Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(36)

“Good girl,” I breathe, caressing her face with the back of my glove. “Do you want to watch, little Quinn?”

She slowly shakes her head.

Her innocence baffles me. She doesn’t want to watch, even after all the trauma these bastards put her through.

“Okay,” I nearly whisper. “Then you stay right here. Don’t move. No matter what you hear, or see, do not move from this spot.”

“Okay,” she whispers back.

And we stalk toward the house.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN





DAMIEN





“Block the front entrance,” I instruct Micah, pure hatred boiling inside of me, determined to break free in the form of utter chaos. “Jensen, you cover the exit. Text me when the last group of people is out.”

“On it,” Jensen says, disappearing around the side of the house.

Micah moves to the top step, blocking the way.

“Nobody in,” I bite out, seeing red. “And nobody out.”

Stepping inside, there’s a gloomy, gray vibe. The windows are heavily boarded up, the wooden floor creaks beneath my boots, and the music grows louder. Scanning the dimly lit hallway, nobody is in sight. Even through my mask, this place wreaks of gasoline from nearby machinery and damp wood.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Jensen

Last group is out





Removing the knife from the back of my waistline, I turn the corner.

“Derek,” I call out, taunting him, tracing the blade with the tip of my fingers, as adrenaline pumps through me.

“Yeah, bro,” he calls back almost immediately. “Who’s that?”

“Come find out.”

He steps out from behind a fake wall, dressed in his stupid little costume. “Sick Ghostface mask,” he observes, laughing. “Do I know you?”

Stalking toward him, my grip tightens on the handle of my knife. “Not quite,” I answer. “I’m a friend of Quinn’s.”

Confusion claims his face as he moves beside the dim light plastered to the wall. “Quinn?” he asks.

Impatiently cocking my head to the side, I nod. “Ring any bells?”

“Oh. Yeah. That weird little bitch whose dad offed himself, right?”

Tossing him against the wall of the hallway, I waste no time in jabbing my knife into his chest. There’s blood spurting, bones crunching. Over and over, and over again, I gut him, painting the walls, floors, and my mask red. He chokes on his own blood, gurgling, half-sobbing for me to put an end to my vicious attack.

There’s no stopping now.

I made a promise to my little Quinn that I would make them pay. With their life.

Their blood.

His body becomes limp against the wall. Yanking the blade from his ribcage, Derek lifelessly drops to the floor with a hard thud.

One down.

The rest to go.

Adrenaline rages through me as I rush into another room, spotting a guy in a scene, dressed as a crazy, old scientist. How fucking cliché.

“Are you going to be my next subject?” he asks, reciting his corny line, gesturing down to a fake corpse on what appears to be a metal operating table.

“No,” I growl, jumping over the table as he stumbles backward. “But you’re mine.”

He turns to run from me, shocked and confused, until I bury my knife into his back. Crippling over, he then drops to his knees, in a state of shock. That’s when the pain finally hits him, ripping through his body. And he screams in both agony and fear, as I twist the blade sideways in his flesh.

“John?” I sadistically ask, demanding an answer.

“Y-y-yes,” he chokes out, collapsing onto the floor, convulsing.

“Johnny boy!” I humorously shout, yanking out the knife before rolling up my sleeves.

With a quick toss in the air, I catch my knife by the rippled handle, before burying the sharp metal between his shoulder blades next.

“This is for Quinn,” I mutter dryly, kicking him in the ribs. “One stab for every year you and your friends tortured her.”

There’s another crunch as I stab him again. Again. And again. I end up getting off track and lose count in a fit of rage. There’s more gurgling. Quiet whimpers of desperation, as he begins to crawl forward, using what little energy he has left.

“How aren’t you dead yet?” I joke, stepping on his back, now covered with deep gashes, and soaked with blood. I click my tongue at him. “You’re not going anywhere, Johnny boy. This is the part where you die for what you did to her.”

And right on cue, any hint of remaining life leaves his body.

Jensen enters the room, catching me off guard, his jacket stained with blood. “There’s gasoline out back in a shed.”

“Good find,” I sharply breathe, pulling my knife from Johnny boy’s flesh.

“I grabbed some and left it at the back door.”

“Where’s Alex?” I demand, still fuming.

With a nod of his head, he motions to another hallway.

There he is in the center of the room, chained to a wooden chair, duct tape covering his mouth. My dick twitches at the thought of ending his life.

Getting revenge for little Quinn.

It’s a sight to see as tears stream down his face.