Chapter Eighteen

Ty

It’s been a few day since I killed that couple with Raven and I’m staring down at my phone, my eyes scanning over a new text.

[You’re lucky to have me. To have us. Or your ass would have been back inside that fucking looney house by now.]

The words glow on the screen like a threat, sharp and mocking. My fingers around the phone squeeze, the edges biting into my palm as I stare at the fucked-up message, the pit in my stomach deepening. Who the fuck is this? And why the hell are they watching my back when I didn’t ask for it?

[Who’s this?] The text sends before I can think twice. It’s the first time I’ve bothered responding.

The reply comes almost immediately, as if they were waiting. [Or maybe you belong there, like the rest of us, Slasher.]

Slasher? My brows knit together as my mind twists around it, trying to figure out who’s trying to play games with me. My thoughts are a mess of frustration, but they’re cut short when Raven steps into the room.

She’s fresh from the shower, a towel draped around her body, her red damp hair clinging to her shoulders. I side-eye her briefly, noting the subtle worry etched into her face, before shoving my phone deep into the pocket of my jeans.

“You're going out again?” she asks, the unease threading her words impossible to miss.

I adjust the strap of the bag slung across my back, checking the weight of it and I don’t answer.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she presses, her voice softer now, her concern peeling at my defences.

My jaw clenches as my thoughts snap back to where I’m headed. I can’t explain this to her—not the mansion burned into my memory, not the man who owns it, not the years I’ve spent hunting for this place like it’s the fucking key to everything. And it might be. It belongs to the man who took her, the last one who had my sister. The motherfucker is hiding behind a fortress of wealth and power, but I’ve seen what’s beneath. The businesses, the connections—everything points to someone high up in the chain. Too high to touch. Higher than most.

Her hand brushes against my arm, light and unsure, trying to ground me. I pull away before it can stick. She doesn’t get it. This isn’t a fight I’m walking into—it’s a fucking storm, and there’s a good chance I won’t make it out in one piece or alive. I know that. I’ve made peace with it. But she wouldn’t. She’d try to stop me.

The words I want to say lodge in my throat. I glance at her, just for a second, the worry in her eyes enough to curl the knife of guilt deeper.

I turn to face her fully and slowly, my hands finding their way to the sides of her neck. My palms press against her warm skin, my thumbs brushing along her jawline as I tilt her head back. I lean in, placing my forehead against hers and as her small hands curl around my wrists, her touch levels me in a way I didn’t know I needed. My thumbs glide gently over her cheeks, tracing the lines of her pretty face.

I search her eyes—those pretty, ocean-blue eyes flecked with concern and something delicate. My gaze moves lower, taking in the freckles dusted across her skin and those rosy, plump lips that part slightly, drawing me in. She’s here, real, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the fucking chaos in my mind quiets. But it’s replaced by a strange sadness. A reality I didn’t think I’d be faced with. Losing her.

“You mean so much to me,” I murmur, the quiet words tumbling out.

Her expression shifts, confusion forming in her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away. She just waits as I continue. “Thank you, my beautiful girl, for understanding me.”

Her lips part as if to speak, but the words don’t come and I can feel my throat tightening, the raw ache of emotion welling up as tears burn hot behind my eyes.

“You saw me, and that’s all I ever really wanted,” I whisper as my tears spill over, trailing down my face and falling onto her skin like fragile confessions. “You saw through it all—the fucking darkness, the diagnosis, the murder, the madness, the train wreck of my fucking life.”

My gaze drops to her lips again, my thumb sliding across the soft curve of the bottom one and her hands tighten just slightly on my wrists. “You, Raven. You are what home should have felt like. Safe. Loved.”

I see the emotion in her eyes—the heartbreak, the understanding, the quiet pain. It’s too fucking much.

My eyes squeeze shut as if I can block it out as if that’ll make this any easier. “I’m sorry for putting you through the things I did.” The words are bitter on my tongue, an apology that feels too small for what I’ve done to her. I sniffle, forcing myself to open my eyes and meet hers again, to tell her the truth. “You’re just… everything I ever fucking wanted. Everything I ever needed.”

