Then it was your friend.”
“Fuck. That man needs to get his head out of his ass.” He walks forward. “Don't try anything funny, you hear?”
“Of course not.”
He shifts closer, bending down and then reaching for the bottom of the bucket. “Where the fuck is the handle?”
“Right here,” I say, jabbing the sharp end into the part of his neck peeking out from below the mask. He screams and I shove it further in, blood squirting everywhere. He gurgles, reaching for his neck, unable to talk. I rip the mask off and shove the other end in his eye. He falls to the ground, his body twitching. Standing up, I slam my foot on the metal and he goes still, his face paling and mouth parting.
Reaching into his pockets, I don't find a key. Fuck. I thought they all had one. I check the other pocket, my heart sinking when it's also empty. Then I notice a bulge under his shirt. Lifting it up, I find a gun and knife strapped to a vest.
A pair of boots stomp down the hall and I hide the weapons.
“What the fuck is taking so long?” The man freezes in the doorway. “What did you do?”
“What I had to,” I say.
“Henry?”
“He can't answer. He's dead.”
“You fucking piece of shit. That's it. The boss said if you acted out again to bring you to him. He won't be as sweet to you as he's been with the boy, either.”
He pulls out a key and my eyes follow his hands as he unhooks the chain from the wall. I lift up the knife and slit him across the throat. His eyes widen and he gasps, grabbing at my hand while cupping his neck. Wrapping my fingers around the chain, I swing it in the air, beating him with it. I don't stop until blood pools around him.
The keys are on the floor and I grab for them. Once I'm free from the cuffs, I search him and take any weapon he has. I pull on his pants, his shirt, and mask, not caring if they're covered in blood. The black material makes it hard to notice. Searching around me, I walk out of the room, taking one of the Christmas cakes with me.
Based on this guy's voice, he's not the one who last took Ignacio, either. No. He's still alive, but not for long. I smile, shoving the holiday treat in my pocket. I stay on high alert this time, searching every room I come across. They are each empty. I keep walking until I come into the main part of the basement, breathing a sigh of relief when I see the stairs leading up.
Luckily, the door is open by the time I reach the first floor of what appears to be a house. “What the fuck?” a man says, reaching for his gun.
I lift my arm and put a bullet in his head before he can pull the weapon free from his belt. Another man comes at me and I shoot him too, heading for the stairs when I see the rest of the first floor is empty.
When I reach the top, a door swings open and another man I don't recognize takes a step back when he sees the gun in my hand, quickly closing the door behind him. I kick the door open and find him cowering in the corner with a knife. “Don't come any closer. If you kill me, you won't find the boy.”
“Where is he?”
“Not in here.”
“Who have you alerted?” I ask, gesturing at his phone.
“No one.” His face pales.
“You're lying.”
“I swear. You got in here before I could.”
I move the knife to my other hand and pull out one of the guns I’d picked up, aiming at the guy. “Toss the phone and kick the knife toward me.” He does as I ask and I catch the phone, stopping the weapon from sliding past me with my foot.
“Don't move,” I demand, keeping the gun pointed at his head. He raises his hands, his jaw twitching.
Bending down, I collect the knife, shoving it in my back pocket. I search the phone for any recent phone calls and messages, satisfied when his answers add up.
“Take me to him.”
