Page 23 of Monstrous Grave

It’s a bitter irony that I can’t get my revenge on him. The very man who obliterated everything I held dear, simultaneously destroying me from the inside out.

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Winding along the coastal bends, I’m offered a glimpse of the distant horizon hiding far off in the sea. The visor on my helmet tints the outside world, and the salty breeze of the ocean carries through the air, providing a soothing touch. Navigating carefully around the weathered asphalt patches and cracks, I finally reach the dock.

The closer I come to the roads I recognize, the more I want to retch until nothing is left in my emptied stomach. The familiar lands of the place I once used to visit with my foster father and brother loom before me, the building smaller than what I remember.

Slowing my speed, memories assault me of the time they allowed my curious, naive self to learn the family business. It was a time in my life when I viewed the world with optimism, full of possibilities and dreams that were quickly snuffed out overnight. That day unfolded into a nightmare, and I vividly recall the unsettling touch of an older fisherman’s greasy fingers violating me in the building’s hallway, trapping me with his intrusive hand on my waist. That day ended with my brother sporting a black eye from our father’s wrath. In my room late at night, he told me the bruises were worth it because he’d hurt the fisherman for touching me.

Willing away the memories, I park my bike, needing to survey the area before venturing farther. My priority lies in stealing the sonar equipment, confirmed by Alec to exist here, and to uncover what happened to the submarine’s schematics. It’s a risky mission as the Grimaldis always have been known for their tight security on their biggest platforms—this dock.

Waves crash against the bridge far off in the distance—a sound that has become familiar with the numerous scoping missions I’ve been on. Now, we’re finally one step closer to stealing the car with the USB drive from the incoming submarine.

Moving silently, I remain on high alert as I glance over my shoulder in case anyone’s following. Dusk gradually closes in, orange and pink hues painting the sky in a beautiful view that takes my breath away.

High gates loom before me, leading into the area itself, with barbed wire on top to prevent strangers from entering. The instance I come closer, an ominous feeling settles deep within me. Beckoning me closer, screaming inside my soul that something is wrong. The gates are supposed to be closed, not open.

The Grimaldi syndicate guards their secrets with utmost secrecy, except I’ve mastered the art of outsmarting their intricate safety systems, thanks to the Valenti family. If all had gone according to my plan, the Grimaldis would’ve closed their gates and I would have been the one to silently open them. Yet, here they stand ajar. A surge of suspicion rises deep within me as I approach the gates, every nerve tingling as my muscles lock.

A heavy sense of foreboding settles in my gut, sending warnings to my brain. With caution, I retrieve the gun from my pocket, holding it discreetly, prepared for any threat that may arise. All the while, I maintain an innocent appearance, ensuring I appear unarmed.

The moment I’m about to enter the dock, my phone vibrates. Frowning, and a little annoyed at the thought that it might be Alec disturbing me, I open it. My pulse thuds harshly in my ears as I read the message over again, fear coiling around me like a vise.

UNKNOWN: I left you a little gift.

There’s nothing more than that, only those six words from an unknown sender, making icy fingers roam over me until I’m shuddering.

ARCANE: Who the fuck is this?

After a minute, there’s still no reply, which leaves me staring at my phone with simmering hatred, as if it has committed the worst crime. Each passing second makes me feel more dumbfounded as I merely stand and wait for a reply that likely won’t come.

A prickling feeling at the nape of my neck distracts me from the phone, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m no longer alone. Despite the instinctive urge to tense, I force myself to relax, refusing to show any sign of awareness of the presence nearby.

I enter the dock’s perimeters, gazing at the darkening sky providing little illumination to the path ahead. Lampposts are stationed outside the massive building, casting an eerie glow on my surroundings, making this all the more menacing.

All my steps are deliberate, the churning in my stomach intensifying tenfold. A haunting tune of the wind in the distance carries me further. But, when I’m just about to turn left around the corner of a container positioned inside the gates, I feel something wet beneath my foot.

It’s slippery, adhering to my sneakers and transforming the asphalt into an odd substance. With a mix of horror and fascination, I stare down at the ground, half convinced I’ve stepped into pee or some shit like that.

What I never expected was to see a crimson hue coloring the underside of my shoe, the light from the lamppost faintly illuminating the liquid splattered across the asphalt. Yet, it’s not splattered; it’s gathered in a pool as if someone has bled out here. I swallow harshly, feeling the molten lava traveling down my throat in an attempt to scorch me alive.

My hand is steadily placed inside my pocket, gripping for the gun there, as my ears are perked to hear the slightest sound that could reveal whatever is around me.

This is too easy. It shouldn’t be this easy to enter their dock and scope it out, and yet it’s as if I have free rein to the entire area.

Where is everyone?

With another cautious step forward, the slickness of the asphalt becomes unmistakable, and I lower my gaze in bewilderment. What I witness next sends my heart racing faster than a speeding car on the road, harder than thunder rumbling through the skies. It’s dull, painful, and sucks the oxygen from my lungs despite my attempts to maintain a calm, steady breathing.

Only inches away lies a gruesome discovery. A hand soaked in blood that has long since dried into the skin. The lamp’s feeble light casts shadows, revealing not only the hand but the arm also. I barely dare look further, feeling utterly vulnerable in the dock of the family that once betrayed me.

Returning my gaze to the gory sight, I notice that the horror doesn’t end with the severed limb. Bile rises in my throat, leaving a sour aftertaste as I see the rest of the body, chest torn apart as if slashed and ripped open with the sharpest blade. I’ve witnessed plenty of blood in my life, yet this ghastly moment triggers nausea threatening to empty my stomach.

This is more than some mere murder; it’s personal.

The unsettling feeling of being watched heightens, as if a phantom could materialize and reach out to touch me. I look up at the surrounding area, sure that the other guards must be close by, which only means they will connect the dots and believe I killed this person. Who fucking knows what the Grimaldis will do to me when they realize their lost disgusting daughter stole the life of one of their guards. If they even would care. There’s not much those people care about.

I nearly stumble back but will myself to stand my ground as I come face to face with more bodies.

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