A tear slips from the corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek, and something in her softens—her defence, her hurt, maybe even her suspicion. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I can feel her aura, the way it holds me together even as I’m falling apart.

“At first, I wanted to dull your light, kitten. I hated how it clashed with my fucking darkness,” I shake my head once. “But please, don’t ever stop shining bright for me.”

Before she can respond, I press my lips to hers, hard and desperate, my hands shaking as they cradle her face, my thumbs brushing away the dampness of her tears. I kiss her again, and again, each time as if it will be enough to explain what my words can’t.

And then, before I let myself sink any further, I pull back. My hands drop from her face, the warmth of her slipping away like something I don’t deserve to fucking hold.

“Ty…” Her voice is weak behind me, almost pleading, but I don’t look back.

I grab my axe, swing the door open and step out into the night, leaving it unlocked for the first time.

…

The mansion looms in front of me, a monolith of sleek, black stone against the endless void of night. It looks like it belongs to a fucking kingpin.

My mind drifts back to Raven—her innocent face, those piercing eyes that see too much, the way she stirs something in me I didn’t know I could ever feel. How she keeps digging into the hollow parts of me, pulling at things I didn’t even know were there.

I was so close to staying. So close to stopping myself from doing this.

But I can’t.

My mind, my soul—if I even have one—they’re too far gone. There’s no peace for me until this is done. Until I get answers. Until this cunt is dead and I can finally stop choking on the questions that haunt me every time I close my fucking eyes.

I squeeze them shut now, just for a moment, and her face is there again, softening the edges of my rage. It makes me want to fucking scream.

I shake my head sharply, growling low under my breath as I push her out of my thoughts.

This ends tonight.

I crouch behind a tree at the edge of the property, the bark rough against my gloves, and I scan the back of the house. The pool lies still, an eerie mirror beneath the faint glow of garden lights. Somewhere in the distance, the sharp barks of dogs cut through the silence.

My gaze locks onto movement through the wide downstairs windows. A figure drifts past—him. Dressed in a velvet red robe and silk pants, he looks as if he doesn’t have a care in the fucking world. A cigar smokes between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air, while a glass of whiskey glints in his other hand. A book is tucked against his side like this is just another quiet night for him.

I bite down on my teeth. It’s him. No mistaking it. I remember that ugly face. Ricco.

The night feels too still, too calm for the vicious murder that’s about to take place. I unzip my bag slowly, keeping my eyes locked on his silhouette. My gloved hand finds the handle of my axe before I rise, pulling it free. He moves toward a chair now, settling himself in front of a roaring fireplace visible through the glass. He lounges there, oblivious. My pulse quickens, the blood in my ears a steady drum.

This is it. The moment I’ve fucking planned for. There’s no turning back.

I leave my bag behind and creep toward the mansion, sticking to the walls like a ghost slipping between shadows. My steps are soundless on the damp grass before I move along the side of the mansion, scanning the windows and doors for weaknesses.

The glass door I first spot is locked—figures. My gaze shifts upward, catching a balcony with French doors, not to high up for me.

I tiptoe, sliding my axe on the balcony floor before grabbing the smooth edge, then haul myself up, my boots scraping slightly against the wall as I climb. The muscles in my arms strain, but I make it, swinging my leg over the railing and landing in a low crouch. The French doors are locked too, but the latch is old, decorative rather than functional.

I lean down, grabbing my axe and slip the blade between the seam and twist until the latch pops with a click. Quietly, I push the door, slipping inside like a phantom.

The air inside is warm and the hallway ahead is dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow downstairs. I hold my axe tighter and move through the house with silent steps until I reach the top of the grand staircase, and when I look below, I see it’s a huge open study. The firelight flickers as I search the quiet aera until I spot him, sitting in a leather armchair with his back to me.

My jaw clenches as I straighten, then step forward. I glide across the marble floor, silent even against the crackling hiss of the fire. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, the glow from the study spills over me, but I don’t stop.

