“Not that I’m aware of, man. Doesn’t she keep talking about henchmen or some shit?” I ask with a mocking smirk on my face. I hate to use Sibby’s mental illness to my advantage, but in this case, if it means saving hundreds of children and women, I’ll weaponize whatever I need to in order to see that I complete my mission.
God, I even sound a little like her. Sibby believes killing evil people is her mission in life, something she was born to do.
And I can’t entirely disagree with the thought when you’re constantly risking your life to do something you feel is right. Even if other people will see it as wrong.
Dan laughs, the tone cruel and judgmental. “Yeah, thought I heard someone mention that.”
I scoff in disgust. “Girl says she had five henchmen. If they only saw one getting away, can’t imagine if there’s more out there on the loose.”
That little remark will circulate and taint the minds of the Society. If they believe that Sibby’s henchmen are real, then it’ll keep suspicions low. At least until the therapists get to Sibby and realize that her henchmen are all in her imagination.
By then, these fuckers will all have bullets in their heads, and the children they exploit will be long gone.
Dan and I mingle for the next several hours. The women here are abused, all blitzed out of their minds and accepting of the punishments for doing nothing wrong.
A metal chalice out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. It’s sitting atop a table, an older man drinking from it steadily. Subtly glancing around, I notice a few more. They look exactly like the goblets that were used in the leaked videos.
My heart sinks, but so far, I can’t see any signs that blood is in them.
“Are you looking to be initiated into the club?” Dan asks casually, pulling my attention to him sipping his Scotch and eyeing me over the rim of his glass.
His gaze is probing and studious, but I give him nothing in return. The muscles in my face stay firmly in place as I respond, “Aren’t I already in?”
A smirk crosses Dan’s face, and with the dim lighting and the dancing shadows, it makes him appear sinister. I don’t even blink at the sight.
I’m much fucking scarier.
“Not even close, brother.”
I quirk a brow, sipping at my own whiskey. When I give him an expectant look, he chuckles.
“If you truly want it, you need to have an acquired taste.”
“I have many acquired tastes,” I say, adding a bit of darkness to my tone. Not hard to do when I’m not lying. Their tastes are spilling the blood of the innocent, and mine just happen to be killing everyone who does so.
“Pray tell, what do those tastes entail?” Dan inquires, his tone whimsical and almost amused.
I shrug a shoulder nonchalantly and take a sip of whiskey while pulling my phone out with the other hand. I pull up a picture of Daniella, a girl I saved five years ago.
She’s deep in a safehouse, as she was an orphan with no home to return to when I rescued her. It’s an innocent picture of her dressed in Barbie pajamas. What sells the illusion is the haunted look in her eyes and the bruises marring her skin. The picture was taken after we first rescued her. She was ten at the time, and I made sure to ask her permission before showing this to anyone.
This is the first time I’ve had to befriend pedophiles before I killed them, but I knew that if I was ever going to convince them I was just like them, I’d need to show proof.
And I’ll be damned if I show a random girl off the internet and risk their safety. At least with Daniella, it’s an old picture and I can ensure nothing will ever happen to her.
Handing the phone to him, I say lowly, “My latest toy.”
The words taste like fucking tar on my tongue, but I force them out anyways.
&nbs
p; Dan’s brows skyrocket to his forehead, but an evil, happy little smile forms on his face.
“You share?”
I nearly break his hand when he hands me the phone back, his gaze lingering on the picture. Instead, I tuck the phone back in my pocket and bare my teeth.
“I get jealous.”