Page 4 of Five
Breathe, or I’ll take charge. Bez’s threat spears through the chaos in my mind, and I take a few gulps of air before I can openmy eyes again. Bez is strong, stronger than me, but he’s also a lazy bastard, who likes to lie back and watch unless the situation calls for him.
“Are you there? Too busy commanding your troupe of lawyers, as usual?” Rami’s voice reminds me of the conversation we are having. Fuck.
“Continue.” My voice is trembling slightly, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“There seems to be only two ways to take the pain away, a strong sedative or…pleasure.” Incredulous silence follows his words for a few seconds.
My frozen mind starts firing thoughts as Hunter asks, “Are you fucking serious?”
Could it be?
“It makes me sick to my stomach, but it’s true. The pain is agonizing, almost unbearable, but endorphin releases generated by pleasure can placate it. The drug leaves no trace in the blood. We need a sample of it to identify it.”
“Is Art a viable informant?”
“Yes. He has never given me false info,” Rami says with conviction. “Some of the victims’ memories are still very hazy from what I read in their psychiatric files. But I followed their digital footprints, even though someone tried to erase them. I could link five of them to the club, Crimson. You need to infiltrate tonight and see if you can get a sample.”
“Tonight? Can’t you do it? I have my donor scheduled for tonight.”
And you fucking need it,Bez uselessly reminds me. Because my prickling body is already a constant reminder of what I need to do to make the uneasiness stop. Killing a donor and then moving on to the next one—while all Bez needs is fucking and rock music.
I’ve never particularly cared about the victims. I don’t sympathize with them even though I don’t like the injustice they suffered. The universe doesn’t settle the score as it should. So, I do. But I mostly kill to assuage my own need, no other reason.
“Serena found Phoenix’s online signature while searching for any link to this drug and located a warehouse. I’m going there with Raph, Hunter, and Opal as soon as we are done here,” Rami lets me know.
“What about Uri? He has extreme tastes; he actually goes to these kinds of clubs. Send him.”
“Uri is into…fivehundredshades of gray. You know why you’re the best option.”
Yes. Because in case I’m dosed, this drug won’t work on me.
“It can’t wait, Gabe. My contacts say the drug isn’t on the streets yet, but Phoenix is involved, so we need to expect the worst. Three victims died as a result of being dosed, and the last one tried to commit suicide because she was bombarded with flashbacks from the night she was drugged.”
I sigh. “People are having different reactions to the drug, which means that whoever is testing it is using people as lab rats.” Just like those scientists did to us.
“This has priority, Gabe.”
Normally, I’d agree with him, but I haven’t killed in three weeks, and I can’t keep procrastinating. Need the itch to go away. “And my donor? The shithead that slowly poisoned to death his three wives and is on number four now, doesn’t?”
Hunter replies, “Rague can take care of it. He needs it. He has been out far too long.”
He’s right. Two days ago, Rague tore both arms off a donor in the FUNS room—the Fucked Up Nasty Shitheads room is where we take care of the donors at our base—and then proceeded to melt his face with a blow torch. He’s been working on himself the past two months, but his inner anger still needs an outlet.
“I can’t take this to the police. I don’t have enough proof,” Rami adds. “Nothing would stick at the moment. Plus, it's Phoenix related. We need to take care of it our way.”
Who the fuck care! Don’t give in, Bez says.
I ignore him, and reply to Rami, “Alright.” My capitulation earns an angry growl from Bez.
“It’ll be easy for you since your firm helped the owner of the club with a small legal issue.”
My law firm has numerous clients. “Who?”
“Philip Bailey, owner of a successful chain of night clubs. Crimson is his first sex club. I’ll email you his background with all the sordid details.”
An image of a tall, bald guy in a dark green suit with tattoos covering his hands and neck pops inside my head. I’d met him a month ago while I was having lunch and Bart Dorridge stopped by my table to introduce me to him. He was a potential clientBart was having a meal with, but maybe there was more to it. Interesting.
“Your squeaky-clean lawyer, Bart Dorridge took care of his case. After that, he went to his club more than a few times.” Rami almost read my thoughts.
