Page 21 of Born into Madness
Poor Niki. He’s always stuck wading through information, trying to find hidden clues in the midst of piles and piles of shit. I don’t envy him, but we all have our talents, and this is his. I’m thrilled mine lies more with sinking my blade into flesh. It’s much more enjoyable.
Before those two fucked-up lovebirds can grab Hailey, I get my ass out of their room. The last thing I want is to witness their sad little threesome of an overeager Adam, a completely uninterested April, and whatever the hell this Hailey woman brings to the mix.
When I’m sure the hall is empty, I make my way to the door at the end. There’s an attic room on the top floor, and based on what Niki’s been able to see through their hacked security cameras, we’re guessing it’s Tom’s room. When I reach out for the door handle, I give an annoyed grunt when it doesn’t budge. The annoyance isn’t because he’s managed to keep me out. Judging by the cheap particle-board door and flimsy knob, it’s going to take me less than a minute to break in. I’m just pissed I’m going to have to spend even a few extra seconds in this place.
Grabbing the tools I always keep on me, I squat down and slip the thin wrench into the keyhole before gently twisting my wrist. Next I slip the pick in, feeling the whisper-soft clicks instead of hearing them as the music filters up the stairs along with loud shouts and laughter. Within seconds, I feel the lock give as the knob turns and the door swings open.
Shutting the door behind me, I slip up the small set of stairs that lead to the attic room. The first thing I notice is the lack of a smell. The second is that the place is clean. I feel like I’ve just stepped into the only sanitary place in the entire house. His bed is made with military-style precision, every surface is dust free, and the rug looks like it was recently vacuumed.
This makes things a lot harder. I’m not worried about the other guys noticing I was in their rooms, but this place is so clean, everything in its own place, and that means he’ll immediately notice if something looks off. Being careful to not move anything, I hurry up and connect the USB stick to the laptop on the desk, wait the ten seconds and then stuff it back in my pocket as I walk the room in search of a phone charger. I find one plugged in near the bed, and even though it won’t give the greatest view, it’s better than nothing, so I switch them out, and then do a quick sweep of the room. I don’t find anything. If he’s the one making the drops, then he’s stashing the drugs somewhere else. Scanning the room, I make sure everythinglooks just as it did when I walked in, and then quickly get the hell out, locking the door behind me.
I’m more than ready to leave this fucking frat house and get back to my dog. Thankfully, by the time I’m weaving my way back through the crowd, they’re even drunker and higher than before, making it easy for me to push my way through and out the door. I drink in the fresh air, filling my lungs with the clean scent that’s no longer laced with the stench of unwashed clothes and old condoms. I’m all set to keep an eye on things from a distance, but when I get back to where I’d left Chort, he’s not sitting in the shadows waiting for me.
Everything inside me grows still when I look at the empty patch of grass. A murderous rage quickly starts to overtake me when I think about someone hurting my dog. Chort wouldn’t just wander off. If he left, then he had a reason for it, and if that reason involves one hair on his body being hurt, then I will make damn sure this campus is filled with nothing but bloody bodies by the time the sun rises.
Jogging around the back of the house, I follow a trail that leads back to the university while I whistle for my dog. My ears strain to hear anything beyond the music that’s still blaring from the frat house. When I come to a fork in the path, I hear a faint growl, and immediately start running. Trees grow heavier on this part of the trail, thick branches that block out the moonlight, making it harder to see.
I stop when I see the tunnel ahead. It’s not long, just a short walkway that extends underneath the bike path, an easy way for students to get to the dorms up ahead without having to walk all the way around. In theory it’s great, but right now there are three guys standing at the entrance—one of them holding a terrified girl up against the bricks while the other two try to surround my dog.
Within seconds, I’m pulling my skull mask on and gripping the handle of my knife. I pull the long blade free as I slowly start walking towards the group. Chort’s low growl gets louder when one of them takes a step closer. He senses my presence, gives a soft whine, and then starts growling again.
Finally one of the others looks over and sees me.
“What the fuck?” He turns to his friends. “Who the fuck is this guy?”
