by Wes Markin
“We haven’t done anything,” Devin said, weeping. “We wouldn’t be that stupid.”
Blake glared at his son. “Devin, mind your manners.” Blake focused on Jotham. “I’m sorry, Jo. Youngsters these days, you know.”
Jotham shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m sure we spoke our minds back when, eh?”
Blake smiled. It was excruciating; they’d made a mess of his face. He nodded, forcing back the pain, sensing some hope in the rapport he was building with Jotham.
“Do you know why I chose to dig the pit here?” Jotham pointed down.
A shiver ran down Blake’s spine. No, not that infernal hole. Let’s discuss anything but that. He shook his head.
“I’ve a lot of land. Too much, I wonder. It’s hard to keep control of it all. There’s so much energy in nature.” He raised a finger, easily commanding their silence easily. He kept it there for a short time. “Can you hear it? Crackling?”
All Blake heard was the wind in the trees and the shuffling in the pit behind him, but he nodded, desperate to humor Jotham.
“Here is where it is strongest, Blake. The energy. Right here, where you kneel. Something about these trees.” He pointed at the branches reaching like long, gnarled fingers, beckoning to them. “So, this is where I came to take control. Have I chosen right, Blake?”
“Of course, Jo. No one questions your authority.”
Jotham brushed long hair from his eyes. One of his eyebrows was raised.
“No one,” Blake said.
Jotham smiled again. He took a long, deep breath through his nose. He looked as if he was enjoying the stench that was repulsing Devin and Sean. He stepped alongside Blake so he was on the edge of his pit.
Blake realized he could throw his weight against the old bastard and send him sprawling into his own hellhole. But then what? Face down four rifles? He felt Jotham’s hand on his shoulder again—firm and tight.
“If you answer this question now, Blake, only one of your beloved family has to go into the pit this evening.”
Blake felt as if an invisible hand had reached in and clutched his heart. “Jo, I … I―”
Jotham shushed him. “Only one, Blake. My gift to you. Remember the importance of control? Please take the amount of control I’m offering you.”
Blake opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out, and before he knew it, Jotham was speaking again. “Your sons’ contributions have been light. Maybe it was only one of your little bastards, maybe it was both, but it’s up to you to set the record straight.” His hand remained clamped to Blake’s shoulder.
The elderly farmer still had his mouth open. “I don’t know anything about this. Jo … please. This is the first I’ve heard of it!”
“Again, that maybe so … maybe, maybe. Look, Blake. Sometimes the actual truth can be irrelevant. But what is relevant is we have something to maintain the illusion. Without it, I could lose control. I could lose everything.”
“Jo, they’re good boys …” Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
“Blake. If you give one of your sons to the pit and we restore equilibrium, you and your other son get to go home.”
“Dad,” Sean said, crying harder now and struggling to speak, “I didn’t do anything.”
My most gentle boy, Sean, always so sensitive. Your mother’s favourite.
“I didn’t skim either, Dad. He’s wrong. He’s got it so fucking wrong.”
And then there was Devin. Headstrong. A man always on fire. He looked between his two sons.
“I must press you for a choice, Blake. I have to get back. My dogs are expecting their supper.”
Blake glared up at Jotham. Gone was any attempt to build rapport, to humor him. The rumours were true. The bastard reserved whatever compassion he did possess for his dogs. “It was me,” Blake said, crying as hard as Sean now. “I forced them to do it. I told them to keep some back for us. These last couple years have been awful. The farm is—”
Jotham took his hand from Blake’s shoulder and stepped backward. “Make a choice.”
“It was me!” Blake’s voice rose as he spit a mixture of saliva, tears, and blood.
Jotham sighed. “That’s not an illusion I can sell.”
Blake looked between the long, pale faces of his two boys again. He wished he could embrace both, draw them tight against him. He loved his children so very much. “You can’t make me choose between my boys. You just can’t.”
“I respect that. I genuinely do.” Jotham nodded and raised his hand. “I also anticipated it.”
Two people emerged from the same patch of trees where Jotham had.
Blake recognized the tallest one—Anthony Rogers. His dad owned the general store on Main Street. Anthony had helped on the Thompson farm a few years back before he’d taken up work with Jotham—a fate that now befell most of the youth in Blue Falls.
Anthony held the arm of a much smaller person. A burlap sack was over their head.
A child? Blake thought. Surely not a child? As they neared, Blake saw her familiar dirty gray jumper and muddy white Converse sneakers, and he felt his world turning in on itself. “No … no … It can’t …”
Then, her cries—the final confirmation it was Maddie, even before Anthony brought her close and removed the sack. Her mouth was taped, and her cheeks were streaked with black eyeliner. Her eyes met Blake’s, and she broke away from Anthony. She managed to make it all the way to her father before one of the other soldiers seized her arm and dragged her back again.
“Let go of my daughter!” Blake lurched forward on his knees. “She’s fifteen!”
