Page 56 of Black Bird

Athan’s jaw twitched. “Another attack?”

“Yeah, but … look, just get here. I’ll send you the location. Hurry up.”

Call ended.

Athan looked through his missed calls. Jenkins had called three times … so did Wren. She’d also texted and left a voicemail. He listened to it. His stomach flipped.

No … no, no, no … not her.

“Fuck!” Athan panicked, flicking his cigarette, and rushing inside. He called Wren as he hurried through the cabin … no answer. Rhaena continued to flail against the chains in the bedroom closet and he grabbed her keys from the nightstand. Her growl rolled through her heaving chest, and she watched him like a predator, snarling and snapping her maw. Long streams of saliva hung from her bared teeth. “Rhaena … I’ve got to leave. Do you understand? Can you hear me?” She snapped in response and jerked the chains as far as they’d go. “There’s a body. I’ve gotta go. I’m gonna come back, okay?” He slid his ring off and moved toward her. She watched him warily, seeming to understand but not able to control herself. She snapped at him again like a rabid dog on a chain as he sat the ring on the threshold of the closet floor. He jumped back. “If you think you’ll do something crazy before I get back, use it. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

He rushed out, leaving his bike and hopping into Rhaena’s truck, backing out and plugging the address from Jenkins into her GPS. It would take almost forty minutes to get there. He could make it in twenty. He silently asked Rhaena to forgive him as he nervously lit up another cigarette and floored the gas pedal, doing almost a hundred as he tore down MA-2 toward Boston. He called Wren again … no answer. Then he tried Sarah’s phone. It didn’t even ring. His heart started thrashing. All he could think about was Dahlia or Conrad … or both of them, figuring out the obvious and punishing him by hurting her. He should have been smarter about this. He should have protected her. Athan cursed under his breath, slamming his hand against the steering wheel.

He made it to US-3 just outside the city in about fifteen minutes. He was flying. By the time he’d made it to the crime scene, they had already bagged the body and tagged the surrounding area for evidence. It was another alley on the far side of town, nestled in between two buildings that used to be painted white, but were falling apart. He slammed the truck door shut and met Jenkins at the hood of his patrol car, tossing his head around and looking for any signs of Wren or Sarah, but finding nothing.

“Hey …” Jenkins said, his face pale.

“Where is it?” Athan demanded, walking past him toward the crime scene. Jenkins fell into step beside him, struggling to keep up with his pace.

“Kane, wait … I need you to stay focused, man. I’m really sorry.”

Athan’s heart threatened to take flight and his stomach hurt. He’d tear this world apart. He’d fucking kill every last one of them. As he approached the black body bag, the flashing patrol lights lit up the walls of the buildings on either side of the alley and he caught sight of a message written in blood along the left wall.

TRICK-OR-TREAT

He knelt down, swallowing hard, and jerked the zipper down on the bag. It caught in strands of raven-black hair, and he thought he’d lose his mind. He carefully untangled it and slid the zipper father down, opening the bag wider to find a heavily mutilated body in a band t-shirt … bloodied denim shorts and ripped black tights. His breath hitched and he brushed the hair away from her face. They had sliced it everywhere. She was barely recognizable, a gaping wound on her gray neck … or what they had left of it. Athan thought he’d be sick. He started breathing heavily, reaching down to take her cold, lifeless hand. His thumb slid across the top and he could hardly control himself. He ran his other hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Kane …” Jenkins offered. “We’re gonna find this son-of-a-bitch.”

Athan turned her hand over, and nearly wept when he realized what was missing. Her pale wrist was blank. No raven … no quote from her favorite poem.

“Holy fuck …” he breathed. “It isn’t her!” He jerked his face toward Jenkins who drew his brows together. “Sarah has a raven tattoo on this wrist. This isn’t her.”

“Shit …” Jenkins stood, waving over one of their colleagues. “Get the M.E. out here. We need forensics working on this ASAP. We need to identify this vic.” The young cop nodded, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, and jogging back to the patrol car. Athan peered down at the girl, and then back up at the message on the wall. They were toying with them. That message was meant for him.

They know … and they’re coming for them both.

He had to find her and get her somewhere safe. He zipped the bag back up and stood, dialing Wren again. She finally answered.

“Kane! I’m so sorry, I’ve been try—”

“Where the fuck are you? Where’s Sarah?”

“We’re at Back Door Bar. I’ve been trying to get her out, but she’s out of control.”

“I’m on my way, don’t either of you move from that spot, you understand?”

“Yes.”

He hung up, nodding at Jenkins and hurrying back to the truck. When he pulled up, he was surprised to find Brent outside arguing with some bulky bald guy. The bouncer eyed him as he slammed the door, and Brent turned around.

“Detective!” The fancy lawyer pleaded, stalking toward him. “Wren called me to get her out, but they won’t let me past.” Athan gritted his teeth and met eyes with the man standing guard by the door. He raised his badge and flashed his gun.

“He’s with me. Move, or I’ll move you.” Athan sneered. A muscle in the man’s jaw feathered but he stood aside, and Brent followed behind him as he stormed in. Colored strobes flashed everywhere, and loud music played. People dressed as everything from slutty butterflies to demons dry-humped each other on the dance floor. Athan’s eyes darted in all directions looking for them. Whispers drowned out the noise of the bar and he followed the tug in his middle toward the back of the room.

“Kane!” a familiar voice called, a skanky little lion rushing toward him. Wren.

“Where is she!” He yelled over the music. Wren pointed over to a set of dance poles on a small stage in the corner, and when he spotted her, he nearly boiled over with rage. Sarah was obliterated. She twirled around the pole, tossing her hair around and raising her leg high enough to show the entirety of her lacy black thong beneath her fishnet tights. Hands were reaching up and touching her everywhere they could, men and women alike.

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