The Annihilator (Dark Verse #5)(18)

“You think he’s come yet?”
“Doubt it. The entrances are monitored. We’re on high alert.”
Their security was laughable. He wondered if the Syndicate knew how terrible the operations were on ground level or if they even cared.
The noise of Howard’s grunt came, followed by the rustling of the girls scrambling up and leaving.
“Keep an eye on her room. If he doesn’t show up by dawn, kill the girl.”
A burn began at the base of his spine at the words.
Any normal man would’ve felt anger perhaps, or even lust for revenge. He felt neither. In his head, it was a simple equation that had been messed with. Emotion didn’t fit into that; it didn’t need to. Was that psychotic? Maybe. But he had never pretended to be anything else than the devil he was.
A few minutes later, the door shut, and he heard the other man settling down in his bed, the lights going out.
Shadows formed over the room, and that’s when he took over.
Straightening from his crouch, he walked on silent feet to the bed, watching the out-of-shape shirtless man slumbering. The man was a spineless coward on a power trip. Having the meeting with him at the housing complex alone had made him realize that.
He had visited the housing complex to see their security under the guise of a meeting as an investor looking to purchase assets. The complex had incredible security, one he would need to navigate if he had to get to her once they locked her in, and after this, they probably would. But she had to keep trusting him—he would find her and this time, he would take her out.
Something akin to excitement filled him at the thought.
Walking to the table, he checked the bottle of whiskey. 100 proof. Good.
Taking the bottle, he opened it and poured around the edges of the bed first, slowly emptying it. He then went to the cabinet, got another 100 proof bottle, and returned to the bed. Tipping it over, he poured some down on the sleeping man.
Howard jerked awake with a sputter, his eyes flying everywhere until they fell on his silhouette, terror taking over his face. They said you saw the Shadow Man before you died. And from the look on his face, Howard knew of the rumors.
“No, please, I’ll give you whatever you want,” he begged like the spineless swine he was, wetting the bed with fear, the stench of alcohol and urine mixing with the stink that his voice left in his nose. It was odd, how he smelled and tasted voices, none of them palatable except hers.
He looked down at the man, remembering the video footage he had pulled up from the club on his way, remembering the way Howard had touched her hair, his hair, and poured the drugged concoction down her throat, put his filthy mouth on her breast as she begged and cried for mercy.
The burn in his spine rippled into a blaze at the memory.
No, his message had to be clear to every single one of them.
Taking the other man’s hair in his gloved fist, he pulled it hard, making the man cry out. “Please, no, let me go. I’ll do whatever you want. Please.”
“Drink,” he threw the same word out that they had used with her. He hadn't been able to see the other man who had drugged her, one with the lighter hair, but he would find out. If there was one thing he was good at, it was at finding information.
Gulping, shaking, Howard opened his mouth.
Tipping the bottle, he poured the drink raw down the other man’s throat until he spluttered and coughed. Finally, once the entire bottle was almost empty, he stepped back. A look of relief came over the other man’s face, thinking that was it.
He let him think it.
Pouring the last of the alcohol in his mouth, he pulled at his hair. "Hold it."
The shaking man held the alcohol in his open mouth, his eyes wide with such sheer terror it made the Shadow Man calm. He dumped the empty bottle to the side and took his lighter from his pocket, flipping it up.
The other man begging in noises, he kept Howard's neck tilted completely back, and touched the flame in the lighter to the liquid in his mouth.
The fire took over, heating up the alcohol surrounding his tongue, the same tongue that had touched her. The man began to scream, struggling, but he held him immobile as the fire found its way into his throat just like the drug had gone down hers.
“Touch her and you die,” he remarked quietly. “Touch her worse, die worse. It’s a simple thing, isn’t it? I don’t know why you didn’t understand it.”
The other man was too gone in his pain to focus so he stepped back, walking to the door, seeing Howard trying to get off the bed toward the bathroom. Before he could set his foot down, the Shadow Man took flipped the lighter again, the lighter with the snake insignia of The Syndicate—an ouroboros, to be precise—and threw it on the bed, watching in satisfaction as flames erupted on the soaking sheets, spreading to the boundary of the bed, burning the man alive inside and out, his screams grating on his senses.
He left his lighter behind so the message was clear to everyone in the system—he knew their symbol, he knew who they were, and he would not hesitate in doing to them what he’d done here. She was off-limits.
This time, he left through the main door, keeping away from the cameras, taking the fire exit stairs out of the building.
Things had changed.
He needed to finish his final mission before he took her home. He needed to get her home, get her trust and her loyalty before he opened the door to her past.
But that was later. He was leaving breadcrumbs to figure things out, and that brought him enough time.
For now, she’d be safe, she'd be unharmed, and he could live with that.


Chapter eightLyla


Waking up with her head and her body feeling like it was weighed down by a ton of bricks, Lyla blinked her eyes open to see a familiar ceiling over her head. The medical room at the complex. What was she doing there?