Arran’s Obsession (Body Count, #1)

Water rushed, the river in full flow beneath us and our man of the moment.

Shade pulled a needle from the neck of the rapist piece of shit we’d picked up this evening, who dangled from his chained hands over the drop in the floor. He’d just injected an antidote to his sedative that would wake him in five, four, three⁠—

His eyes sprang open.

Shade’s demented grin broadened, clear to me despite the fact we both wore masks.

“I’m going to rip the tape from your mouth, then ye have one chance to redeem yourself. Scream, and I’ll gut ye and tease out every entrail until it drops into the river.”

I smirked at the favourite game my friend was playing. He toyed with his prey. Made them think there was hope for the situation they’d found themselves in.

There wasn’t.

Fact: We didn’t make mistakes.

If someone found themselves in our hands, it was game over. Shade and I had been practising our art of cleansing the community for years now, and we didn’t miss.

Also a fact: Deadwater River had one of the highest tidal ranges in the world. It filled and emptied on a schedule, the drag of water to the estuary and out to sea perfect for disposing of bodies with little effort. With the way we handled them, they didn’t rise for weeks, or even months. One or two had never floated to the surface. If they did, they were unrecognisable from the effects of their sea journey.

Personally, I liked this disposal method, as did the local cops because it took the worst offenders off Deadwater’s streets, and the corpses’ appearances were always in someone else’s jurisdiction. Our city bordered Scotland and England, and the river that split the metropolis formed the boundary. Neither police force wanted to take ownership of dead men floating. Sometimes they even ignored them.

Shade didn’t feel the same. It was too clean for him. But if my friend had his way, he’d have a trophy room in the warehouse of dead eyes and femurs or some such shite, and that just begged for trouble.

With a purity of focus, he tore the tape from the man’s mouth.

“I didn’t do it,” the fucker blabbed, struggling against the restraints, the rope tying his hands together strung up to a chain over the boathouse’s overhead beam. His toes touched the walkway below then dangled over the gap between. “She’s a lying fucking cunt.”

“That a fact?” Shade asked. “Huh. My bad. Hold up and I’ll untie ye.”

Without warning, he snapped back and threw a fist at the arsehole’s face. Bone crunched, and the man moaned, blood ebbing from his shattered nose.

Behind my mask, I grinned.

“You said you’d let me down,” Bradley said between shuddering breaths.

“Eh, changed my mind. Pity, because ye were this close to freedom.” Shade pinched his fingers a centimetre apart.

He never spoke this much unless dealing with business.

“This is about the girl, right? She fucking flaunted herself in the window,” our prey blurted in desperation. His gaze darted between us in our skeleton masks, the terror in his eyes a delight. “Brushing her hair. Dancing around in little shorts. All of it was a message for me. Every night, when I climbed up to the roof to see her.”

Through his eyes, I saw the innocent girl in her bedroom, unaware a predator had her in his sights. In his, she’d become a tease, a target.

Also, not the one we’d taken him in for.

“That’s why you followed her,” I pressed.

“I didn’t follow her. She opened the door. Don’t you see? She wanted it.”

“What was her name?” Shade asked.

“I… I called her my little girl.”

Shade and I swapped a glance. This happened too often as well. Our mark would give up another crime to the ones we already knew about, sometimes as a bargaining chip. This piece of shit had been released from jail a few weeks ago after serving ten years for rape. He’d been on our radar and down to be watched. But we didn’t have eyes everywhere. I hated that we’d had a blind spot for Bradley’s fresh reign of terror.

He’d followed a fourteen-year-old girl into a park and dragged her into the bushes. Forced himself on her. She survived his attack, and her description to the police gave us everything we needed.

Three fucking weeks, he’d been free. Two girls hurt.

It killed me inside, pain I couldn’t handle.

“What about the woman in the churchyard?” I pressed. I had no reason to suspect him for the murder on Genevieve’s road, but it was worth asking the question while I had a captive audience.

“Not interested in women,” Bradley admitted. “Don’t pin that on me.”

Shade turned his back to the rapist and cocked his head at me. “I’m done. Let’s get on with the fun stuff.” He lifted his bruised fist. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”

I copied his action, blunting his scissors with my rock.

Shade’s expression dropped. “Fuck. At least use my blade?”

I accepted his hunting knife and let my grin spread, my need for revenge on men like this waking every part of me. It got me out of bed in the morning. Had my blood flowing like nothing else.

Well, like almost nothing else.

It had flowed straight to my dick in Genevieve’s flat.

I centred myself on Bradley then flicked the knife’s holster open, the action well practiced. A slice opened his shirt, revealing a sagging belly. I cut the rest of his clothes away until he dangled naked.

Then I held his gaze. “This is for the girls you raped and terrorised.”

With a flick of my wrist, I sliced at the stem of his dick.

His shrivelled member fell into the river below, a stream of piss and blood following. The screams echoed into the night. With a sigh, Shade slapped on more tape to save our ears.

“Teeth, remember,” he warned.

