Page 8 of The Raven
He deserved everything he got.
His outstretched arms were tethered to the headboard, preventinghim from fighting his attacker, along with his feet shackled to the footboard. His face was contorted into a look of terror; the mask he’d wear for all of eternity.
Hundreds of slash wounds covered his body, some small, some long,his skin shredded like ribbons. Blood had seeped from every cut, coating his flesh and soaking into the bedding and the mattress.
Boogie hadn’t died from being stabbed; he’d died from blood loss,something that would have been slow and painful.
And still, I couldn’t find it in me to feel sorry for the fucker.
“Death by a thousand cuts,” I muttered, taking in his mutilated body.
“Yeah, it wouldn’t have been a quick death, that’s for sure,” Nick replied,his voice tinged with disgust. “What do you make of the crow?”
My gaze lifted to the drawing above the bed, my brows furrowing atthe artwork etched above Boogie’s dead body. “It’s not a crow.” A knot tightened in my stomach. “It’s a raven.”
“Same difference,” Nick shrugged.
“No, it’s not.” I stepped to the side of the bed so I could get a betterlook, careful not to disrupt anything from its place.
The charcoal drawing was breathtaking, even with the blood stainssmeared over it. Whoever had drawn it had taken their time, detailing feathers in different shades of black and grey.
“Look here,” I said, reaching up to point at the wings but making surenot to touch it. “Raven’s wings are pointed, and their middle tail feathers are longer. And then there’s the beak, crows’ beaks are straight, ravens have a slight curve.”
Nick chuckled. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were an ornithologist,boss.”
“I’m not. I just happen to know a lot about ravens.”
“Well, crow or raven, why do you think they drew a bird?”
The image of Raven Blackwood flashed in my mind. Not when shewas covered in blood and I was pumping her chest, desperate to bring her back. No, the image was of her laughing, flicking her long black hair over one shoulder, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
If only that was the image I could hold onto instead of the one I wasleft with.
The knot tightened, making it hard to breathe. “Whoever wasresponsible wanted us to know the reason Boogie was killed.”
“Which is?” Nick said, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Revenge.”
It felt like days had passed by the time I made it home. The scenetook hours to process, and every cut inflicted on Boogie’s body needed to be measured and photographed before the coroner could remove his corpse.
The crime scene investigators would take a few days to examine theapartment fully, so when the sun began to rise, I decided to head home and get some sleep, knowing the amount of work that would await me when I rolled into the office later.
My brain churned with theories as I drove home. The drawinghadtomean Boogie’s death was linked to Raven, but who would have taken matters into their own hands?
Eric was dead. The only family she had was her mom and stepdad, andthey fled the State a few weeks after the incident. Yes, she had friends, but Ididn’t think any of them were capable of murder, nor would they have risked their own lives by going against the Vipers.
Who did that leave?
I didn’t know.
I hoped once I got a few hours of shut-eye, I’d be able to think clearly.
Like Boogie, I lived in a top-floor apartment.UnlikeBoogie, mycomplex was in a decent part of the town, and I kept the place obsessively neat and tidy.
My apartment was my sanctuary, my safe place from the craziness ofHadleigh Peak.
The second I stepped inside and locked the door behind me, I breathed a sighof relief, only to tense again at thetap, tap, tapcoming from the direction of my living room.
