The thing that scares me the most is that there is no gunfire. Not one sound comes from the building.
Tentatively, I open the door, careful when I step inside. My gun is raised, cocked and ready. Once I cross the threshold, a familiar smell of lingering gunpowder hits me.
Then the heat touches my face, infiltrating my nostrils. The shots were just fired, probably with a silencer. It only just ended, which means the threat is still out there. I keep my wits about me as I move farther into the building.
At first, it seems as if there’s nothing out of place.
Except for the most important thing.
Signs of life.
Instead, only the soft hum of the jukebox can be heard. The song feels out of place in the backdrop of bright walls and party streamers. A slow, emotional melody. Goose bumps rise on my arms.
Even the lyrics feel like a warning . . .
A warning of something sinister waiting around the bend.
Normally, Al’s is loud and boisterous, but now the space is empty. I clock the details. The stained wallpaper. The popped balloons. The copper scent.
As I turn the corner, the illusion lifts.
It’s a massacre.
Bullet casings litter the floor like thrown confetti.
I follow them and peek into the first booth.
A bloody handprint is smeared across the bench. I look down to find wide, vacant eyes staring right at me. A bullet lodged between them.
My jaw clenches at the sight, and the muscles in my back tighten.
Gun leveled before me, my trigger finger ready, I walk to the next booth.
A streak of red coats the table. It trails along the wall, bloody handprints on the window.
Someone was trying to escape.
I look for the body . . .
That’s when I see her. Tucked under the bench as if she could hide.
But death found her anyway.
I push down the bile in my throat and turn to look at the rest of the dining room.
Bodies are strewn haphazardly across the floor. There is blood. So much blood. The crimson trails across the white linoleum floors like bright-red rivulets of paint running down a pristine canvas. It’ll take weeks to process this crime scene. To figure out who each splatter of blood belongs to.
Pressing my lips together, I breathe through my mouth. This is not the time to fall apart.
I push myself to take a step closer, careful not to disrupt the crime scene.
There’s another body here. He’s pale, wide-eyed, the horror of today permanently etched inside them. I want to run my hands down his eyelids and close them. To let him rest in peace.
I can’t disturb the crime scene.
Fresh tinges of purple and gray dot his cheeks and lips. His skin hasn’t become waxen yet, which means this happened sometime within the past twenty minutes.
Whoever did this can’t have gotten far. And he must’ve used a silencer, or we would’ve heard the shots from the precinct.
I pull out my phone to call the station and tell them where I am and what I’ve seen. It’s empty here, the back door hidden past the kitchen the most likely escape route. Still, I keep my gun drawn as I continue to check for any survivors.
My eyes scan the walls, windows, and tables.
That’s when my eyes lock on it. A barely noticeable trail of blood. I follow it. Each step is slow and calculated as I trace where the blood leads.
A door tucked away behind the jukebox.
It’s hidden.
Hell, I’ve lived in this town all my life, visited Al’s every week, and never knew it existed.
Tucked behind the jukebox that has entertained this town for years, it’s cracked open just a sliver. I move toward it, ready to pull the trigger if I need to. I hope I don’t. I hope to God it’s a survivor. That someone lived.
Slowly, I reach out and touch the doorknob.
The door creaks amongst the silence, amongst the stillness of the room. As soon as it opens, I dip my head to peer inside, and that’s when I see it.
A hand covered in blood.
1
Tobias
Twenty years later . . .
I have a single goal in my life.
One goal that is always in front of me.
It’s all-consuming, and it eats at me. But I need to get everything in line before attempting to conquer it.
Which brings me to the present. My right foot hits the pavement as I step out of my car and walk toward the courthouse.
There’s no reason to tell my driver anything. He’ll wait for me as I do what I need to do—as he always does.
I hate being driven around, but apparently, it’s necessary. And today, despite my security’s insistence, I am going in alone. The only one who will be here with me is Gideon, my right-hand man.
He’s already here, in place and scoping out the scene, assessing any threats to be concerned with.
With fast strides, I move toward my destination.
The large courthouse flanked by pillars greets me as I climb up the massive granite steps toward the entrance.
Of course, when I make it to the top of the stairs, I have to go through security.
Fun occupational hazard is that I’m not carrying today, which puts me at a disadvantage if an enemy decides to come after me.
This is the reason Gideon has gone ahead of me. To make sure nothing gets past him.
Trained well to see a threat from a mile away, Gideon doesn’t need weapons to take anyone out.
He’s just as lethal with his hands as he is with a gun.
A good person to have in your pocket.
But Gideon is more than that.
Not only is he my right-hand man, he’s also the man who will take over everything when I step away. There is no one else I would trust. Gideon has been my friend since we were both teenagers in Miami, which makes him perfect to hand over my keys to the castle to. Luckily for me, he has no objections, either, but until the transfer is complete, he proves his loyalty time and again.
Like now, putting my full trust in him as I walk through the metal detector with no weapon to protect myself. I’m an open target if my enemies want to kill me.
I still think it’s worth it, though. I’m willing to take a calculated risk, as I need to see what I’m dealing with. See him in action.
Felix Bernard is here.
A preliminary hearing to see if probable cause of a criminal offense occurred. In this case, it’s determining whether there is enough evidence to tie him to a money laundering scheme. One that would directly connect him to a large drug empire.
There is no question that Felix Bernard will get off. He’s not going to jail. That much is clear to me, but I still need to see him. Look straight into the bastard’s soul and see what’s there. The best way to see the demons that live within is by looking into someone’s eyes.
Once past security, cleared, obviously, I head toward the courtroom where Gideon waits for me. The preliminary hearing is open to the public. Probably not a good idea.
It could be a spectacle if the case doesn’t get thrown out. If I were the judge, which I am obviously not, I’d shut it down. But his dumbass decision is my gain because I get to see Felix in action. In our line of work, with security in place, Felix and I are rarely in the same building, let alone the same zip code at the same time. Precautions are taken to ensure we aren’t.
I hurry my steps as I move down the corridor. The sound of my soles hitting the marble with a faint clapping rhythm marks my approach. As I weave my way through the corridor, it only takes a few seconds before I walk into the large room.