Levi moaned. He couldn’t just stand here while Adriana was in danger. He had to help her, he had to go to her—
“Fuck this,” Dominic said. “Just stay behind me.”
They entered the house, Levi sticking close as Dominic swung his gun from side to side, clearing every room they passed. Following the trail of blood on the carpet, they ventured down the hallway and around the corner. The farther they went, the louder the sounds became—the wet crunches of someone being beaten, accompanied by sobs and screams.
The hallway ended in a half-open door, beyond which Levi could see more blood on the floor. That room was where all the noise was coming from.
“Freeze!” Dominic bellowed as he burst into the room. Levi was right on his heels, ready to rip the intruder’s spine out with his bare hands if he had to—
The three seconds it took Levi’s brain to process the incongruities of what he saw proved to be two seconds too many.
The sounds they’d been hearing cut off mid-scream. The door slammed shut behind them with a boom.
“What the fuck is this?” Dominic said, lowering his gun.
Levi turned in a slow circle. The room was thickly carpeted, with plain white walls and not a single window; the only light source was a ceiling-mounted fixture overhead. The door they’d come through—the door that had shut under its own power—melded seamlessly with the walls and had no doorknob on this side.
The sole items in the room were a large flat-screen television on the far wall, beneath which stood a folding card table holding a small box. A wheeled gurney was shoved against the left wall; the human shape resting on it was draped with a sheet from head to toe.
Now that the recording had been turned off—there was no other explanation for what they’d been hearing—the only sound was a rattling wheeze coming from the gurney. The shape was too tall to be Adriana, but Levi rushed to it regardless and yanked the sheet down.
It was Scott West.
Levi gasped and reeled backward. West was unconscious, but his eyelids were twitching rapidly. His skin was pale and clammy, and he was breathing so shallowly that his chest jerked with every labored inhalation.
“Oh my God,” Levi said. “Oh no.”
Dominic came up behind Levi and hissed through his teeth. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s bleeding internally,” said a new voice—not the Seven of Spades’s electronic rasp, but familiar nonetheless.
Levi whirled around to see Carmen Rivera’s face on the TV. “Carmen! What the hell is going on? Where’s Adriana?”
“Adriana is safe at home with the Andersons. You weren’t talking to her earlier; you were talking to me. I spoofed the caller ID and used a voice transformation algorithm.”
Levi shook his head, dumbfounded. Though the knowledge that Adriana had never been in real danger was a lead weight lifted from his chest, what Carmen was describing required a lengthy sample of the target’s voice to train the computer program how to simulate it. Where had she gotten that from Adriana, and how had she been able to impersonate Adriana so convincingly?
Focusing on the more immediate problem, he said, “Let us out. Now.”
“I can’t do that.” Carmen’s face was solemn, her dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders rather than pulled back into the messy bun he’d always seen it in before. Her eyes slid past Levi to Dominic. “Mr. Russo. You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Dominic said.
Her chapped lips thinned with displeasure. “Well, please don’t waste your energy trying to escape. This room has been soundproofed with resilient channels and a multiple-wall system. The door is steel-plated and secured with an electromagnetic lock; even Mr. Russo wouldn’t be able to bust through it. And there’s no cell service. The only connection to the outside world is through the audio/visual link I control.”
“Were you jamming my cell phone earlier?” Levi asked.
“Yes.”
Everything about this house was fake. The furniture and photographs, the cute slumber party scene in the living room, the blood on the walls and floor—they were all props.
“I have someone who’d like to speak to you,” Carmen said. Her expression softened. “It was nice to see you again, Detective. Good luck.”
Before Levi could question that sinister statement, Carmen’s face disappeared from the screen. She was replaced by a panoramic view of a run-down block of dilapidated houses that could have been any economically depressed neighborhood in any American city.
“Welcome, Detective Abrams,” said the Seven of Spades.
