Page 2 of Shadow

“Yes, you did.”

Before I could say another word, his fist connected with my face, causing me to fall back, hitting my head hard against the ground. Moaning, I curled into a ball just as his foot connected with my ribs. Gasping for air, I moaned as I knew he broke a few of my ribs. It was a familiar injury. One I’d survived many times before. But when he grabbed my hair and yanked my head up, I knew this man intended to kill me. I saw his determination clearly in his eyes.

He was a killer.

“Hey!” someone shouted, as the man kept punching me repeatedly until my body went lifeless in his hands. With a loud crack, my head hit the pavement again as my savior tackled the man to the ground. Rolling to my side, I tried to see what was happening when my attacker fled.

Moaning, I rolled to my knees and coughed up blood.

“Don’t move, honey,” my savior said. “Shit. You need an ambulance.”

“Don’t touch me!” I screamed, stumbling away from the man. Logically, I knew he was only trying to help, but I didn’t know him. Shaking my head, I croaked, “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

Fuck, my head was pounding.

I couldn’t focus and I knew I was going to be sick.

Holding my stomach, I winced when my fingers touched my ribs.

Yep. He broke them.

“Honey, you look like minced meat. It’s not a good look. Here, let me help you up?”

“No! Don’t touch me!” I screamed, as someone else tackled my savior to the ground and started beating on him. Falling back to the ground, I closed my eyes, trying to stop the drum solo pounding in my head.

Fuck, this was bad.

Turning my head, I saw the newcomer grab my savior’s head and, with a hard twist, my savior fell to the ground, lifeless beside me.

Looking away, I closed my eyes when I felt someone push my hair away from my face. “Hang on, Angel. Help is coming.”

Blinking a few times, the last thing I saw was the most beautiful, haunted silver-blue eyes I’d ever seen before as I fell deep into a black void.

Chapter One

Shadow

One month ago,

Screams echoed all around me as the rotten smell of death seeped into my soul. They were everywhere. There was no escape. I saw them lurking in the shadows. Their eyes condemned me for what I’d done. Their faces let me know it would be my time soon. Moving about the room, I could hear the slosh of blood as I made my way to the center of the room. The floor was sticky with their remains.

Carefully moving forward, I noticed a familiar face.

“Brother?” I heard him whisper and closed my eyes to make him go away. They were all here. Every one of them. Men I laughed with, fought with and killed.

Every face was different, but each had the same question. “Why?”

I wanted so much to tell them I was sorry. That I was only following orders. But that was a lie. No one forced me to do it. That was what most didn’t understand.

I killed them all because I wanted to.

Needed to.

I wanted to see their blood on my hands.

That was my job. I was the executioner. When a person hung before me, I knew how their life would end. I chose how much pain they endured. I chose when they took their last breath, and I watched in rapture as their life-force left their bodies.

Some cultures believed that when a person took the life of another, the dead soul anchored itself to the next living soul, unable to move forward. I could attest to that. I had many anchors weighing me down. The weight of their souls took their toll and not even alcohol could erase what I had done.

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