Both hands tighten around the axe handle as I move closer, quicker, my focus narrowing to the man seated in the chair.

“Ahhh, Ty Easton…” Ricco’s voice cuts through the room, smooth and mocking, and I freeze. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He rises slowly, taking his time, and turns to face me. His eyes—icy, greedy, unfeeling—lock onto mine, and every drop of blood in my body rushes to my head. Wrath vibrates through me, coiling in my body, begging to explode.

He takes me in, lazily assessing, the cigar still smoking between his lips as his other hand remains calmly by his side.

“You haven’t changed a bit, kid. Sacred Heights did nothing for you, I see.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” My roar tears through the room, raw and sharp, bouncing off the high ceilings like a physical force.

He doesn’t even move. Just stares at me, his callous gaze almost amused.

“Where the fuck is she? Where did you put her?”

“Penny?” His lips curl into a smirk, and the sound of her name on his tongue makes me see red.

I don’t answer. Words are beneath me now.

He gestures lazily to a door on the far left, his tone casual, uninterested. “Oh, she’s at the back.”

The air feels like it’s been sucked from the room. My brows knit together, my heart plummeting like a stone. I almost shake my head, denying his words, but the faint creak of a door opening snaps my attention.

My eyes dart to the sound, my blood turning cold as three massive men stride into the room. Their suits are pristine, every button waxed, their polished shoes clicking ominously against the marble floor.

My mind spins, calculating. Four of them. I’ll have to take down all four of them or die trying. My hold on my axe strengthens, my knuckles white against the leather of my gloves.

But none of it matters. None of them matter.

All I care about is Penny.

He clicks his fingers, a sharp sound that cuts through the tension like a knife. One of the suited men steps forward before he hands something to Ricco, and it takes a second for my brain to register what I’m looking at.

An urn.

“She’s right here,” he says with a smug, venomous smirk, holding it out like some fucked-up trophy.

My blood turns to ice, freezing and boiling at the same time. My chest squeezes, my lungs forgetting how to pull air. The world tilts, my vision narrowing to nothing but that urn and his sadistic grin.

Then it happens.

I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just move.

A roar tears from my throat, rough and painful, as I lunge forward, the axe high above my head. My boots thunder against the floor as I charge, every muscle in my body tightened with murderous intent.

The first man is on me in an instant, slamming into my side, but I don’t budge. The impact barely registers as I spin, swinging the axe with all the force I can summon. The blade slices clean through his throat, blood spraying out as he collapses, gurgling on the floor.

I don’t stop.

Another comes at me, but he’s too slow. My axe curves through the air, catching him across the stomach and the sharp blade digs deep, tearing through fabric, flesh, and bone. His scream echoes through the room as he drops to his knees, clutching at his spilling guts.

Suddenly, a deafening crack rings out.

Pain explodes in my leg, white-hot and searing, like a burning poker driven straight through the muscle. My knee buckles, and I crash to the floor with a hiss, my axe slipping from my grip as I clutch at my leg. Blood pools beneath me, thick and warm, spreading across the cold marble.

I bite down hard, refusing to let the agony consume me, and reach for the axe, but one of the guys kick it away. When I lift my head, I’m met with the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed firmly against my forehead.

Ricco looms over me, his smirk is wider now, more triumphant and the gun trembles in his hand, not from fear but from excitement.

“You really thought you could come here and kill me, didn’t you? Do you know who the fuck I am?” His tone is smug, like he’s enjoying his powerful pitiful moment. “I saw it the moment I took her—that fire in your eyes. A kid with a vengeance.” His grin widens. “And I fucking loved it.”

My jaw locks so hard it feels like my teeth might shatter as he steps closer. He leans in. “After around ten of us fucked her virgin pussy, she was nothing but a lifeless fucking corpse anyway, Ty.”

His words are acid in my veins, biting and harsh, and the tears I’ve fought so hard to hold seem to burn my dry eyes. My vision blurs, and I lower my head.

“I did her a favor. She was like a wounded animal. I put her out of her misery.”