“What kind of sick shit are you pulling this time?” Levi stalked toward the television, glaring at the webcam he saw built into it. “What do you want from me?”
“Actually, I want to speak to your partner in crime first. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to enter a house uninvited, Mr. Russo?”
“Whereas it’s super polite to trap people in your psycho soundproofed murder room?” Dominic said.
The Seven of Spades laughed—an eerie, grating sound. “This room was never meant for you. But since you’re here, I’ll need to ensure you stay out of the way. I know you’re armed. Please put your gun on the table underneath the screen.”
“Why should I do anything you say?”
The camera panned to one side of the block, where two elderly women were chatting on a stoop, then to the other, where a man was smoking a cigarette in his robe while he let his dog out.
“Random shootings happen in this neighborhood all the time. It’d be a shame if one of these innocent people happened to catch a stray bullet.”
Levi looked at Dominic, seeing his own frustration reflected on Dominic’s face. The Seven of Spades didn’t use guns or kill “innocent” people—but before this week, they’d also never kidnapped anyone or lured Levi into a trap. There was no sense in risking it.
After Dominic set his Glock on the table, the Seven of Spades made him strip out of his jacket and shoulder holster, then untuck his shirt and turn in a slow circle.
“Are you carrying any other weapons?” they asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got a gun shoved up my ass.” When that was greeted with ominous silence, Dominic sighed. “No, I don’t have anything else.”
“Good. Go stand in the far corner of the room, and don’t move or speak until I tell you to.”
Dominic retreated, leaving Levi standing alone in front of the television. While Levi knew Dominic had no real choice but to follow the killer’s instructions, he felt abandoned.
“Detective Abrams,” the Seven of Spades said, and even though they weren’t visible on the screen, Levi could feel their eyes on him. “This is the final part of your birthday present.”
Levi held himself still.
“Shortly before you arrived, I nicked several important blood vessels inside Mr. West’s abdominal cavity. He’s bleeding out internally, and he will die in a few hours. However, if he receives medical attention within the next half hour or so, there’s a very good chance he’ll survive.”
Levi shot a startled glance at the gurney. He’d only pulled the sheet down to West’s chest earlier, so he hadn’t noticed any abdominal trauma.
“This house . . .” The camera zoomed in on one of the buildings. “Is a Utopia safe house. More specifically, it’s where several of the men who attacked you and Ms. Rashid retreated after they were released on bail, but there are others inside as well. Seven total, at my last count.”
Levi sucked in a breath as a hand extended in front of the camera—the first time the Seven of Spades had revealed any part of their body. The thick black leather glove encasing the hand hid any hints as to gender or race, though.
The killer was holding what looked like a garage door opener. “And this is the detonator for the C4 I’ve placed at vital points in the safe house’s structure.”
“You’re bluffing,” Levi said without thinking. “You don’t use explosives; you wouldn’t. It’
s not your style.”
“True. And to be honest, I’m still not very experienced with them. So I can’t guarantee that if that house explodes, it won’t take the ones on either side as well—or the whole block, for that matter.”
“Why—”
“Please open the box on the table.”
Dragging his limbs as if he were walking through water, Levi approached the table and extended a wary hand. The last time he’d opened a mystery box, Stanton’s eye had been inside.
This box contained only a pair of nitrile gloves and a pistol. Levi blinked, then backed up to look at the webcam. “I don’t understand.”
“To celebrate your birthday, we’re going to play a real-stakes game of Would You Rather.” The Seven of Spades’s electronic voice crackled with malicious glee. “That gun is unregistered, completely untraceable, and contains a single bullet. You can choose to use it to kill Scott West, or you can tell me to blow up this Nazi safe house and everyone in it. You have three minutes to decide.”
A timer appeared in the lower-right corner of the screen, counting down from 3:00.
“Jesus Christ,” Dominic breathed.
“I told you to keep your mouth shut,” the killer snapped.
