Page 30 of Pitch Dark

“Whatever you did can’t be that bad.”

“Cheat on my wife—ha!” He lets out a humorless sound. “I’d cheat on her a thousand times if she were still alive. Anything other than what I did. Anything,” he moans, the agony in his voice resonating deep within my bones.

“I’m not a damn priest, but if you’re seeking some absolution, I can’t help until you tell me what you did.”

“I killed her,” he mumbled drunkenly, so soft I almost missed it. Almost. “A girl… a, a woman… fuck me, man, I didn’t mean to do it. And then I panicked and dumped her in the woods. Oh, God. Oh, shit. What have I done? What did I do?”

Anything else he says is cut off by a roaring in my ears so loud, the rest of the bar goes silent. I fly from my stool, the wooden thing crashing to the ground behind me, but it doesn’t make a sound. Not to me. The only thing I can hear is my own heart pulsating in my ears. I can’t think, only react, and that’s what I do. I go with instinct. My training flies out the fucking door, and I snap.

“Niko!” Someone shouts as I throw my entire body weight at the guy in the corner. To his credit, he doesn’t even flinch as my one-hundred-and-eighty-five-pound body flies through the air. I wrap my fist into the soiled shirt at his chest and hoist him off the stool, which joins mine tipped over behind us. Pressing his back up against the wall, I send old memorabilia signs crashing to the floor.

“Please just kill me. I can’t live with this guilt any longer.”

“Shut. Up,” I spit. I sound controlled, but I’m barely hanging on the precipice. I rear my right arm back, but on the forward swing, someone wraps their arm around my bicep and hauls meback.

I fight. The old man sinks to the floor, mumbling and crying as tears run down his dirty face. I get my arm free and lunge. I’m going to beat this guy to fucking hell, alcohol be damned. He deserves it. He deserves to sit and take everything I dish out. I’ll go to prison, but killing him would be the sweetest revenge.

“Niko, stop!”

Another set of hands grabs my other arm, but not before I land an elbow in somebody’s gut, and the two of them manage to yank me back. They don’t stop until I’m clear across the bar, and they’ve shoved my ass into a chair.

“Let go,” I snarl, finally looking up to see who dared to stop me. I’m slightly surprised then immediately annoyed. “What are you doing here?” I ask Tavers, who’s standing beside Tom. His face is red and he’s breathing hard, clutching the table beside him for support.

“Saving your ass,” he growls back at me. “What were you thinking? A bar fight? Are you trying to land yourself in jail?”

The reminder of fighting and jail sends my gaze flickering over to the guy lying on the floor, and my anger returns with a vengeance.

“Call Captain. And a squad,” I tell him, not taking my eyes off the man.

“On it,” Tom answers and rushes to call 9-1-1.

Tavers follows my line of sight before blocking it with his body. “Tell me what’s going on,” he says low.

“He just confessed to a murder.”

My friend’s eyes widen slightly before narrowing. “Did he say whose?”

“No.” I clench my hands at my sides.

“Niko…” Tavers tilts his head and continues, “I know what you’re thinking, but chances are—?

“Two girls have gone missing from this county in the past decade, so chances are it’s one of ‘em,” I hiss agitatedly and run a hand through my hair.

“So we bring him in. Nothing wrong with that, Niko, but you can’t beat the guy to a bloody pulp. He’s drunk and so are you, which already throws a wrench into this. You know as well as anybody we have to do this right. We do this by the book.”

I glare at him.

“Look, you want to do this then grab some water and get in my damn truck. I’ll wait for an officer, and we’ll go to the station together.”

After another few seconds of glaring, I do as he says. He’s right, and I’m drunk. The last thing I want to do is fuck this up.

* * *

We followthe officer with the drunk man back to the station. Tavers goes to find the captain while I head to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me from the old mirror above the sink. I grip the square porcelain bowl with white knuckles, barely holding back the need to throw my fist into the glass. Alcohol sloshes in my gut. I blow out a deep breath and lower my head, throwing more cold water onto my face.

I can do this.

Holding that thought, I leave the bathroom in search of Tavers and Captain. The two of them are outside the interrogation room; Captain with his hands on his hips and Tavers holding a folder in his hand.

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