Page 80 of Vicious Hearts

I can't help but laugh. Those pieces are now in my treasure box, in their own special compartment. One of the few things I just had to bring with me when I relocated.

Momma's basementwasperfect for my hobby. Soundproof, with lots of space. No one poking around. The cops will find it soon, and then they'll know what they are dealing with.

I had to leave my writing and my pictures. I had so many beautiful photographs. I spared a few to decorate Graham's death scene and left some at his house for fun, but there are thousands more on the basement walls. No time to collect them.

But I brought my treasures. The most important thing of all. The collection isn't complete, of course—I had to sacrifice one set to Farraday, to make sure he could back up his confession. The idea that a serial killer would take the fingers and not keep them was nonsense.

I knew it was a risk not giving Farradayallmy treasures, but I couldn't bear to part with them, just like I couldn't bear to part with Farraday himself. Luckily for me, Hillard was a desperate man under pressure. He didn't see anything he didn't want to see.

Creaking of floorboards upstairs. I click off the safety on my gun.

Benedikt Voratov.A Bratva man, a fixer. He called me the same day he went to see Graham Fisher, long after the boy's body was found.

I was still ansty—I killed the kid because I just couldn't resist, but I wasn't sure whether his visits to my house were indeed a secret. It turned out the profiler had me on his list of Graham's acquaintances and just wanted some background color. I played it down, said I knew nothing, and the conversation was over in less than a minute. He didn't even remember my name when he came by the office with Roxy. Ignorant prick.

Something tells me he's gonna remember itthistime.

I should have killed Roxy as soon as I heard the noises upstairs, but if I can get the drop on Ben, I can take her a present. Seeing what happens when I throw his head into her cage will be hilarious.

"Benedikt!" I yell as I advance up the stairs. "The little bitch is already dead. You're too late!"

30

Roxy

Oliver is shouting. I can't hear him clearly, but he's laughing.

If Ben kills him, I'll get out of here. If Oliver kills Ben, I'm going to die horribly.

They might kill eachother, in which case Eddie and I will starve in this underground hellhole.

I glance at Eddie. He hasn't moved. I don't know how long he's been here, how long he's been unconscious. I assume he's drugged, but when did he last have water?

The cellar door opens, making me jump. I didn't hear footsteps overhead, not close by, anyway.

A dragging, scraping sound. Someone is crawling down the stairs. Heavy breathing, strangled gasps. There's a short cry as they fall the rest of the way, hitting the stone floor hard.

A face appears around the corner. A woman, leaning on the ground with her right hand, propped up on her left elbow. Her back and shoulder are covered in blood, her hair matted.

It's Moira Coffey.

She creeps to me, agonizingly slow, like a zombie. I'm paralyzed with terror, unable to move a muscle. As she draws nearer, I see her fingers are missing on her left hand. When she opens her mouth, her jaw judders for a few seconds, and she has to flex it to calm it down.

"Roxy," she slurs. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

My cage door is still open. Moira raises a shaking hand to my face and peels the tape away.

"Jesus, Moira. What did he do to you?"

"Who? Oh," she smiles weakly, "well, Oliver came to visit me and took Eddie, brought him here. We came to collect you, and then he…" she pauses for a long time, as though she's lagging, "...cut off my fingers. He said he would spare Eddie and me if I helped him."

She produces a small knife from her jacket pocket and busies herself with my bonds. I decide not to ask her anything more, as she needs her energy. It's a slow process as she's rapidly losing strength, but eventually, the tape is off, and the zip tie is cut away. My right hand is free, and I straighten my leg, wincing as my knee joint clicks.

Moira drops the knife, and I grab it, immediately working on freeing my left hand and foot. Moira retreats, moving laboriously. She opens Eddie's crate and crawls beside him, spooning his little body.

I'm free. I crawl out of the cage and stand, stretching my limbs. Everything hurts, and my head feels like a bowling ball, threatening to snap my neck with its weight.

I drop to my knees and reach into Eddie's cage, wanting to help, but Moira bats feebly at my hand.

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