2
“That fucking snake,” I hiss.
“You called it,” Ryker huffs, sucking on a cigarette. He’s not a smoker but in the last few days he’s had one hanging from his mouth near on every second.
Griffin was to blame for the detonation of the explosives.
That motherfucker was going to pay. I am not easily deceived but he had me. Did he ever truly care for Wren? I would have said so but watching him now, concealing himself in an alcove in the club, in a nice little safe spot as he pressed the button and caused the whole building to explode. The explosion happened in sections, first the door, making the exit impassable, then the bar, the patrons receiving drinks being blown to pieces in the process and then in the middle of the dancefloor. Fire erupted and chaos ensued as he slipped through the carnage, unscathed and escaped out a back exit whilst the rest of us burned.
This just proves how far I’ve fallen.
With the footage of the club, not publicly available to the authorities, I’ve picked out several faces employed by Valentine though the shooting, I’ve realized, did not come from them. That was a whole different story and whilst his face is concealed beneath a hood and mask I already know the man belonged to the Syndicate. A hired gun to do their dirty work.
“Find him,” I slam the lid of the laptop down hard enough that I hear the screen crack, “I want him in that fucking barn by morning.”
“Yes, boss.”
Ryker gets to work, leaving me in the compound to stew on my decisions. There’s zero chance of me being in the field for at least another couple of days, I know my limits and unfortunately, I am only mortal. Several deep lacerations, broken ribs, some minor internal bleeding, burns and a concussion later and I’m still standing.
The club is gone.
Burned to the ground, along with the hundred and fifty seven bodies that succumbed in the attack. Only seven of my men died, the rest were innocents.
No one was truly innocent in this life, but they were innocent in this war.
I want Valentine to believe I perished along with them. A lot of the bodies in the club were so badly damaged, identities have yet to be announced, giving me the perfect opportunity to remain in the shadows for the time being. With me supposedly gone, there will be no need for Valentine to hide.
He’s in hiding right now, but he’ll come out soon if he thinks I’m dead, after all, if I’m not around, the city is open for him to claim. If I have to pretend to be dead for a few days then so be it, I’ll wait, and I’ll watch until he crawls out of whatever hole he is in. My men are on the streets, in every club, bar, building and shop, waiting for the moment he rears his ugly head.
There is a clock ticking above his head and there is only so much time left until it hits zero and when that happens, it’ll be my face that sends him to Hell.
I pull the footage up on my phone, watching Valentine lift Wren from the rubble. She’s so broken, my little bird, her wings crushed. She’s lifeless over his shoulder, I can’t even see a movement in her chest as Valentine carries her away, disappearing out the door before the emergency services show up.
I managed to track them to about three blocks away but after that, the trail went dark.
Not for long.
Valentine has underestimated me.
Severely.
“In the barn,” Ryker drags me from my thoughts a few hours later. “We have Griffin.”
That didn’t take long.
I feel a cruel smile tug at my lips as I stand from the desk, ignoring the pain that shoots through my body with the movement. There is nothing inside of me but blinding rage, an anger so dangerous there won’t be a single person left to utter the Valentine name.
“Grab the driver,” I say to Ryker as I head out the room, towards the back door that’ll lead me to the barn. Three men flank me whilst Ryker grabs the item I have asked for.
The night air is humid when I step out into it, the heat pressing down onto me, stifling, heavy. A sweat breaks out across the nape of my neck as I cross the lawn towards the barn. Impenetrable darkness surrounds us here, the only light this far from the house comes from the moon and the stars above.
I push the door open, the old wood creaking with the movement, hinges protesting. I’ll have to sort that, I think casually as my feet scuff across the dusty floor, grit and dirt sending small clouds of dust to bloom in front of me.
Four men are strung up before me.
There’s no kindness here, no chairs to be restrained to, instead they’re tied up to the beams in the ceiling, arms together above their heads, tied at the wrists as they dangle there, only the tips of their toes brushing the ground beneath them.
Griffin is in the middle, his face a bloodied mess, swollen, blue with bruising and blood stains his clothes.