Page 11 of Lethal

My phone chirps with a text, and I take it out after Jasper helps me find my footing. Oops. We forgot to let Grayson know the coast is clear. I text him it’s safe to move the car and come on in.

When I turn around, Jasper already has Richard thrown over his shoulder. “Grab the duffle, Raven. Time to earn your keep.”

I scoff and smack his firm ass in retaliation. “How dare you!”

Jasper’s laugh echoes through the empty entryway. The grand open space has a staircase on either side leading to the upper level. The perfect stage for a man desperate to end his life, too overridden with guilt for what he’s done.

We climb the stairs and when we get to the top, I grab the two sets of gloves we have stashed in a side pocket. Handing the bigger pair to Jasper, I slide my hands into the smaller ones, open the duffle, and take out the rope. He gave me a firm lecture about not leaving behind DNA in the strands.

The muted sound of a door closing announces Grayson’s arrival, and his shout comes shortly after. “Death’s mistress, where are you?” The newest nickname makes me smile. What are the chances I can convince him to use that one permanently?

“Over here, dumpling,” I call to him, working the noose open to allow more space to fit our target’s head. Once it’s around his neck, I tighten it so it’s ready when he wakes up. Jasper ties the other end to the banister. “Do you think it will hold his weight?”

“Yeah, it’ll do the trick.” Jasper lifts Richard once more, holding his body in front of the railing where I take the man’s hands and put them on the banister, pressing his fingers down to leave prints behind. Jasper’s muscles bulge as he holds the man’s dead weight. “Mind giving me a hand, Grayson?”

My other boyfriend is already halfway up the stairs and he rushes to get to the top, taking two at a time. I toss an extra set of gloves at him, which he quickly puts on before grabbing the other side of the man, stabilizing his weight between the two of them. They move his body so he’s positioned with his legs on the other side of the rail, his ass resting on it to support his bulk.

I reach into the duffle and grab the box holding another syringe, this one filled with a reversal agent to force the man to regain consciousness. It’s fast acting, and he’s already rousing before I remove the needle from his flesh.

“Wha–What’s going on?” he slurs, frantically glancing around. His arms windmill as he glances down.

Not wanting to give him time to gain defensive wounds, Jasper gently nudges him off the ledge, gravity yanking him toward the ground. When he reaches the end of the rope, his body does a little bounce before swinging to and fro. His hands reach for the noose, and a wheezing sound comes from him, almost like a whistle as his windpipe is constricted.

Watching him from this angle doesn’t add much to the view. Apparently, Jasper agrees, because he smacks my ass. “Come on, Little Bird. The real show is happening down there.” He leans in and kisses my neck before whispering in my ear, “I know you enjoy watching the life drain from their eyes.”

Fuck. That man knows how to make my heart go pitter patter. He says the most romantic things.

He clasps my hand and leads me down the stairs, with Grayson following behind. Once we reach the bottom, I see exactly what he meant. Everything comes across differently from here, even though I’m watching the same thing. I get the full view of Richard’s face, of the way his feet kick back and forth, and how his hands desperately claw at the rope around his neck. Remorse when you try to kill yourself is a hell of a thing. Which is what his body will say once the housekeeper finds him in five days.

As the minutes tick by, his panicked movements slow, oxygen deprivation making his fumbled attempts at escape even more clumsy. It’s like an animated spoof film that’s meant to make its viewers laugh. I cock my head to the side, watching all the changes take over him. “Nevermore,” I say into the room, before I lose the chance. The ritualistic word burning my throat until I release it into the air.

Jasper guides me in front of him, where he wraps his arms around me and leans his chin on my shoulder. Our position is more attuned to watching a movie instead of a man coming to the end of his life. Grayson slips his hand into mine. He’s staring at me instead of the dying man. Lust shines from his eyes, a perverse reaction to witnessing me taking another life. The killing doesn’t get him off like it does the rest of us. No, Grayson enjoys seeing my reactions to it…

I turn my gaze back to Richard, who can’t breathe, only choked gurgles make it past his lips. After a time, they turn blue, his face drains of color, and his body stops twitching. The show only lasts a few minutes, but I enjoy every second.

Killing has become my greatest joy, but killing with my men… nothing compares.

Chapter 6

Cole

The handle of the dagger leaves my palm, flying through the air so fast it looks like a silver streak. It embeds into the wall with a thwack, quivering in place. An irritated yell rips free from my throat and I turn around, flipping a chair. It skitters across the floor until it hits the wall with a resounding crash.

Yet another lead has turned into a dead end. Crumbled to dust in the palm of my hand as if I squeezed it too hard, wanted it a little too much. I run my hands through my hair, yanking at the strands, trying to decide what my next move should be. It’s been three days, and I’m left with nothing. Not a single answer to where my sister is, who has her, or how they’ve kept her hidden. Only eliminations to the list I created of possible suspects.

What use has my years and years of dedication to hacking and killing brought me? I thought I was honing my skills, but clearly, I’ve been fooling myself if I can’t gain any leads. My programs have failed me with facial recognition so far. I’m almost wondering if finding her in the first place was a fluke. Did an old video suddenly resurface? Was it really her, or someone who looks eerily similar? Did it even happen at all? Perhaps I imagined it.

I’ve had countless spirals, dragging me into the depths of despair with the same unanswered questions. Darkness pushes in on me, threatening to swallow me whole and render me useless until I find my way out again.

Every time it’s happened, Vander has been there to snap me out of it, but how many times can we go through this? How many times can I ask myself the same questions with nothing to show for it?

I’ve gone over everything so many times, scrutinized the evidence with a fine-tooth comb. The video my program found was live footage. It really was my sister. But why in the fuck has she been wiped clean from the face of the Earth for so many years, and why can’t I find the man who’s with her? It’s almost as if someone as skilled as me, daresay, even more talented, is scrubbing the evidence before it can even surface.

“You know what you need right now?” Vander asks unhelpfully.

“Yes, I know exactly what I need,” I shout at him. “I need to know where my sister is. I need to fucking save her before I lose my goddamn mind.” Another wave of anger washes over me, and I turn to the wall at my back, slamming my fist through the drywall. I barely even register the pain of my knuckles ripping open.

Shaking my hand out, I stride toward Vander, taking a deep breath to calm myself. The smell of sex, blood, and the will to give up on life taints the air. It sets me more on edge. Why is it so hard to find any joy in what I’m doing here?

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