Levi didn’t turn around to look at Dominic. He couldn’t move or speak; he just stared at the screen in mute horror, blood ringing in his ears.
“If you choose to do nothing, I’ll blow up the house anyway, and then I’ll leave the three of you locked in that room until Mr. West succumbs to his injuries. So you see, Detective, you not only decide who dies, but who lives.”
“You—” Levi’s voice came out a dry, cracked whisper. He coughed and tried again. “You can’t be serious. This is insane.”
“Is it? I’d think it would be easy choice. One shot to kill the man who got off scot-free for almost beating you to death.”
Levi glanced sideways at West’s unconscious body and flinched at the sudden flood of sense memories. It was West’s father who had arranged the bribe, who had ensured that West and his friends never faced justice for what they’d done—and that Levi had never gotten closure.
“Then again, maybe you’d prefer to kill seven neo-Nazis. The people in that house believe you have no right to exist, Detective Abrams. Every one of them will certainly cause untold pain to others if they’re allowed to continue breathing. So really, there’s no wrong choice here. Whatever you decide will be doing the world a favor. But you should decide soon. Two minutes.”
“No. What you’re proposing is murder.” Levi exhaled in grim realization. “You want me to become a murderer. Why?”
When the Seven of Spades spoke again, their voice was quieter but much more intense. “You know why you enjoy violence so much, don’t you? When those men attacked you, you were helpless. You were too weak to defend yourself. Now that’s all changed. Every time you fight someone who’s trying to hurt you, you’re reliving that encounter—only now, you’re victorious. Every blow you land against an aggressor is directed at the men who came before. You’re rewriting the narrative of your victimization, and it thrills you.”
Hugging his arms tightly to his abdomen, Levi doubled over around his twisting stomach. The killer’s words battered at his skull, all his deepest fears spoken aloud.
“But the cycle will keep repeating itself, because it doesn’t matter how many people you strike down if it isn’t them. Catharsis will only come when that victory is real. When you kill him—when you learn how good it feels to set things right, to make things the way they’re supposed to be—then you’ll be free. Believe me, I’m speaking from experience.”
Levi couldn’t let the Seven of Spades blow up that house. Even if they’d been lying about being unsure of the area of effect, there was always a chance with explosives that things would go wrong. There were dozens of people in those houses. Children. He couldn’t put them in danger.
“You don’t want me to push this button,” the Seven of Spades said, as if reading his mind. “You want to kill Scott West. Think about how it will feel to know that all four of them are dead, and you’re the one left standing. Justice, at long last. The law couldn’t give you that. I’m the only one who can.”
Levi groaned and shook his head. He couldn’t kill West for the very reason the Seven of Spades wanted him to—he was afraid he would enjoy it.
Part of him lived in mortal fear that the Seven of Spades was right—that he was a killer at heart, violent and angry and sadistic. If he took a life in a situation other than defense during an active battle, and he liked it, the way he relished getting in fights and smacking down creepy guys in bars . . .
That was knowledge which, once unleashed, could never be put back in the box. If Levi murdered Scott West, he really would be like the Seven of Spades. He would never, ever come back from that.
“Ticktock, Detective. Thirty seconds.”
A hysterical sob clawed up the back of Levi’s throat. “Please.” He braced both hands against the table, breathing in shuddering gasps, and looked pleadingly up at the webcam. “Please don’t make me do this. I’ll do anything else you want, just please, please, I’m begging you, don’t do this to me—”
Bang.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. Levi shrieked and spun around, staring first at the hole in West’s head and then at Dominic, who was holding a small pistol—one of the very same pistols he’d packed for their rescue mission but had never gotten a chance to use. His pants leg was rucked up over an ankle holster, and his eyes were flat and cold.
“I lied,” he said.
“You . . .” The Seven of Spades’s heavy breathing gusted through the voice changer. “What . . .”
