Page 201 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

It’s not time yet.

More guests are coming, so we have to wait.

We have to let these sick fucks sign their own warrants in blood.

But every minute we sit here feels like betrayal.

Drinks are passed around on the feed, waiters smiling like this is some fucking country club gala instead of a goddamn flesh market.

Snacks.

Cocktails.

Laughter.

I want to put my fist through the screen and put a bullet in their fucking heads.

Poppy’s gone pale, her hands trembling slightly where they’re curled around the edge of the seat.

When I check on her, she waves me off with a tight, broken smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I just...” she starts, then stops, swallowing hard.

“I just wish we could do something other than wait,” she whispers, blinking too fast, her voice starting to crack around the edges. Her eyes shine, unshed tears making them glow in the flickering light from the screens.

“Hey,” I say, voice low. I reach out, catching her hand where it’s clenched tight in her lap, forcing her to meet my gaze.

“You got us here,” I remind her, low and certain. “Without you, none of these bastards would ever see the inside of a cell.”

The words seem to land.

She nods, biting her lip, clutching my hand tighter before she lets go.

She’s still pale, but there’s fire in her eyes again when she finally lifts her chin.

The comms crackle to life.

“All teams—final address received. Move to positions.”

I shove open the side door of the van, boots hitting the ground hard.

Pull my gun and rack the slide.

One last check—it’s loaded.

We’re fucking ready.

Ahead of me, three of our best are already moving into formation.

I’m the last behind them.

Focused. Head down. Heart hammering.

The second we breach that building, all hell’s going to break loose.

“Declan.”

My name stops me cold.

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