31. Messiah

I have seen people tweak out from taking too many drugs. I have watched people fall over when they realize someone they cared for is dead. But I don't know how to handle someone that is panicking. She keeps gasping for breath and trying to wiggle out of the tape around her wrists. Do I let her go? Do I even touch her? I am very fucking confused right now.

In a last ditch effort, I go to the desk and pull open the drawer. Grabbing the small bottle of whiskey I keep stashed there, I twist the cap off and hand it to her. Her eyes are red and glassy and she only looks from me to the bottle.

"It is safe," I say, tipping the bottle up to take a swig. I offer it to her again and she shakes her head. "It can calm you down."

Her limbs shake as she crouches in front of the open window. Should I be worried about her trying to jump out of it? I don't think she can get down the fire escape with her hands tied. She doesn't take the bottle and I stand to the side clueless, wondering how I can calm her down. It takes some time before her gasps stop coming back to back. She is huddled beneath the window, staring up at the brick building across the road. The red of her eyes makes the steely color of her irises glow brighter.

"My computer," she says. "It is in my computer."

Once I retrieve the laptop from the bedroom, I sit on the coffee table and open it up, letting the screen face her as it rests on my knees.

"It is . . ." she takes a deep breath. "It is in TOR."

"You have it locked," I tell her.

Does she not think I haven't already tried? She tells me the password and I open the browser and wait for the VPN to set up. Once there, I glance over the screen at her.

"The second bookmark," she says.

As my fingers move across the trackpad she shifts in place to face me.

"I don't . . . I don't want to be in the room when you turn it on. Please."

My heart melts at her request. Nodding, I stand and walk into the bedroom. I trust that she isn't in a condition to get down the fire escape. She can't leave the apartment without me hearing and I'd catch her before she reached the stairs or elevator.

The bookmark leads me to a dark web porn website. Ah, shit. There are some questionable things that can be found publicly on the web, but the dark web is where the most horrendous of these videos live. The account doesn't have many videos, but they all have high views. When I look at the poster, I realize this is the webpage Holden ran that I couldn't get into before. Fuck.

I browse the thumbnails until I see her face. My throat tightens. She is gagged and crying in the image. The title of the video is CUT EM, and I see all the slashes along her body. My eyes dart to the door and I listen to see if she is moving before I click the video. There are three videos. I recognize the janky room from Corey's house in the first one. The second two – I have to eye the background closer but I finally realize it is Holden's closet. The blood stains. The bars. Was it all hers?

I am not sure how long of a time the videos all took place over, or if it occurred in one day. The first video is a bit rough but tame compared to what the dark web usually has lurking around. It is just a gangbang and from what I can tell Angel is high on something. She doesn't fight off the men, but she isn't having a good time as they fuck her on that raggedy mattress I saw before. River is in the video, and though high off her rocker, she is making a little more of an attempt to act for the camera.

The second video –

I have to pause it thirty seconds in. Angel is alone, gagged, and sitting on a table. Whatever drugs she was on wore off. Her eyes are clearer and she is scared as she looks toward the cameraman. Diego and Mikel appear, and I have to pause as they pick up a straight razor and flash it in front of her face. I watch as they cut her up. The camera stays focused on her as I see where each scar came from. Blood makes her thighs bright red, and she screams as the cuts grow deeper and deeper. One man cuts, the other slaps the fresh wound. They don't stop at her thighs. They keep moving up, slashing her nipples open until blood pours down her torso. Bits of yellowed fat glow against the crimson color of her blood as they slice open her nipples. My stomach starts to turn as they aim for her cunt.

Once she is bloody and slashed, they take turns raping her as she screams. The screams start out fearful and in pain and turn to pleas to just kill her.

I don't have the stomach to watch the last video – the one with an image of her hanging in the closet for a thumbnail. There wasn't any way for any of it to get better for her. My fingers shake as I slap the laptop closed and push it to the floor with a heavy thunk. It makes sense now. This is why she would make such an effort to find them, why she brutalized them. But their deaths weren't painful enough. They had done this to my Angel. Before I lose control, I step out of the bedroom and turn the corner. She is still sitting beneath the open window, her eyes staring blankly down at the floor. Confident that she isn't about to run, I turn back into the bedroom and slam the door shut.

Fuck security deposits.

I slam my fist into the drywall. The first punch sends pain up my arm. The second cracks the plaster and the third breaks through it. I go to another spot and repeat the process. My foot kicks out and slams into the dresser, causing the wood to crack up the side. I pick up the kennel where I had kept her and toss it to the ground. I kick it. I punch the wall a bit more. They did that to her. They fucking laughed as she screamed for mercy. A shout of pure rage escapes me as I rip the door off the hinges and toss it to the floor. My boot easily breaks through the thin wood and I continue to stomp it until I hear a startled shout out in the living room.

"Angel?" My voice is hoarse from my shouting. My throat burns.

When I round the corner, I see her dart to the side of the couch, crouching to stay out of view.

"Angel," I say again, walking toward her.

"No!" she screams, holding up her bound hands to shield herself.

Fuck. I didn't mean to scare her. I need a moment to collect myself.

The bottle of whiskey is still sitting on the table and I swipe it up to take a swig. The alcohol sears my raw throat and helps center me a bit. After a second swig, I set the bottle down and run a hand over my face. Something wet smears across my nose and I look to see the blood oozing from my split knuckles. Angel doesn't move as I wash my hand and wrap it in a towel before taking a seat on the couch.

"I am okay, Baby," I tell her. "I'm not going to hit you."

Do I move closer? Give her space? I am out of my element here. My brain replays the image of the razors cutting into her skin. Her terrified screams are echoing in my head. From my spot on the couch, I can see the scars still crossing her thighs. I take one more shot of whiskey before moving to the end of the couch. When I peek over the side, I see her worried eyes staring up at me as she crouches lower.

"That was why you were after them?" I ask.

She nods, hands shaking as she holds them up between us. I give a stiff nod and reach for the bottle again, taking a heavy drink and letting the alcohol burn my mouth for a moment before I swallow.

"Well, we have a few more to go don't we?"