Page 160 of Knights Game

“More women?”

She nods and I exhale deeply.

Of course there are, and I wonder how long the Russians and the Covenant have been trafficking women. The sick fucks. “Can you walk?”

She nods and I pull the gag out of her mouth. “Thank you.” Her voice is a broken whisper, a thick eastern European accent makes the words barely understandable.

“Go to a place called The Venue. It’s in Soho. Ask for the Duchess, tell her Knight sent you. She’ll help you.”

“The others?”

“Will be with you shortly.” I take off my black jacket and wrap it around her shoulders gently.

“No. I wait for friends.”

“So be it but stay here.”

I move quickly and methodically through the house, clearing each room, releasing more women. I execute the tormentors quickly, not wasting a second, but I still manage to make some more painful than others. Slitting a few throats, making as much mess as possible.

Five minutes is all it takes to empty the house, but there’s no sign of Layla. I walk back to the kitchen to find all the women there, clinging to each other in fear.

My face covered in blood splatters, my eyes wide, wild and feral.

The painkillers and adrenaline pulse through my system as blood lust propels me, the need to save her fuels me.

I don’t even want to acknowledge the feeling of panic that claws at my throat, making my heartbeat wild.

I will not acknowledge it.

“Are there any other rooms?” I ask, my voice deep and deadly.

The first woman I freed steps forward, the jacket covering her battered and bruised body. “The hallway. There is a staircase hidden in the cupboard.”

I nod once and check the clip. I walk to the door, plain white and wooden, and ready myself. The air changes as I open the door and make my descent.

The smell of damp air is overwhelming, which tells me that this is bigger than just your average basement.

It’s empty; I walk around it slowly.

Small bare lightbulbs hang from the ceilings where the plaster is exposed, the walls in different states of disrepair.

Wooden tables sit in the middle of the room, all of which have product in multiple bags ready for distribution. It’s a crude set-up, but it gets the job done.

I open one of the bags and taste a small amount on my finger. The bitterness confirms my suspicions.

Cocaine.

Whoever owns this house is one of the street gangs.

And not one of mine.

If Terry Peyton took her, it would make sense that they would use the Covenant links, and where better than with a young gang leader trying to pave their way in the world?

I bet when this opportunity fell at their door, they couldn’t open it quick enough.

I pocket one of the bags and take in the dank dark surroundings, the dusty bulbs, the dirty walls. The dampness.

I do a full 360, that feeling seeping back into me.

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