My head snaps up, rage burning through the tears and my eyes lock onto his, wide and unhinged. Before I can stop myself, I spit. A thick glob hits him square in the face, sliding down his cheek.

The man beside me growls, grabbing me by the scruff of my shirt, but I laugh—a mentally unstable sound that echoes throughout the huge room, high-pitched and sudden.

Ricco wipes the spit from his face with a forceful movement, his icy stare never leaving mine.

“You think this is funny?” he hisses, his calm surface cracking as the first hint of anger slips through.

My laughter only grows louder, my shoulders jerking, the sound developing into something manic, something fucked.

“You’re dead,” I whisper through the laughter before my lips curl into a defiant grin. “You’re already fucking dead.”

The gun suddenly smashes into my face with a sickening crack, the impact snapping my head back as pain explodes across my cheekbone. Blood floods my mouth, pooling on my tongue and spilling from my split lips, but it doesn’t stop me.

I spit the blood onto the floor before another broken, rasping bubble of laughter forces its way out bitterly, dripping with madness. I grin up at him, teeth slick with crimson, mocking him further.

“I will kill you , you little cunt!” Ricco snarls, his face contorted in irritation as he shoves the barrel of the gun against my head.

His chest heaves as he stares me down, veins bulging in his neck. Then, without warning, he spins on his heel, the urn still clutched in his hand. With a loud roar, he hurls it through the air.

Time seems to slow until the urn smashes against the edge of the fireplace, shards of pottery raining down as Penny’s ashes spill into the flames. The heat churns her remains into spiraling wisps of smoke, rising and twisting into the air.

I watch through blurred, blood-streaked vision as the room spins around me. Everything hits me at once, crushing me under its weight: Penny’s face, her laughter, her screams. The years of planning in Sacred Heights, every moment leading up to this, the lies, the bloodshed. Raven’s voice, her soft moans and touch. It all swirls around me like the fucking ashes drifting in the firelight.

And then, something snaps.

“SO FUCKING DO IT!” I bellow, the sound ripping from my throat.

Ricco freezes, his hand tightening on the gun.

I grab the barrel with both hands, forcing it harder against my skull. My fingers curl around the cold steel, white-knuckled and shaking, but I don’t care. My head tilts, wild eyes meeting his with a vicious stare.

“Come on, Ricco. Don’t be a fucking pussy now.” My voice drips with venom, a low growl vibrating in my chest. “Blow my fucking brains out. Do it. End it, you sick fuck!”

He stares at me, his rage flashing into something else. Unease, hesitation. His handshakes, just a little, but enough for me to notice. Tears stream down my cheeks as I breathe violently, my chest heaving like a caged animal ready to maul its captor.

His lips curl into a snarl, but his eyes betray him.

“No,” he whispers, a chilling calm washing over him. “I’m not into fucking full-grown psychopathic men,” he says. “But I know a few who would love to eat you alive and spit your ass out. Let’s finish what your parents started, shall we?” He seethes before leaning in closer, his lips curling into a deranged smile as he whispers, “Only then will you find your place with pretty Penny. In my firepit where I roast my fucking marshmallows while thinking about how she felt around my cock that night.”

Suddenly, from the darkness beyond the huge window to my right, something catches my eye—two spiraling black-and-white circles. They hover there, perfectly still, staring back at me. At first, I think I’m fucking tripping or it’s a trick of the firelight reflecting off the glass, but no.

They’re steady. Watching me.

Then, as if summoned, two red spirals appear just above them, glowing faintly, almost pulsing. The red deepens, swirling faster, and then green spirals appear below, completing the bizarre trio.

The spirals bore into me, their hypnotic pull impossible to ignore. Each color churns like an endless vortex, the black-and-white centres spinning slowly while the red and green glow eerily, flickering in the night.

What the fuck is that? My mind struggles to make sense of what I’m seeing—eyes. Are they fucking eyes?

“Or maybe I should take… What’s her name? Raven?”

My eyes flash to Ricco’s in an instant and his smirks. My heart thumps hard in my chest. Not Raven. Not my kitten.