“Haven’t you heard?” Dominic said. “I’m a liar, a pretty good one. You couldn’t have honestly believed I would let you do this to Levi—that I’d let you destroy him this way.”
The killer loosed a wordless scream of rage, which was followed by a series of violent bangs and thumps off-camera. Ignoring their tantrum, Dominic cast a concerned eye to Levi, who had fallen back against the table and was gaping at West’s corpse. On the screen, the timer counted down to zero, but nothing happened.
After being forced to pursue Levi into a firefight with no backup weapon, Dominic had decided it would be prudent to start carrying two guns instead of one, so he’d strapped on the ankle holster the moment he’d returned to the car after the Boulder City PD released him. If he believed in God the way Levi did, he would think that choice had been divinely inspired.
“You weren’t even supposed to be here!”
Dominic returned the gun to its holster and smoothed his pants leg back down. “Yeah, well, there’s nothing you can do about it now. I mean, you can still blow up that Utopia safe house if you want, but it won’t pressure Levi into committing murder, which is the only reason you were willing to kill people in such an impersonal way to begin with. Plus, if you start using explosives, you’ll get labeled a terrorist. That’s going to ruin the vigilante antihero brand you’ve been so carefully cultivating.”
He wasn’t as nonchalant as his tone suggested. If that house went up, there might be civilian casualties, which had been a weighty factor in his decision to kill West.
“I’m not going to detonate the explosives,” the Seven of Spades said with a note of petulance. “A deal’s a deal, even if the wrong person fulfills it.”
“Fine. Levi, you okay?”
“You killed him,” Levi said blankly. He still hadn’t moved.
Wanting to confirm that, Dominic crossed the room and pressed his fingers to West’s throat. He found no pulse; West lay silent and motionless, no longer racked by the pain of internal bleeding. Dominic rested a hand over West’s closed eyes for a moment before drawing the sheet up to cover his face.
I’m sorry, Dominic thought. Of course, West had once gay-bashed Levi into a broken, traumatized mess, so although Dominic didn’t relish his death, he wasn’t quite as sorry as he might be under diff
erent circumstances.
Dominic turned to the screen. “I’m assuming you had a plan for disposing the body without implicating Levi?”
“Yes. I have allies standing by to get rid of it.”
“The problem is that I shot him with my own gun, not yours, and there’s no way for me to get that bullet back.” Because Dominic had been standing up, aiming for a reclining figure at an angle across the room, it had been impossible for him to get a clean shot. The bullet was buried deeply in West’s skull; he’d need a bone saw to retrieve it. “If his body is found, the bullet could be traced back to me, which I’d prefer to avoid. Unless you’re planning for me to go down for this?”
“No!” Jolted back to action, Levi pushed himself off the table and glared at the screen. “No.”
“Of course not. It serves no purpose to have Mr. Russo in prison. I’ll ensure the body is never found. You have my word.”
Dominic wasn’t thrilled about trusting his freedom to a serial killer who got their kicks from playing games with people’s lives, but what option did he have?
“Pawn it,” said Levi. At Dominic’s bewildered expression, he added, “It wouldn’t be out of character for you to sell the gun to a pawnshop. The Seven of Spades will have a member of Los Avispones buy it, so if the body is ever found and the bullet is traced back to that gun, it’ll look like the Seven of Spades is trying to frame you for the m—” His voice stumbled and caught. “The murder.”
“Good idea.” Dominic raised his eyebrows at the webcam.
After a brief pause, the Seven of Spades said, “Agreed.”
“We still need to wipe down every surface we touched in this house before we leave,” Dominic said. “Are you going to unlock this door or what?”
He waited uneasily for the response. He had, after all, ruined carefully orchestrated plans that had been in the works for months, and the Seven of Spades had a history of petty behavior. They might decide to keep him and Levi trapped in here out of pure spite.
A grinding noise signaled the release of the electromagnetic lock, and the door popped open. Dominic took a shuddering breath.
One-Eyed Royals Page 27
