Page 408 of Rage

“Please,” she said, her voice shaking. “You have to go. I’ll...I’ll clean this up and call the police. I can tell them I found him like this. Or just tell them I heard a strange noise from my apartment and they should check. But you need to leave now.”

I hesitated, trying to figure out why this woman hadn’t run away. I wanted to trust her but couldn’t risk involving another person. Not yet. “I can’t just leave you here with this. It’s too dangerous.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she said, her voice steady despite the horror of the situation. “Go. I’ll take care of it. This is one mess I’ll happily clean up.”

I couldn’t force her to let me stay, so I relented.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice gruff with emotion for the horrors she’d endured at the hands of this despicable human on the floor before us.

“Take the east exit out of the building; there are no cameras that way. And tell Mila...tell her Evie tried to make things right after she left.”

“I read that the center was closed down shortly after she went on the run. No one was arrested or charged, though.”

“No. I was able to convince the county that it wasn’t safe and everyone was transferred to another center or adopted shortly after.”

“But you stayed behind?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Evie is looking down at the body on the floor--or what’s left of it, and stomps her bare foot on his face, his chest, and then eventually brings herself to the ground where she begins using her fists. I don’t stop her. She needs to let it out. When she’s spent, she looks up at me with blood splotched on her face like crimson freckles and says, “It was the deal I made.”

I nod, my heart heavy as I close the door behind me.

As I got in my car and drove, my mind raced, imagining the sirens, the flashing lights. But they never came. I checked the news over the next couple of days where I read about what happened as told by the media.

Carl Roberts, aged 76, was found brutally murdered during a home invasion where his valuables were taken along with a safety deposit box. Police believe the suspects to be a group of young men from the area but have no names.

There’s no mention of Evie.

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Today is Mila’s birthday.

I sent her a small box-shaped gift topped with a blood-red bow to match its contents. I watched her open the gift through the window and look through the polaroids of the men I tookout for her. She dropped them to the ground and let out a cry so devastating that I thought the glass I was staring at her through would shatter.

I’d been watching her for some time now. Not in a creepy way, but with a sense of protection. So, when she got that package, I was there to see her reaction. Her cry was one of relief and years of pent-up pain. All those men who had hurt her were finally gone. I could see the weight lifting from her shoulders as she realized those chapters of her life were now closed and she could move on. As she held the box, her entire body trembled.

I wanted to rush in and comfort her, but I knew this was a moment she needed to experience alone.

So, I waited, knowing that soon she would let me in.

Chapter Seven

Mila

Ishould’ve known he was serious, but I thought it was just for show. That once he’d taken care of my ex that he’d be satisfied. But no, he went after them all.

Every. Single. One.

I pride myself on my ability to track anyone down and hack into the most secure systems, yet here I was, blindsided by Beckett.

The gift left me stunned.

He’d been persistent in his pursuit after he told me who he was at the club, asking me out week after week following our support group meetings. I kept declining, telling him I had plans, which I did—my Wednesdays at the club were non-negotiable. He joined me on those Wednesdays in the dark but wanted to date me in the light.

It wasn’t long before he wore me down with charm and unwavering determination.

“Please, Mila. Just give me one chance. I promise it’ll be worth it,” he’d said with a smile that melted my heart.

Date a murderer? Why not? As far as I was concerned, there were worse things than death.

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