“Take him to the dungeon,” Ricco snarls before his dickhead puppet grabs me by the collar, dragging me across the marble floor.

Before I can even plan my next move, the window to my right explodes and something extremely fast whistles through the air like a streak of lightning.

The man above me chokes, his grip faltering as a wet, gurgling groan escapes him. A spray of warm blood rains down on me, splattering across my face before his heavy body collapses with a sickening crack against the marble, his dead weight crumpling beside me.

Everything slows again and my vision narrows. My heartbeat slams against my ribs, but my instincts scream louder. I stretch out, fingers clawing for my axe, and as soon as I feel its cold steel handle, I grab it tightly and roll onto my back.

Ricco moves like a cobra, the muzzle of his gun aimed squarely for my skull. He fires, the deafening sound echoing like thunder, but before the bullet reaches me, another sharp whistle cuts through the air.

A knife flies from the broken window and embeds itself deep into Ricco’s wrist. He howls in agony, his aim snapping wide. The bullet slams into the floor, an inch away from my head, ricocheting into the room.

Ricco screams, clutching his wrist as blood pours from the wound and his gun slips from his grasp, banging to the floor.

My blood surges, adrenaline drowning out every other sensation. Without hesitation, I leap to my feet, axe in hand, and roar as I swing it. The blade cuts clean through his leg, slicing it off mid-thigh. He collapses with a shriek, his cries echo through the room, but I don’t stop. I fucking won’t.

I raise the axe again, bringing it down with savage force until his other leg is severed, the bone cracking like brittle wood. Blood pools beneath him, but it’s not enough.

I’m not done. It’s not enough. She needs to feel it beyond the grave.

I swing the axe again and again, severing each arm at the shoulder, the splatter of warm, sticky blood painting me with every blow and I drown in the fucking feeling. His screams dissolve into wet gurgles, his limbs are now to twitching stumps.

Finally, I meet his eyes. He’s choking on his own blood, spitting weakly, his face a mask of pain and terror.

“Another one in hell. You won’t be able to fucking hurt innocents there, Ricco. Only you suffer,” I snarl, tears streaming down my face, mingling with the blood dripping from my chin.

With a final roar, I raise the axe high above my head and bring it down with all the strength left in my trembling body. The blade splits his face down the middle, halving the bone and flesh, opening him up like a ripe fucking melon.

I don’t stop. I continue swinging, over and over, my vision blurred by rage and grief, his remains turning to unrecognizable pulp beneath me. I keep going until my arms ache, until there’s nothing left of Ricco but carnage.

Only then do I finally fall to my knees, the axe slipping from my grasp with a dull thud. I hyperventilate as I sit there, head bowed, eyes clenched shut, trying to silence the screams still echoing in my skull.

Then I hear it—a low rumble, growing louder. Motorbikes .

My ears prick, every muscle snapping to attention as the faint growl filters through the night. I scramble to my feet, nearly slipping on the slick bloody floor beneath me. I stagger toward the shattered floor-to-ceiling window, dragging my wounded leg behind me before my gaze locks onto the treeline.

Through the shadows of the pitch-black woods, three motorcycles whizz through, riding away, their taillights blinking through the darkness. The sound of their menacing laughter reaches my ears, even over the roar of the engines, chilling and unhinged.

My gaze narrows, feeling a mix of confusion and suspicion. The distant sound of the motorcycles fades into the night, leaving me alone with the aftermath. I turn around slowly, my eyes sweeping over the chaos behind me.

I take a shuffle forward, my boots squelching in the thick pool spreading beneath Ricco’s remains. My mind races, trying to piece together what the fuck just happened.

Something glints near the edge of the massacre. A knife.

I crouch down, my muscles shuddering as adrenaline drains from me, and reach out with shaky fingers. The blade feels cold and alien as I lift it into the light.

It’s a throwing knife with swirling engravings wrapped around the blade and handle, almost hypnotic in their design. Just like the eyes peering back at me.

My brows furrow as I study it, turning it over in my hand. It’s not random, not something you’d find lying around. This is crafted for accuracy, for skill—for someone who knows how to fucking kill.