Page 102 of Out for Blood
“Reaper,” I bark, grabbing her shoulder before she kills him right there. “Not out here.”
Her chest heaves strenuously and fear seeps into my veins for a moment because I genuinely don’t think she’s coming back from whatever headspace she’s in right now.
Lightning tears across the sky as she spins to face me. Wet strands of her hair cling to her cheeks, blood coats her skin andruns down her hands from her split knuckles. It’s her expression that knocks the air from my lungs. The fury is gone and in its place is something cold, detached from emotions, as though she’s seconds away from rupturing.
“We drag him inside,” she says monotonously.
Monsterinyourcloset868twitches from fear and begs, “No, no, please!”
Cassidy grabs a fistful of his hoodie and tows him through the mud, not caring that the fabric is bunched around his neck and is choking him. The more he tries to wrangle away the quicker her strides become.
He screams as she drags him across the property.
I stay alert at our backs, scanning the darkness for any movement.
By the time we approach the house he’s barely coherent, crying and choking on blood while Cassidy tugs him up the porch steps. His pants catch on every loose piece of wood, tearing them, scraping his skin.
Bodies still dispersed around the house.
Poker chips remain scattered across the table exactly where they left them.
One beer bottle slowly rolls across the floorboards from the storm shaking the house.
I hoist him on top of the poker table, grab the extension cords hanging near the wall, and move fast, wrenching his arms behind his back and tying them together while Cassidy keeps the knife pressed beneath his jaw.
Monsterinyourcloset868thrashes back and forth fighting the cords splayed across the poker table, the entire surface creaking beneath his weight on his stomach.
The downpour vibrates the roof, nearly smothering the sound of every shaky breath he takes.
But none of it hides the unease in his breathing or the wrecked sounds departing his lips.
Cassidy waits at the far end of the table, saying nothing. Bloodtrails from the edge of the knife clenched in her hand, pattering onto the faded floorboards one drop at a time while her eyes stay glued on him with unnerving stillness.
The room reeks of rain-soaked earth, stale whiskey, the metallic scent of blood.
The trafficker’s gaze skitters between us, whatever fear was there before morphs into something more hostile.
“Who the hell are you?” he demands, sizing us up now.
“I’m your reckoning.” Cassidy spits out.
He looks around the room and at his dead friends, “What the fuck do you want? I have money, girls, drugs, just name your price.”
“Oh, we know. We broke into your warehouse and the girls are safe, condolences to your employees though.” A cold smirk pulls at Cassidy’s lips just as realization detonates behind his eyes. “Monsters don’t get to keep what they steal.”
“Now you’re going to suffer for it.” I state as I find an overturned chair and take a seat.
“You don’t understand,” he stammers. “I swear, I never laid a hand on those girls!”
Cassidy lunges without warning, fast enough that terror jolts through him before her hand ever touches him.
She buries her blade through his calf, embedding into the table, anchoring him there.
He groans in misery from the pain as sweat beads on his forehead and falls in thick rivulets onto the table.
“Shut. Up.”
The entire room falls deathly silent except for the storm raging outside.
