Page 11 of Corpse Roads

“Keep working on those camera feeds for the upcoming raid. We’ll take care of the SCU.”

“Call me if you need backup,” he offers.

“We’ll be fine. See you at home?”

He mumbles, refusing to agree with me. The bedroom we set up for him when we bought the luxurious townhouse in outer London remains untouched, even five years later.

Though, that wasn’t when our problems started. Theo pulled away from our group the day he lost his reason for existing.

Meeting Enzo in the garage, we greet a handful of employees on the way to our blacked-out SUV. Everyone defers to us, their heads lowered with respect.

After dismissing them, we climb in and set the navigation for the hospital. It won't take long to get there from Sabre’s HQ.

“We’ll catch this sick bastard,” Enzo states, mostly to himself.

“I hope you’re right. This case is starting to get to me.”

Both smoothing professional masks into place, we leave no room for weakness. It’s a necessity in our line of work, something we aren’t always the best at. Emotion comes with caring about what we do.

Enzo is far worse than me, a complete sucker for a sob story. He’s adopted many strays into Sabre’s ranks over the years.

Heading out, we prepare to face our first living victim.

Only this time, I hope it will be the last.

* * *

Sanderson doles out handshakes before leading us into a private meeting room. It’s a small space down the corridor from the intensive care unit in London’s biggest hospital.

I glare at his back, cloaked in an ill-fitting shirt that’s stained with sweat marks. He loves to lord his authority over us, even though Sabre could reduce the SCU to rubble in a matter of hours.

“Take a seat, gentlemen.”

Folding myself into one of the hospital chairs, Enzo lingers behind me. He always plays the watchful bodyguard. Even among government employees, he trusts no one but our team.

People always have hidden agendas in this business. Caution is necessary. We’ve learned to keep our cards very close to our chests or risk imminent death.

“Cut the shit. What happened?” I ask bluntly.

Sanderson looks between us. “One week ago, a stray kid was reported by a delivery driver. They found her holed up in the back of the truck, half frozen to death. She was admitted to intensive care.”

Fiddling with my Armani watch beneath my shirt sleeve, I stifle an eye roll. He’s grasping at straws, looking for his moment in the spotlight.

This doesn’t fit our MO. We’re looking for bodies, not teen runaways. Our killer would never leave one of his victims still breathing.

“This is a waste of time,” Enzo grumbles.

“Just listen,” Sanderson snaps. “It wasn’t brought to my attention until the medics had her stabilised. She was a mess. They called the police first, so it took a while for us to catch wind of this. Trust me, you need to see this shit.”

Snapping open a brown, battered briefcase, he pulls out a stack of glossy, full-page photographs. I take the bundle and quickly lose my train of thought as I spot the awaiting horror.

Despite months of working on this case, nothing could prepare me for this. The victim bears identical markings to every single female known to our investigation. Old, vicious scars that disfigure over half of her entire body.

I feel Enzo’s breath on my neck as he leans in to inspect the gruesome evidence, growling out a curse. He’s right to be alarmed. If the woman survived this, she’s a seriously tough son of a bitch. And possibly our first real lead.

“Where is she?” I demand.

“Sedated and under our protection.”

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