by Laken Cane
“Through there,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
The fighting and looting of Wormwood had died down, but still she heard distant cries and thumps and once, an explosion.
But there was something right in front of her that made everything else fade to the background.
She couldn’t place the sound at first, but the closer she got, the more familiar it became.
Shit.
A nail gun.
Thwack, thwack, thwack!
A weak but prolonged moan rose through the smoky air, and it held agony. Distress. Looming death.
“Kill me.”
She shuddered when the whisper reached her ears.
The assassin wouldn’t have heard it, but she did.
Thwack!
She didn’t hear the victim make another sound.
Perhaps he was finally beyond speaking.
She wanted to burst through the undergrowth and into the clearing and at long last, put an end to River County’s serial killer.
But she didn’t. Couldn’t.
She dropped to her knees before the wall of green, fear squeezing her heart in a tight fist. A ball of dread lay in the pit of her stomach, and her eyes were hot, dry, and wide. Too wide.
She needed to blink.
She didn’t.
She did not want to look. Did not want to see.
Because she knew.
She knew what—who—was waiting on the other side of the thick tangle of undergrowth, the only thing that stood between her, the serial killer, and his victim.
His last victim.
Finally, she lifted trembling fingers and parted the bushes just enough to get a view of the clearing beyond.
Murderer and victim were frozen in an eerie, incomprehensible tableau. The victim’s mouth was wide open, and his killer leaned over him, sucking the…air, or his essence, maybe, as it left him.
She closed her eyes.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Will pressed his lips to her ear. “You knew.”
Yeah.
She opened her eyes and stood. Unconcerned about making too much noise, she forced herself through the thick vegetation and went to confront the serial killer.
Chapter Sixteen
The victim was dead.
She couldn’t have saved him. By the time she found him, he was already too close to the end.
“Bill,” she said, her voice hoarse and raw.
Bill Rice twitched, then pulled away from the victim with a sound similar to the one a child made when it slurped the last bit of purple slush from a frozen fair drink.
He even wiped his mouth, though his lips had not touched his victim’s and no fluid had passed between them.
She said the only thing she could think to say. “You should’ve told me. I’d have helped you.”
When he looked at her, his eyes were empty.
No.
That wasn’t true. His eyes were cesspools in which putrid debris floated and swirled, but there was no spark in their dark depths. No hope.
“You can’t help me, Rune,” he said, and sounded so much like the Bill of old that she clutched her chest. She’d nearly forgotten that the man standing before her was Bill.
“I have to take you in. The Annex can help you. I won’t let Eugene put you away. I won’t let him kill you.”
He smiled. “Rune.”
She frowned. “What?” Then, she understood. “Shit,” she whispered. “He knows.”
“He not only knows, he has pictures. And film. DNA and fingerprints and a signed fucking confession, just in case the other stuff isn’t enough.” He laughed, and almost, almost sounded amused.
“Why, Bill? What the fuck are you?”
He scooped his nail gun off the ground and placed it carefully into a black bag lying beside the body. “There are two people in the world like me. I’m a type of lich. Like little Fie.”
She didn’t want to talk about Fie and what she was or wasn’t. “You’ve been killing humans in cold blood,” she said, trying to ignore the buzzing sound in her head. “Murdering humans. Are you telling me you don’t care?”
He nudged the murdered man’s leg with the toe of his shoe. “I have to kill, Rune. I have to suck life into myself, or I will suffer horribly until I die. Have suffered horribly. I’m the same as a wild beast or a hawk or a spider. I kill to live. It’s all about survival.”
“But you’re not a wild beast. You could have killed yourself.”
“A man’s will to survive is strong. I tried to end my life once. Tried to…starve myself.” He shook his head. “It didn’t work. Now, I no longer want to. So I kill evil.”
“You kill only bad men who do bad shit—probably to kids and animals. You’ve convinced yourself you’re a fucking hero.”
He shrugged his bag over his shoulders. “You do the same thing, Rune. I’m the same as you.”
“You are nothing like me.” But she pushed her hand against her stomach.
“You kill men on the battlefield. You kill men who hurt Others. Your kills are sanctioned by the agency for which you work. Your kills happen to be legal—for the most part. But you kill, and you take in their blood to survive. Just like me.”
She straightened her spine. “I kill to protect. You just kill.”
His hard gaze softened. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t want to hurt you. Perhaps there is no defense for me. I kill. I kill because I am an Other with a black heart and a desire I can’t fight.” His voice broke, for a second. “I had control, you know. For a very, very long time. Not total control, but if I killed occasionally, I could function. I could wait until the urge was so strong that I could no longer ignore it. I had to eat, after all. But now…”
“Now you’re out of control. What changed?”
“I don’t want to make excuses.”
“Then don’t. Just tell me the truth.”
“Someone I cared about became my partner in crime.” His voice was barely above a murmur, but she heard him. “That person helped me see that what I did was necessary. We cleared the world of evil. The urge took over. Consumed me. The more I killed the more I needed to kill.”
