Page 116 of At the Edge of Surrender

Three.

Three of the most perverted.

They sat on two worn couches that faced each other with a coffee table in the middle, passing a bottle of vodka between themselves, a single bright bulb glowing from overhead. The farthest recesses and corners of the cavernous building were concealed in the dark.

Slipping inside, I crept through the gloom.

My chest stretched tight, and short, panted breaths scraped from my lungs. Breaths I did my best to cloak as I edged closer to the monsters that sat unaware.

Believing they would get away with the foulest of deeds.

I edged forward, keeping my boots silent on the cement floor, the knife both heavy and light in my gloved hand.

The fiends were completely ignorant as I emerged from the shadows, coming up behind one bastard with his back to me.

Then I rushed, fisting my hand in his hair and dragging the blade across his throat before any of them knew I was there.

Blood gushed and he slumped forward.

A roar of shocked fear ripped out of the other two when they realized they were about to meet their end, and the bastard next to the guy I’d just dropped scrambled to get away.

I whirled the blade his direction, driving it deep into his chest before he had the chance to move.

Adrenaline coursed with the fury. My thirst for retribution and justice so thick I was nearly choking on it. This one thing I could do seemed insignificant up against this pervading calamity.

But it mattered for someone.

The fucker on the opposite couch was on his feet and pulling a gun from his waistband when I pried the blade from the second guy’s chest, and I shifted and threw the knife across the table.

It met its target.

Finding its home right above his sternum.

It dropped him straight to his knees.

Blood gushed through his fingers as he gripped at the spot like he could stop the flow that was going to filch his pathetic life.

Dark eyes wide as he stared up at me as I rounded the couch and came to stand in front of him.

“You disgusting piece of shit. You deserve so much more than the mercy I just gave you.”

But I didn’t have time to enact the vengeance he had earned.

I ripped the knife from his throat, motherfucker choking and spluttering blood as he flopped face first onto the cement floor. Then I took his hand and pressed his finger to his phone that was on the table, dialed 9-1-1, then I was gone.

Once again camouflaged where I waited in the distance. Listening for the sirens to come. For the shouts and upheaval.

For the shocked cries of relief.

Only then did I move, knowing my job was done.

TWENTY-NINE

KANE

Sunlight scatteredthrough the breaks in the leaves as I traveled down the gravel lane toward my house. My bike vibrated below me, its power thrumming through my veins.

It was nearing four, the late afternoon settling in.

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