Right. Bradley’s stained set had to go, for the practical reason of making identification more difficult. No problem, because I had all the time in the world to eviscerate him.

Come to think of it, I hadn’t done a workout today.

Balancing on the balls of my feet, I shot out a quick one-two into his gut, punching holes with the blade as I went. Images of my father hitting me in the same way returned, minus the stabbing. If only Bradley was him.

“Tenderising him. Nice,” Shade commended.

Bradley moaned behind his gag, blood trickling. Every girl he’d touched deserved this revenge, even if they’d never find out. Every finger he laid on them would be fish food. Piece by piece, we’d help him regret his choices. Removing his head from his body was the least we could do.

Shade frowned and reached for his pocket, extracting his buzzing phone. “What the fuck? Thought I’d turned it off. It’s jailbird C. He knows what we’re doing tonight.”

Like with us wearing masks, Shade wouldn’t give up Convict’s crew name. Hanging-man-Bradley was as good as dead, but we didn’t take unnecessary risks.

I didn’t like the sound of that phone call. Convict was holding the fort back at the warehouse and wasn’t the type to interrupt us without reason.

A warning played on my senses. “Answer it.”

He did, listening. The frown spread. “This could’ve waited until we were back. Aye, we’ll be a while.” Shade hung up. “That murder up in North Town. The identity of the woman is now known. Her name was Chelsea Gains, known as Cherry. He said her throat was slit and she was handcuffed and gagged.”

My stomach dropped. The warning grew louder until it blared in my ears and the image of a murdered sex worker danced before my eyes. Not Cherry, but someone more closely connected to me.

History repeating in exact details.

It didn’t feel like a coincidence that I’d been right there on that street, and the way Cherry had been killed brought back memories I didn’t want to heed.

My mind ran over the events, pulling facts together to make a picture that could be wildly wrong or right on the dirty money. I’d gone to see Genevieve, then a murder had happened on her doorstep. Had someone followed me? Killed a woman in a very specific way to give me a message? It felt unlikely, yet I couldn’t deny the connection to my past.

With a tight gut, I moved away from sobbing Bradley, the jerks of his body clattering the chain above him.

My brain offered an alternative. On that night, Genevieve had seen someone in a car and hustled me to get inside. She knew who that person was. I’d bet any money her mystery man was Cherry’s murderer. Relief washed through me. Yes, that was the more likely explanation.

I needed to find Genevieve and get information from her.

I held up my fist to Shade once more. “Rock, paper, scissors.”

“Shoot,” he said. This time, he won, wrapping his tattooed hand around my fist, though the Scottish flag was blacked out.

I jerked my chin at the rapist. “Finish him.”

Shade blinked, need clear in his eyes. He took back his weapon. “Are ye sure? You’re the best.” Then his eyebrows beetled, his enthusiasm dimming for a moment. “I’ll make it quick. Wait up and I’ll go with ye to handle whatever just fucked with your head.”

“Don’t worry. Enjoy yourself and make this good.”

Outside the boathouse, the muffled, high groans from our captive indicated that Shade was settling in for some fun. In my car, I switched my phone back on, my thoughts still dwelling on the horror.

My thumb hovered over a name, the one person who knew me better than anyone. And my twisted past. Jamieson.

But before I could dial, it rang in my hand, my head of security calling.

At my answer, the man spoke in a worried tone. “Sorry to disturb you, boss. The game’s underway and everything’s good, but there’s a woman at the back door who’s claiming she should be in there. Natasha Reid, the last applicant. But all five women and twenty men were checked in.”

“Probably trying her luck.” I pressed the engine button, my lights illuminating the deserted plot.

Excitement was high when the game was running. People lied and begged for a place. It was one of the reasons we kept it so locked down.

Though not the main one.

“That’s the thing,” he continued. “I don’t think she’s lying. She has ID.”

What the fuck?

“I’m on my way,” I said, then hung up.

I was only fifteen minutes from the warehouse which sat at the west side of the centre of town, everything beyond giving way to an industrial zone along the river, including the location of the boathouse.

But instead of putting my foot down, I took a second to pull up the camera feed for the basement. Select few had access to this. The paying guests in the suites above, some in a room with drinks on tables, others locked up with one of the working women, getting off on the scene.

The violence. The blood.

My access allowed me to see everything, including the exterior shots of the applicants arriving. The camera gave me a clear view of a slim, blonde woman, faking confidence as she stepped up to Geoff, one of the newer doormen.

I froze with recognition, suddenly sickened.

A lucky lookalike, not Natasha Reid at all.

Whatever she said worked for him as the fucking moron had let her in. Locked her in with twenty men who’d do anything they could to be the first to fuck her. They wouldn’t stop. No one would listen. The rules were clear, and they’d kill each other to get inside her pussy.

And to own her for weeks after.

Genevieve had walked into the path of my car and now into my game. If I couldn’t reach her, she was lost to me.

At last, my muscles unlocked, and I stamped on the accelerator, speeding to intercept as fast as I fucking could.