“Elizabeth,” she whispered.
Mom and dad.
“Rune.” The assassin’s voice wafted from the shadows. “Your crew is coming. What do you want to do?”
The assassin was protecting her.
Maybe she was having a nightmare.
Oh, how she wished that were true.
She did not want Jack to see Bill. Not like that. Didn’t want him to know what the older man was. What he did.
But she would tell him.
“Distract them,” she told the assassin, calmly. Coldly. “Lead them away from here.”
Bill held up a hand. “Rune. I am still me. I am still Bill. Give yourself time to accept it and—”
“Why the nails?” she asked. “Just…why the nails?”
“Coffin nails. They absorb the overflow so I am not stunned and incapacitated by the spark I consume.”
“Sure,” she said, nodding. “Sure.”
“Rune…”
“You enjoy torturing them.”
“I don’t torture all of them. Some of them deserve it. I don’t go out and find strangers off the streets. I research them. Despite your belief that it doesn’t excuse it, I do take out the evil ones. And you’re right. Some of them do terrible things to children and animals. And women. And men. They torture indiscriminately. It enrages me.”
His voice had become tight with fury. “I was once one of those children. These men…they are sadistic, terrible men. I know their stories. I know what they do, and you are right. I enjoy killing them.” He leaned toward her. “Enjoy it.”
“I know,” she murmured. “I know you do, Bill.”
He shuddered, then ran a hand over his pale, haggard face. “I’m so sorry. It horrifies me. I’m torn. I’m so torn. I’m so horrified. Oh, God, Rune…” He began sobbing, his slim s
houlders shaking as he cried. “I hate myself for what I do. But I love it when I do it.”
His laughter mixed with his sobs. Madness, guilt, and pain, all in a thick, messy soup of horror.
“Bill,” she said, gently. “I’m sorry.”
She pulled him into her arms. She knew exactly how he felt. There’d been a time when she’d hidden and hated what she was. What she needed. What she’d done.
Just like Bill.
Fuck me.
“You have to forgive me,” he said, his voice thick.
His arms felt like sticks, hard and knobby, as he squeezed her to him. His chest was thin, his ribs prominent.
No, Bill didn’t like what he was. He didn’t really enjoy being a monster, a murderer. He was sick, and it showed.
“Don’t tell the crew,” he said. “Please don’t tell them.”
Then, when she said nothing, he sniffed and pulled back, just a little. “Do you forgive me? Or will you hate me?”
She stared up into his eyes, at once the familiar eyes of a friend and the cold eyes of a stranger. “I don’t hate you. And what you did, what you are…that’s between you and your God. But Bill…I protect.” The last was whispered, and she could barely get the words out. “I protect.”
She had driven a claw through his heart before he even realized she’d shot them out.
Perhaps he’d expected her to kill him. Perhaps, like Gordon the Gargoyle, he’d even counted on it.
Or maybe he’d hoped she’d leave him alone. Him and his monster.
But she pierced his heart and then lowered him to the ground beside his victim—his last victim—and finally, she walked away.
She had no tears, and she had no doubt.
Because doubt would have shredded her heart as surely as her claws had shredded his.
Chapter Seventeen
The assassin was waiting for her.
He stood stiff and still, as always, his eyes glittering through the eyeholes of his mask.
“My crew?” she asked.
“I told them you wanted them to meet you at the gates.”
“Good.” Her lips were numb and she kept rubbing them together, concentrating on that instead of the fact that she’d just killed Bill Rice.
That she’d have to tell her crew—her friends—that she’d killed him. That he was the serial killer. That Eugene fucking knew.
Eugene had been helping cover up shit. He’d say the Annex took care of its own. Just as he’d say she should have taken care of Bill.
But she’d killed him.
How was that different than Bill killing all those humans?
“Fuck,” she whispered.
Will said nothing, just kept pace beside her.
She was glad. She didn’t want to be alone.
“Assassin—”
“Not my business.”
“Thanks.”
I killed Bill.
She’d depended on him. Always had.
He’d been her friend.
He’d even been something of a father. To all of them.
And because he killed assholes, she’d killed him.
“Fuck,” she cried. She stopped walking and bent over, her hands on her knees. “Son of a bitch!”
“Control yourself,” Will said, and he sounded almost angry.
“I killed a friend,” she spat, but her anger at the assassin chased back the desolation. Just a little, but it was enough. “I might need a minute.”
“You don’t have a minute. Your crew is coming.”
She straightened and took a deep breath. Yeah, she’d tell them. But not right then. She couldn’t.
“Rune,” Jack called, striding toward her. “You okay?”
“Yeah, Jack.”
He frowned, his stare roving her face. “Something happened.”
“Shit,” she whispered. Then, “Not right now.”
He narrowed his eyes and looked at the assassin. “What did you do to her?”
Will said nothing.
Raze walked to Rune’s side. “Rune?”
“I just need a minute. I have something to say, but I need to wait until…”
Until when?
She didn’t know.
“Just not right now,” she murmured.
“All right,” Jack said.
