Page 5 of Lethal

Raven: Cole. Answer me, goddamnit.

Ravenmaster: Little Bird, I don’t think he’s in the right frame of mind to answer right now.

Raven: I don’t give a fuck about his frame of mind. He doesn’t get to leave without giving me answers.

The corner of my mouth twitches, threatening to lift into a smile and shift my mood by a minuscule amount. First, she shows her love by shooting me, and now she’s compulsively texting me. It’s quite possible Raven is as obsessed with me as I am with her. Not that it surprises me much. She’s been consumed with Ravenmaster from the moment she got his initial text message. Now she thinks she knows the secret behind him. She doesn’t though. Not fully.

The text where she claims we’re a family is the one that almost breaks my resolve. Having lost mine is what made me into the man I am today. And she’s right. Raven is my entire world, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, her other men are the brothers I don’t want. Doesn’t make us any less of a family. Which is why I reluctantly brought Vander with me and didn’t shove his unconscious ass out the door.

In front of us looms the sex club. It’s nestled in a nondescript building on a popular downtown LA street. Traffic was a nightmare, something I should have expected. And yet, in my rush to get here, I still took a moment to pause and read Raven’s texts. It says a lot about how much I care for her, even if I’m choosing to ignore them for now.

A soft pop signals the door opening when I pull on the handle, the weight of it smoothly swinging out as I glide from the car. Neon lights from the businesses along the road light up the night, creating a haze in the sky that doesn’t reach me where I’ve parked behind the building. I know there’s slim to no chance my sister is still here. But I still hold on to a shred of hope. The possibility is there, although the camera feed cut out on me when we were in flight, due to not having the bandwidth I needed to run my systems.

If she’s not here, I’ll tear the place apart until I get information that can lead me to where she is. I press a button on the key fob from my pocket, and the trunk silently opens. As I make my way to the back of the vehicle, I slide my hands into a pair of gloves, ensuring I won’t leave my fingerprints behind. Something Vander reminded me of at least three times on the drive.

Reaching the back, a soft touch of my finger encourages the trunk to open to its full extent. Splayed out on the bottom are several weapons and holsters that I get to work strapping to my body.

Per Vander’s nerve irritating observation, I changed my clothes before disembarking from the plane, something I’m thankful for now as I load myself down. The tactical pants have several pockets for me to fill with extra magazines and a few areas I can slide various knives. I wear a bulletproof vest and strap on a double holster over it before threading my arm through the strap of an AR-15, letting it rest against my back.

I palm my favorite handgun, a Rugged Obsidian 45, and affix a silencer to the barrel. This gun will do most of my work tonight, needing to keep my kills quiet to avoid alerting the patrons of my presence too early. I wish I could strike them full of fear with the knowledge I’m making my way through the building to them. Not knowing if they’ll make it out or not. Spoiler, they wouldn’t. But as much fun as that would be, it creates too many probabilities for me to get caught. Again, having Vander in my ear the entire car ride ensured I wouldn’t forget.

The trunk slams shut and I stride for the back door. Before I make it more than a few feet, Vander’s muffled yell reaches me through the glass of the window. I turn to find him glaring at me. “Open my door, asshole.”

For a moment I consider leaving him here, stewing in the front seat of the car, waiting for me to finish. But having him around has helped the haze of anger clear some, and I’m thinking a little more rationally. Keeping him with me increases my chances of getting home to my Raven at the end of all this.

With an annoyed growl, I stomp toward his door, opening it so he can spill out of the car. Much to my chagrin, he lithely steps out. It’s like his arms aren’t even tied behind him. Does the fucker practice getting by without his arms in his spare time? He’s really taking away my fun.

“Don’t speak and don’t get in my way,” I hiss over my shoulder, walking to the back door once more.

“How about you free my hands and give me a gun?” The simple question grinds against my nerves. I should have left him on the plane.

