Page 268 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer
Glass explodes. The back window disintegrates into a mist of shrapnel.
The car fishtails, tires screeching, but the fucker doesn’t stop.
Keeps going.
Fast.
I take off after him, rage boiling under my skin.
I chase him halfway down the alley, past dumpsters and the stink of rotting fish, until it’s obvious—he’s gone.
Breathing hard, I slow to a stop.
The radio at my hip crackles, an officer’s voice breaking through the static.
“Boss—was that him?”
I stare down the alley, fists clenching uselessly at my sides, the taste of copper thick on my tongue.
“Yeah,” I growl. “That was him.”
The leader.
The man who built this hell.
Gone like a ghost. Again.
I glance down at the shattered glass glittering at my feet, the blood pounding in my ears louder than the sirens now wailing in the distance.
Almost isn’t good enough. Not tonight.
Not when I promised myself I wouldn’t fail again.
My voice is a low, vicious whisper as I kick a piece of broken taillight down the alley.
“You’re not getting away again, motherfucker.”
The raid is winding down, but I’m not.
I stand just outside the warehouse, breathing in the metallic stink of blood, sweat, and gunpowder.
My sleeves are stained, my boots coated in grime. I should be focusing on cleanup, on transport, on wrapping this all by the book.
Instead, I’m counting down the minutes until I can get back to my phone so I can scroll for the hundredth time, staring at a wall of dead black screens where her house cameras used to be.
To keep the mission as secret and secure as possible, no devices. No addresses until the last moment.
The absence of my phone is burning a hole in my hand.
It’s stupid and desperate.
She tore them out. Ripped me out.
Still, here I am, clinging to the scraps of something already slipping through my fingers.
She just needs time.
The lies are thin as paper, but I keep stacking them anyway, hoping they’ll build something sturdy enough to stand on.