Cole, another of the MacLeoid army, stepped forward and kicked Blake in the side, knocking all the air from his body.
He folded over, pressed his face to the cold soil and gasped for air.
“It may seem cruel, Blake, but smaller empires than this one were built on crueller acts,” Jotham said.
Taking another gulp of air, Blake sat upright. “Please … not my daughter … not my daughter, not my Maddie. She never hurt anyone! Please, Jo! I’ll give you anything!”
Jotham pushed back Blake’s damp, thinning hair. “There is nothing you can give me, Blake. I gave you the opportunity. I told you one of your family would go into the pit. You could have chosen.”
“I’ll choose then. Take one of my sons if you must! It’s their fault! But not her … Anyone but her!”
“But this suits me now, Blake. Don’t you see? It makes no sense to rewind the clock and change the outcome. The punishment is just, and I get to retain both of my mules.” Jotham turned to his son. “Ayden, the blade.”
Ayden shook his head.
“What?” Jotham said.
“Cole wants to this time.”
“I didn’t ask Cole.”
“I don’t mind, sir,” Cole said.
Jotham held up a finger in Cole’s direction without looking at him. He kept his eyes firmly on Ayden’s.
“Please, Father, let Cole. I don’t feel so―”
“Cole,” Jotham said without breaking eye contact. “Give my boy the blade.”
“Yes, sir.” Cole handed the hunting knife to Ayden.
“Now, Ayden …” Jotham paused to take a deep breath. “I want you to cut her.”
“Dad, I―”
“Cut. Her.”
Blake screamed from the ground and tried to get to his feet.
Another of Jotham’s men pressed him to the ground by his shoulders.
“Get your fucking hands off me!”
“Isaac, keep the rifles on the two brothers,” Jotham said.
“Yes, sir,” Isaac said, readying his rifle.
“Do something Devin! Sean! This is your sister!” Blake shouted.
“They’ll shoot us,” Devin said.
“Fucking cowards,” Blake said and writhed when he felt the soldier’s knee in his back, then he was pinned face down. He managed to raise his eyes to see Anthony still holding his trembling daughter, and Ayden was o
n his knees, holding her foot, with the serrated edge of the knife next to her heel.
Jotham said, “Slightly higher than last time. Less mess.”
When Ayden looked up at Jotham, Blake noticed Ayden’s hunter’s eyes were no more. They must have been for show. He was as scared as he was.
“Do it!”
Ayden sliced. Blood bubbled from her heel.
Maddie threw back her head. The wail rumbled deep inside her but never found the air because of the tape across her mouth. Her leg buckled, but Anthony held her upright.
“No! Stop … please!” Blake shouted.
Jotham looked at Anthony. “Throw her in.”
Anthony’s eyes widened. He looked down at Ayden kneeling.
“What are you looking at him for?” Jotham asked. “Throw her in.”
Blake pleaded. “Anthony … remember, you used to play with Maddie on the farm. You used to chase her around the barn―”
“Throw her in!” Jotham shouted.
Anthony swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He threw her. There was a moment of silence and then a thump.
“Maddie …” Blake said, wanting to reach toward the pit but unable to because his hands were bound. “Maddie.” Tears streamed down his face. He pinned his face to the soil and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard his daughter’s loud moaning from the pit. He heard the shuffling noises from earlier intensifying. He didn’t want to hear. He rocked his head from side to side, rubbing dirt into his face. But he could still hear.
Rustling, movement, moaning …
“No! God, no! My Maddie! What have you done?”
He could hear the bastard’s voice. The hot breath on the back of his neck was the only evidence that it wasn’t coming from within himself. “And now, Blake, we will take you home. But remember. The killing pit is always hungry. To anyone who asks, your daughter is out of town, now living with relatives. Should the story change, then we might just find ourselves back here … feeding the earth all over again.”
When the acoustic band started to ruin a Bryan Adams classic, Jake Pettman decided enough was enough. He finished his pint and winced. It was one of the worst IPAs he’d ever tasted.
“I’ll get that,” the barmaid who’d served him earlier said.
He put down the glass and kept his hand over the rim. “It’s fine. You’ve got your hands full.”
She smiled. “Wow. Have I stumbled upon a British gentleman?”
Jake nodded at the stack of pint glasses in her hand. “No. I just don’t want to end up in hospital.”
“Go on,” she said with another smile. “Let me impress you.”
He shrugged and took his hand off the glass.
She picked it up and added it to the stack.
He smiled. “Impressed. Now, can you juggle them on the way back?”
“If you want a show, there’s a band over there.”
“Is that what they are? I thought they were here to repair the instruments.”
“Don’t let old George hear you talking like that. He’s been playing here for as long as anyone can remember.”
“I guess if the customers could remember, they wouldn’t be here?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry, just being an idiot.”
“Well, most out-of-towners are. Where do you come from?”
“Wiltshire. South of England.”
