Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 45

SPENCER

A lmost an hour later, I’m off the train and making my way to the address Rio texted me yesterday.

They still haven’t texted me back.

Maybe this is a sign. A sign that they don’t want me anymore. Did yesterday make them realize I’m not worth all the trouble?

The thought stings, but this would be for the best. A clean break. Although avoiding me would be a shitty way of them telling me they’re done, I’m not sure I can blame them.

How do you tell someone whose place of business just got a shot up that you’re not interested in them anymore?

Apparently, the answer is to say nothing at all.

I make my way through their neighborhood. Kids play in the street, a pair of elderly women gossip in lawn chairs, and a man moves his trashcan to the curb, a picturesque New York residential area. It’s peaceful. Laughter rings down the street.

It’s the complete opposite of the turmoil going on inside me. My muscles are stiff, ready for the next bad thing to happen. My focus darts about, checking for threats.

I force myself to take calming breaths and to slow my pace. Everyone out here is enjoying their afternoon. I don’t want to scare the children whose only goal is to have fun. They deserve their carefree play time.

Finally arriving at the address, I take a moment to reel in my nerves. I can’t go in there with this intense, high-strung energy and then expect them to just let me leave.

Their brownstone is not what I expected. I mean, I didn’t think I would find beer cans on the small lawn, but I also didn’t expect to find it so cozy and clean.

I wait a few minutes, but the only sign that someone is home is Zane’s Honda Civic in the driveway. They may have taken Asher’s car somewhere and gone out together.

Yeah, that’s probably it.

Perhaps I should leave a note on the doorstep. Let them know, I'm gone. But I don’t want it to blow away.

I could leave it inside.

Is it breaking and entering if I have a key?

Glancing up and down the street, I make my way to their front door. I don’t know why I’m so nervous to go inside. It’s not like someone is going to jump out and say, “Hey! You can’t do that!”

I unlatch the deadbolt, turn the knob, and try to push the door open but it won’t budge. It’s definitely unlocked so what the hell?

Shoving my shoulder into the door, there’s only an inch of movement.

So that’s why it’s unlocked.

Using my hip I give the wood a good couple bumps. It finally opens without so much as a squeak. I stand there staring at the open doorway.

Am I really going to do this?

Apparently.

Ugh. Suck it up, Spencer. Be a big girl and just put one foot in front of the other. You’re not a burglar, you’re just leaving a note. You’re more like Santa Claus.

I go straight for the kitchen and don't allow myself to get caught up in admiring the nice couch or gawking at the plain decor. I find a pen and a paper menu for Sal’s.

God, these men and their pizza.

On the back of the paper I scribble out a note and demand my tears to stay put.

Thump.

What the hell was that?

I keep my body impossibly still, listening for the noise again. Nothing happens so I finish my note with a little heart and “Love, Spence.” It may be ridiculous to add a heart seeing how their radio silence speaks volumes, but I can’t end the note without some kind of indication that I still care.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I set the pen down and follow the source of the noise. Tiptoeing across the wood floors, I don’t make a sound. The last thing I need is one of the guys finding me creeping around their house.

Thump.

With ominous energy in the air, I find myself in front of a door behind the staircase.

That’s not creepy at all. I should turn around and leave the way I came.

What if one of them is stuck down there and needs help?

My hand automatically wraps around the doorknob before I am able to talk myself out of it.

Oh God. I’m going to be that girl, aren’t I? The one that goes into the eerie basement like an idiot even though she’s being chased by an ax murderer. Nothing good ever happens in basements.

Dropping my hand, I take a step back, but then there’s another thump followed by a painful moan.

My bags go to the floor softly. I steel my nerves and open the door. There isn’t a light on the foreboding stairs, just a path to a nice dark pit.

Well, isn’t that lovely.

My feet take slow steps downward. If an ax murderer really does jump out at me, I’ll allow all of Hollywood to say, “I told you so,” because they’ve literally tried to warn me with all the scary movies they have produced.

When I get to the halfway point a few voices float up my way.

“He doesn’t know anything.”

“ Hijo de puta !”

The second voice is Rio, but the first I don’t recognize. It’s accented and deeper than Rio’s.

A new voice interrogates, “Who sent you? Who told you to shoot up Abstract Dreams?”

That is definitely Zane, but who the hell are they talking to? Did they find the shooters? Why are they here and not at the police station?

“ No te diré ni mierda .” Another voice I don’t recognize.

“Let’s just get it over with and kill them. I’m bored.” Another unfamiliar, accented male voice. Does Rio have brothers I don’t know about? How many people are here?

I land on the final step and grunts of pain meet my ears. I peak around the corner, but don’t dare to come out of the shadows.

My hand flies to my mouth to keep in the gasp ready to slip out.

What the hell is happening?

There are two savagely beaten men tied to chairs. Rio is squatting by one of the men and whispering something in his ear while he traces a knife down the man’s arm. Zane is standing with his arms crossed and his back to me. By the way his muscles are tense in his back, I can tell that his mood is foul.

Off to the side are three more men. All tattooed and a little scary looking. One has a passive look on his face as he twirls a knife around his knuckles, I’ll call him Bored Dude.

The second man wears a scowl like it’s permanently etched on his face and he has no interest in changing that, he’s dubbed Angry Man.

The third looks annoyed, but there’s amusement in his eyes. It’s as if he’s entertained by what’s going on. He’s officially Creepy As Fuck Guy.

I look back to the men tied to the chairs and silently gulp. My stomach churns as I take a mental inventory of their injuries. Both of their eyes are swollen shut, dried blood sits under their noses and coats their lips. They have bruises all over and their shirts have been cut down the middle, barely hanging on their shoulders. The guy currently not receiving Rio’s special attention is shaking like a leaf.

Did Zane and Rio do that? Where’s Asher? Does he know what’s going on?

Rio adds pressure to his knife on the man’s hand and I simultaneously add more pressure to my hand covering my mouth.

“Okay! Okay! His name is Cain. We met him at Euphoria.”

Zane drops his arms and takes a step forward with his fists clenched. “You saw him?”

The man in the chair pants while speaking. “Not really. He passed us notes.”

“You took a fucking hit job via a note like you’re some schoolgirl passing notes in class? Are you fucking kidding me? How dumb are you? You could’ve been set up.” Creepy As Fuck shakes his head at the guy like he’s disappointed.

Disappointed rather than disgusted? Seriously? Who is this guy?

“They’re useless.” In a flash Creepy As Fuck whips out a gun I didn’t notice and shoots each tied up man in between the eyes.

My mouth gapes open in a silent scream and arguing ensues between him and Rio. My hands quiver as I bring them to my sides.

Step by step, I back away from the scene before me. Without looking behind me, I run into a wall I wasn’t there seconds before.

No.

Not a wall.

A person.

Before I can scream, a large hand clamps over my mouth and an arm hugs me around my waist.

“Now, where do you think you’re off to, Princess?”