They laugh, which might be the dumbest response they could possibly give. I ignore them and look over at the one who’s holding the girl. When I see the blood-colored hair, I tilt my head and run my eyes over her terrified face. She lets out a whimper, trying to get free so she can run, but the guy presses her harder against the brick. I watch, growing angrier with each passing second.
When one of the others asks, “Is that a fucking knife?” I turn to Chort and say in Russian, “Protect the girl,” before putting my focus back on the two men I’m about to kill.
Chapter 4
Cynthia
My heart hammers in my chest as my lungs seem to shrink in size. Hard brick digs into my back, and I swear I can already feel a bump forming on the back of my head, but none of that feels important right now—not my injuries, not the terror I feel, and not the jackass who’s still using his weight to keep me trapped. The only thing that matters right now is the giant of a man in a bloody skull mask who’s stalking towards the other two men with a large knife in his hand.
“Let me go,” I cry, trying to get the guy who’s holding me to see reason. “He’s going to kill us. Let me go!”
He ignores me, so I look over his shoulder at the Doberman. I swear he’s the same one I gave a treat to a few nights ago, and even though he looks dangerous, I’m fairly certain he won’t kill me. I quickly decide I’d rather take my chances with Chort than the guy with a knife.
When I start to struggle, he slams me against the brick again, making me wince and hiss out a breath. A low, threatening growl fills the air, and the guy looks over his shoulder at the angry dog.
“Let me go,” I say again. “I won’t tell anyone you came after me. Just let me go before we’re both murdered by this guy.”
Right after the words are out of my mouth, I hear a sound that makes every hair on the back of my neck rise in unison. As I look over, I hear the wet, sickening sound again as the masked man slams the long blade of the knife back into the other guy’s stomach.
“Jesus fuck, man!” The guy holding me squeals the words, too terrified to move. We both watch in stunned, horrified silence as the guy in the skull mask moves faster than I thought possible, lashing out in a perfectly timed move that has him slicing through the other guy’s neck before he can even think to turn and run.
I hear a choked whimper, and some part of my brain knows the noise is coming from me, but there’s no way I can control it. The noise only grows louder when I see the creepy mask turn so it’s now looking straight at me. The once-steel-tight grip that was around me loosens as the last remaining guy lets me go so he can try and run and save himself. He doesn’t make it far. Before he’s even fully turned around, there’s another loud squelching sound right before I feel something warm hit my face. The man lets out a pained groan, and then he’s sinking to the ground before me.
I’m shaking so badly I can hardly stand. Sobbing, I let myself sink to the ground as my teeth chatter and my breathing turns wheezy. I’m going to die. I’m going to fucking die right here under the bike path after leaving a stupid fucking frat party that I didn’t even want to go to. I’d thought I was in trouble before when the three guys jumped out and surrounded me on my way back to the dorm, but that was nothing compared to this. They were like obnoxious bullies on the playground, but this guy? This guy is the crazy that hides in your closet waiting for you to go to sleep so he can murder you.
I’m already in the midst of my panic attack, so it takes a second for me to notice the wet nose nudging my cheek. Openingmy eyes, I see Chort, and his warm brown eyes are enough to make me start sobbing again. Without thinking, I cling to his fur, wrapping my arms around him and burying my head against his neck, only dimly aware of the heavy thud of boots on concrete and a loud scraping noise as bodies are dragged into the bushes so they’re hidden from view.
I don’t even think about running. Paralyzing fear, the fact that my lungs are cinched up from asthma and anxiety, and the deep awareness that I wouldn’t make it five steps before a blade was stabbed into me make it impossible for me to move.
When the bodies are hidden, I keep a firm grip on Chort and watch as the masked man pulls out his phone. He makes a call, and then surprises me by speaking Russian to whoever is on the other end of it. I’m not nearly far enough in my studies to understand anything beyond a word or two, but I recognize the sound of the language, the cadence of it, and when he pockets his phone, he turns to look over at me.
“Don’t leave, Chort,” I whisper as I hug him tighter, trying to make myself invisible, even while I know it’s pointless.