“I’d love to say I’ve heard of it.”
“Stonehenge?”
She nodded. “Impressive. It’s on my bucket list.”
“Take it off. They fenced it off years ago. They won’t let you up close any more.”
“Well, we can’t offer you history like that, but you could take a look at the River Skweda. The main reason tourists come is to fish. Is that why you’re here?”
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Also by Wes Markin
A Lesson in Crime
Your student years should be the most carefree years of your life.
Not for Michael Yorke.
When a student party ends in violent murder, Michael Yorke begins to realise he harbours a fascination with crime which goes way beyond the norm.
Driven to discover the truth behind a series of murders which shocks the university community, Yorke turns his back on those closest to him: his girlfriend, Charlotte, and his best friend, Brandon.
With bloody and disastrous consequences.
A super-fast one-hour thrill ride, which will define the relentless and compassionate police officer who stars in One Last Prayer for the Rays
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Plus, get lots more exclusive content for a deeper look into Yorke’s world.
Also by Wes Markin
One Last Prayer for the Rays
"An explosive and visceral debut with the most terrifying of killers. Wes Markin is a new name to watch out for in crime fiction, and I can't wait to see more of Detective Yorke." – Bestselling Crime Author Stephen Booth
The disappearance of a young boy. An investigation paved with depravity and death. Can DCI Michael Yorke survive with his body and soul intact?
With Yorke's small town in the grip of a destructive snowstorm, the relentless detective uncovers a missing boy’s connection to a deranged family whose history is steeped in violence. But when all seems lost, Yorke refuses to give in, and journeys deep into the heart of this sinister family for the truth.
And what he discovers there will tear his world apart.
The Rays are here. It's time to start praying.
The shocking and exhilarating new crime thriller will have you turning the pages late into the night.
“A pool of blood, an abduction, swirling blizzards, a haunting mystery, yes, Wes Markin’s One Last Prayer for the Rays has all the makings of an absorbing thriller. I recommend that you give it a go.” – Alan Gibbons, Bestselling Author
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Also by Wes Markin
The Repenting Serpent
A vicious serial killer slithers from the darkness, determined to resurrect the ways of a long-dead civilisation.
When the ex-wife of one of DCI Michael Yorke’s closest allies is left mutilated and murdered, Yorke and his team embark on their greatest test yet. A deeply personal case that will push them to their very limits.
And as Yorke’s team are pulled further into the dark, the killer circles, preparing to strike again.
The Repenting Serpent is a true edge-of-the-seat, nail-biting page turner. Buy it now HERE
Also by Wes Markin
The Silence of Severance
Your wedding day should be the most unforgettable day of your life.
And this is one wedding that will never be forgotten.
When a police officer’s wedding day ends in brutality and chaos, DCI Michael Yorke is pulled away from his own wedding into the bloodiest chain of events Wiltshire has ever seen.
As a heatwave tightens its grip on Salisbury, Yorke and his team face a race against time to find the most sinister and intelligent adversary they have ever faced. Christian Severance.
But as the team chase Severance into the shadows of a dark past, Yorke’s own history starts to drag itself into the present …
Can they stop Christian Severance before he achieves the unthinkable? And will Yorke survive the revelations that claw at him from the darkness?
The Silence of Severance is a shocking and compulsive crime novel. Buy it now HERE
Acknowledgments
Before I name and shame the many wonderful people who have supported me on this journey thus far, I would just like to stop, take a breath, and consider what a wild ride this has been! I never imagined Yorke would find as many readers as he has done, and I am extremely proud of what he has achieved in his seven adventures. Although Christmas with the Cond
uit is the final DCI Yorke thriller, I would certainly never rule out the return of this great detective, and hopefully, one day, he may return in another series.
The biggest thank you must go to my wife. Jo makes all be possible. It is her support, and encouragement which really keeps me focused and on track.
I would also like to say thank you to other members of my family, Janet, Peter, Ian and Eileen for supporting me during my ‘creative holidays’ which can descend, without warning, at any moment of any day and leave me rather distracted. Thank you Hugo and Bea, who keep reminding me how important it is to enjoy every single minute of every day.
Thanks, as always, to Jake, who is always there to challenge and criticise (constructively!). Huge appreciation again to Debbie at The Cover Collection, who hit it out the park again with the front cover. Thank you to Aubrey Parsons who continues to breathe life into Yorke and co on the audiobooks.
Thank you to Jay Arscott, Kath Middleton, Jo Fletcher, Karen Ashman and Jenny Cook for ruthlessly editing. Thank you to all my Beta Readers who took the time to help put Yorke on track – Keith, Carly, Russ, Donna, Holly and Alex. Thank you to the bloggers who remain behind me – Shell, Susan, Dee, Caroline and Jason.
I hope you enjoyed Yorke’s Second Box Set, and I hope you all join me and Jake Pettman when he stumbles upon a strange pit in a small town called Blue Falls in New England …
