Page 30 of Psycho Killers

Together, we slip into the shadows of the night, the rain bringing forth secrets of its own. The car offers solace as we navigate the slick streets, but peril rides on every gust of wind.

“Does Cali think she’s fucking invincible?” Five asks, cutting through the fog of my thoughts.

“Invincible? More like reckless,” I retort, fighting against the guilt clawing at my insides. “But in our world, fuck, who isn’t?”

Underneath it all, there’s something far more dangerous than any bullet or knife waiting for me. A reckoning. And as we pull up outside my father's house, I know that I’m on the brink of crossing a line from which I may never return.

I turn to Five, sharing a look that says everything that needs to be said: this isn’t just about my father anymore. It’s about all of us—survival, shattered pasts, and an uncertain future.

With a deep breath, I shut off the car, slipping into the storm that awaits. The night is alive with tension as I step from the car, the chill seeping through my clothes and entwining with my racing thoughts. Rain pours down in sheets, masking any sound but the steady drumming against the pavement. I glance at Five,who remains alert, eyes scanning the perimeter like a wolf on the hunt. Together, we slip into the darkness, shadows merging with shadows.

“Just like we practiced,” Five whispers, a reminder that echoes the countless training sessions we endured together.

I nod, my throat tightening as memories wash over me—the days spent learning to channel my pain into precision, building a fortress around my heart.

We approach the house, its outline ominous against the stormy sky. The glow of a few scattered lights peeks through, illuminating the turmoil within—a microcosm of everything that has driven us here. The door, a guardian of the past I’ve both feared and revered, awaits us.

“Ready?” Five asks, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. I can see determination in his posture, a promise that he’ll have my back whatever happens next.

“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, my stomach twisting with a mix of dread and resolve.

With a nod, we move toward the back alley, where broken bottles and discarded memories litter the ground. Every step feels amplified in the stillness of the rain—my heartbeat drums in my ears, the mix of adrenaline and anxiety racing through my veins.

“Just keep an eye out for any of his men. I get the feeling he’s not alone,” I say as we approach the dimly lit backdoor.

With a swift motion, Five produces a lock picking tool, his nimble fingers working with practiced ease. “Always the optimist, aren’t you?” he smirks, but there’s an edge to it—one that tells me he understands the stakes just as well as I do.

The lock clicks softly, and there's a rush of air as the door creaks open. Stepping inside, the stale scent of smoke and alcohol wraps around us like an unwelcome embrace. Dim lights flicker from the living room, bathing the space in an eerieglow. We move like phantoms through the house, each corner whispering secrets of a family shattered and rebuilt in shadows.

“Basement,” Five mutters, gesturing toward the staircase that spirals into darkness below.

I nod in agreement, the storm outside echoing the tempest brewing inside me. I know my father is down there, and the memories attached to him churn a storm that threatens to spill over.

We descend the steps, the wood creaking under our weight. The air grows colder, dampness seeping into my skin. Each step brings me closer to the confrontation I’ve already envisioned a thousand times in my mind, every outcome laced with blood and vengeance.

At the bottom, I hear murmurs, low and harsh. As we step cautiously into the room, I catch glimpses of silhouettes—my father at the center, flanked by a couple of rough-looking men, their expressions a mockery of loyalty. The tension escalates as my entrance interrupts their whispered plotting.

“Ah, the prodigal son returns,” my father sneers, his voice dripping with condescension—a tone I’ve learned to loathe.

“Looks like the prodigal son has come to settle some debts,” I retort, the cold steel of my resolve surprising even myself. No turning back now.

Five stands vigilant beside me, his presence grounding, reassuring. I can feel the anticipation hanging in the air, heavy as lead.

“Come to plead your case?” One of the men laughs, but it’s a hollow sound, as if he knows the weight of the world is poised against them, ready to crash down.

“Right. Because you can’t keep reapin’ what you sow,” I reply, stepping further into the room, eyes locked on my father.

His expression shifts, anger flickering in the depths of his eyes—a mirror of the hatred and anger raging inside me. With awave, he dismisses the men beside him, their hesitance palpable before slipping back into the shadows.

But before they can disappear out of sight, Five takes out his gun and fires rapidly, hitting each man in the center of their foreheads, making them drop to the floor like flies. Tonight wasn't supposed to happen like this, but we all know how fast plans change. I just don't know if I'll be able to live with myself if Cali resents me for doing this without her. So I send her a quick text, telling her the new plan and where I'm at, hoping I can hold my father off until she gets here.

“This ends tonight. No more hiding behind your fucking walls or your men.” I glare at him, noticing the slight look of fear circling his eyes as he glances at the four dead men on the basement floor, knowing his time is up any second.

“Brave words for someone who’s just as guilty as anyone else in this room,” he spits, the venom in his voice slicing through the tension.

“Guilty? Oh, I’ve played my part, but tonight, it’s your turn to face the fucking music.” Every word tastes like iron against my tongue, a slice of defiance that I never knew I could wield.

“Do you think you can fucking walk in here and strip me of my power? You’re fucking nothing without me!” He growls, stepping closer, the space between us crackling with unresolved animosity.

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