Page 35 of Vallaverse: Noir
The door at the front of the admin building bangs open and I watch as both of them waltz out with wide grins that grow wider once they make eye contact with me.
I start to shake.
It wasn't even that bad.
I called them.
“Did they do it?” Dana asks, voice quiet and hard.
“Yes,” I manage to whisper.
It wasn't that bad.
I gave them my address.
I wanted them.
Dana's warmth and scent is suddenly gone, causing my throat to close. Then a gunshot rings. Then another. And then there's vicious growling.
I blink rapidly, trying to pull air into my lungs. More doors are thrown open. People scream. But it's all hushed underneath the roaring current of my rushing blood.
“We're with the service,” one of the Alphas screams. “He asked us to help with a spike.”
I recognize the voice. I know who it is. Kyle.
“You left bruises all over his body.” Dana's tone is still quiet. Smooth. Deadly.
“He wanted us,” Kyle yells, but cuts off in a whine.
Pierce calls my name. “Beckett. I need you to turn around. You need to see this. It will help. I can't help you move, but if you turn around you will see why. You will know why you have to see it.”
I try. I do. But there's something stopping me, some disconnect between my mind and my body.
“Turn now, Beckett,” Dana commands. “Look.”
And just like that, I can move. I can breathe.
Slowly, I turn. Dana is kneeling over Kyle's bleeding body, holding his arm at an unnatural angle. A quick glance to the side reveals Josh's motionless form and Pierce standing calmly over it. His sharp eyes never leave Dana.
“Who signed off on your registration with the heat service?” Dana asks. “Who is your contact?”
“There is no contact,” Kyle answers, grimacing. “It's a phone service.”
Dana jerks his arm and he screams.
“Who signed of on your registration paperwork? Give me a name.”
“They signed us up,” Kyle grunts. “We didn't do the paperwork. They did it for us. When we get the text, we go to the address.”
Dana slides her grip down his arm until she gets to his wrist and hand. “Who,”pop, “is,”pop,” they?”pop.
Nausea threatens the contents of my stomach. I'm not violent. I don't like gore. Watching Dana snap his fingers like twigs from his probably broken arm constitutes both violence and gore.
But she did it for me.
Because they hurt me.
I am safe.