I ignore him, opting to open the door instead. He isn’t here to help. I only let him convince me to bring him so he can watch and make sure I don’t leave any evidence behind. He claimed Raven would cut off my balls if I was caught. She’d do it too.

As the door swings, I’m greeted by a bright light of a breakroom, the space bridging the back of the building and the interior club. Two guards hastily shoot up from their seats, and I quickly fire a shot into each of their foreheads and then lower the barrel to take out the whore kneeling in front of them. My reflexes are so quick, they don’t get a sound out.

Vander huffs as the two guards fall, a soft thud sounding when they hit the ground. “What?” I question him. “Feeling something for your fallen brethren? Me killing guards hitting a little close to home?” I can’t help but taunt him, hoping I can cause a little pain. My misery would love some company.

He doesn’t answer me, ignoring the bait I set for him. That’s fine. I’ll find my fun somewhere else. I crack the door open that leads from the break room into the rest of the club. I find a hall with dim lighting and a sensual thrumming beat bouncing off the walls. The music hides some of the moans coming from the rooms on either side of the walkway, which will aid in covering the sounds I make as I kill everyone in the building.

The blueprints I found showed me several things that helped with my game plan. One was where the owner’s office is, the other was the entrance to their literal dungeon, which is where my sister was being abused. That’s where all the sick fuckers will be, the people who might help me find my sister if she isn’t here.

Everyone else in the building will simply be collateral damage. They can’t help, and I don’t have time to sneak in and out. I step into the hall, keeping my eyes focused down the length as I approach the first door, making sure nobody pops into view who can raise an alarm. The knob turns and I push into the room, sweeping my gaze across the area.

A shudder instantly runs through me. The room is filthy. A trashcan overflows with condoms and wrappers. Dried cum runs along the outside and has pooled along the rim at the ground. There’s no bedding, only a bare mattress covered in stains. I turn from the room, not wanting to see anything else. There wasn’t anyone in there anyway.

One thing is for sure, this isn’t a high end club like the ones Enzo runs. This is a place for the sickest scum of the earth to find their pleasure without a care for safety or consent. It almost seems more like an underground trafficking brothel that moonlights as a crack den than an actual sex club. But the proof is in their cyber footprint. It’s a legit club, though I’m not sure how they stay open.

For a brief moment, I consider torching the place when I’m done, but quickly discard the idea. I want the man who has my sister to hear about what I did here today. To know how much carnage I left behind. It’s a calling card. One I plan on leaving again and again until I find him.

I move from room to room, taking out anyone I see after making sure none of them are my sister or that fucker I saw her with. I’m almost to the end of the hallway when a woman stumbles out of the last door. She slowly turns her head in my direction. Her stringy hair hangs in front of her face, but I’m still able to see the glazed over emptiness in her eyes. The woman is clearly high; track marks line both arms.

It takes her too long to notice the gun in my hand as she stares at me. The moment her eyes go wide, I don’t hesitate to pull the trigger. She falls to the ground in a crumpled heap and the force shoves her foot into the door she closed behind her. It swings open and an annoyed shout follows. “What the fuck, bitch. I said I was done with you.” Whoever is in the room must not have actually been looking when he spoke, because I belatedly hear scrambling and a shout of surprise.

Shit. I dash for the doorway, hoping I get there before whoever is in the room can raise the alarm. The moment I glimpse inside, I catch a gun aimed at me. The man grunts and fires off a round, but I’ve already ducked to the side expecting him to pull the trigger.

The bang of a gunshot rings through the air as the bullet hits the wall across from the open doorway. The sound transcends the music pumping through the building, and I have no doubt it’s alerted others to the threat I pose. I crouch and round the doorway, firing off two rounds in rapid succession.

The first goes through his wrist, making him drop the gun, and the second enters his neck. What can I say? I get vindictive when someone fucks with my plans. The shot to his throat doesn’t kill him right away. His eyes go wide in shock as his good hand moves to the injury. Blood spills from the wound, but I don’t have time to enjoy his death. There are voices coming from around the corner.

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