Page 54 of Psychotic Faith
The forty-minute drive feels like seconds and years simultaneously. The sunset paints everything red: the windshield, the buildings, my hands gripping the wheel. Like the world is already bleeding, preparing me for what's coming.
The compound gates stand open. Wrong. These gates should never be open, require codes, guards, verification. Neumann pays millions for his privacy, his protection. I know, I've checked.
The security booth is empty. Worse.
My headlights sweep across expensive cars in their usual spots, everything normal except for the absolute stillness. No movement. No guards walking perimeter. No dogs barking.
The front door is ajar.
"Luca?" My voice echoes in the marble entrance. No answer, but I hear something deeper in the house. A soft, rhythmic sound. Metal on fabric.
The first body stops me cold.
A security guard lies by the stairs, his throat cut so precisely there's barely any blood. His eyes stare at nothing, hand still reaching for a weapon he never drew.
My knees hit the floor hard. I crawl to him, some insane part of me checking for a pulse even though his eyes tell the truth. I reach for his wallet and let it fall open. Twin daughters smile up at me from their school photos. Bile rises again, but there's nothing left to throw up.
The second body lies near the study entrance. Johnson, according to his name tag. Clean shot, professional.
The study door hangs open.
Inside, two more guards lie motionless on the expensive Persian rug. Four men total. The silence is absolute, that particular stillness that comes after violence has finished.
Luca stands by the window, calmly wiping his knife with a monogrammed handkerchief. Like he's maintaining tools after a simple task. His white shirt is pristine except for a single drop of blood on the cuff.
These hands, the same ones that made me scream his name on Saturday night, that counted mats with a traumatized child this morning, now methodically clean blood from steel.
"Faith." He looks up, those pale eyes serene. "You came."
My body shakes so violently I have to grab the doorframe. "You killed them."
"Four." No remorse. Just fact. "The rest ran when they realized what was happening. Smart ones."
Nico stands by the window with a rifle, watching the grounds. "Two vehicles left heading south about ten minutes ago. They won't be coming back."
Four men dead. The others fled. Not a massacre, but still four families who'll never know what happened to their fathers, brothers, sons.
"Where's Neumann?" The words scrape out of my throat.
"Not here." Luca's smile is that wrong smile. "But now he has no one protecting him. No guards. No security. Just him, alone and vulnerable."
I'm counting the bodies through tears I didn't realize were falling. I don't know these men, but they were human. And that means something.
"This is murder," I whisper, but even as I say it, that dark satisfaction pulses. These men who shielded my mother's killer are gone.
God help me, I'm grateful.
"This is removing obstacles," Nico says without emotion.
My phone buzzes, making me jump. Dad. Six missed calls and now a text: "Faith, I'm getting reports of a disturbance at Neumann's compound. Where are you? Answer immediately."
I stare at the message while standing among corpses. My father the judge, defender of law and order. His daughter, witnessing slaughter and feeling her pussy clench at the sight of her lover covered in blood.
"Sorry, library emergency. Kid got sick. Handling it," I type with trembling fingers.
Another text from Dad immediately: "Something's wrong. I'm sending a patrol car to check on you."
Panic seizes my chest. "No! I'm fine. With Sarah. Please don't."