The twins watched her, their gazes shielded and careful. After they’d been imprisoned on Spikemoss Mountain, they’d changed.
They understood secrets.
And they knew she was keeping something bad to herself.
“Let’s go home,” Levi said. “Let’s leave Wormwood to heal herself.” He walked to her and took her arm. “We’re done here.”
Would she have killed Jack or Raze or the twins if they’d been the serial killer?
If they’d been twisted inside, half mad, suffering…killing.
Murdering humans.
Would she have killed them?
A black animal streaked by them, there and gone in seconds.
“Was that…?”
“Grim,” Rune said.
And if he ate Bill’s heart, she was shooting the mutant bastard. “Where the fuck is Roma?” she asked, just that second realizing the girl was missing.
“She’s by the cars,” Raze said.
“Why?”
He cleared his throat.
“She and Raze had a fight,” Jack said, suppressing a grin. “And she stomped off.”
Raze crossed his arms. “There’s a little something wrong with that girl.”
“There’s a little something wrong with all of us.” She looked around at all the dead littering the ground. Humans, mostly. Others, as well, but mostly humans. “We killed a lot of people tonight.”
Jack shrugged. “We’re Shiv Crew.”
“It’s what we do,” Denim finished.
“But does that make it right?” Rune looked at them. “Does it?”
Raze frowned. “The hell is wrong with you? Fuck yeah, it’s right. Motherfuckers came in here with guns blazing, laying waste to Wormwood and shooting Others in the back.” He pointed to a hole in his shirt. “Assholes shot me. If I hadn’t been wearing a vest I could be dead right now. Don’t be questioning what we do, Rune. Don’t be doing that shit.”
She took a deep breath, then blew it out. He was right. She grinned, despite Bill’s body lying cold and empty on the graveyard ground.
She would grieve.
But she’d do it later.
“All right, then.” She straightened her spine. “You all go back to my house. Levi, tell Ellie I’ll be there in a little while. I have something to take care of.”
“Want some company?” Jack asked.
“No.”
Roma, of course, refused to let Rune go without her, and Rune didn’t care enough to argue. “Fine,” she said. “Get in the car.”
“What are you going to do?” Roma asked, when they were halfway there.
“I have to talk to Eugene.”
“What happened back there?”
Rune hesitated. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Roma studied her for a long moment. “You seem different.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure. Meaner, somehow.” Roma nodded. “Yes. Meaner.”
“I am mean, Roma.”
But Roma shook her head. “You’ve been softer. Holding back. Since the baby—no, since the pregnancy. Now you’re different.”
“You’re wrong. I was different then. Now, I’m back to normal.”
“I like it. I mean,” Roma amended hastily, “as long as it’s not turned toward me.”
Rune grunted and parked the car in the front Annex lot, both eager and filled with dread at having to admit to Eugene that Bill was dead. Somehow, that’d make it real.
He was leaning against his secretary’s desk, laughing at something she’d said.
“Rune,” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Need a word, Eugene.” Her voice wa
s hoarse and she couldn’t quite bring herself to look him the eye. She was afraid she’d cry, and she did not want to cry.
He strode to his office door and pushed it open. “In you go,” he told Rune. “You,” he ordered Roma, “will wait out here.”
“No,” Roma shot right back, “I will not.”
“Young lady—”
“She comes in,” Rune said.
He sighed. “Whatever you say. Have a seat. Coffee?”
“No,” Rune answered. “I want to finish this and get home.”
He inclined his head and went to sit behind his desk. “What happened, Rune?”
But before she could answer, his phone rang. He glanced at the display and frowned. “I have to get this. One second.”
“Yeah,” she said, and sat back in her chair to wait.
“Hello,” he answered. “Are you in trouble? I see. Okay. She’s here. Oh my. My office. Now.” He looked at Rune, his eyes full of something she couldn’t identify.
And her stomach began to hurt.
He hung up, not taking his stare from her face.
“What?” she asked. “What is it?”
He steepled his fingers. “Rune.” His voice was almost…tender. “You’ve had a hard night.”
She swallowed hard. “Who the fuck was that, Eugene?”
Then someone tapped on his door.
“Come in,” Eugene said.
And Bill Rice, alive and well, walked into the room.
Chapter Eighteen
Rune didn’t realize she’d stood until Roma grabbed her arm and steadied her. “Princess! Are you okay?”
“Bill,” Rune whispered. “How?”
He walked toward her, paying no attention at all to Roma, who’d slipped her slingshot from its holster and aimed it at his head.
“I’m so sorry, Rune.” Lines radiated from his eyes and deepened between his brows, and his skin had a slightly gray cast to it. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re immortal,” she said. “I would have to take your head and burn your heart.”
“It wouldn’t matter. Everything I need regenerates automatically. I am truly immortal.”
She hadn’t killed him. He was as alive as she was. “Bill…”
“I don’t blame you. I regret only that you had to find out. That you had to go through the…” He gestured. “The pain of it all.”
Neither Eugene nor Roma said a word.
