Page 46 of Corpse Roads

“Hunter, ease up. We have to do this right.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause.

“I’ll speak to Richards about setting something up. He can be there to supervise. You can’t protect her forever though.”

“I’m just playing this smart.” I rub the ache between my eyes. “She’s no good to us rocking in a corner. We can’t catch this guy without her help.”

Theo’s voice filters through from the background. As head of the intelligence department, he works closely with some of our best agents. The legwork behind this raid has kept him busy for months.

“I’m coming,” Hunter replies to him. “Theo’s traced Harlow hitchhiking on four different vehicles so far. I have samples from forensics to have a DNA test done for her.”

“You think she has a family?” I guess, feeling sick at the thought.

“No one’s looking for her. She’s a ghost, but we have to be thorough. We need new leads to identify the killer.”

“What about the raid this week? We’ve been planning it for months. Everything is in place.”

“I need you here to run point,” he answers firmly. “This operation requires our full attention. Theo will keep working on Harlow’s case.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone for a few seconds. My loyalties should lie with my best friend, my company, and the ongoing investigation. Sabre matters above all else.

It’s the family I’ve created for myself, one case at a time. Our ranks are made up of talented individuals, all let down by the world. I’ve found friends for life, family even, in the bleakness of my profession.

I can’t let Harlow threaten our equilibrium. Regardless of the pathetic scrap of hope it offers to my cold heart to be needed by someone again.

CHAPTER 10

HARLOW

SPEAKING OFF THE RECORD - HOTEL MIRA

The pen shakes in my hand as I’m overcome by trembling. Each word I manage to write is wobbly, like a child’s love letter. Just recalling the names I can remember has exhausted me.

Little details come back to me with each word. Hair colours, broken smiles, heart-wrenching stories shared in the dead of night. All of the girls had someone they loved, even from afar.

He took that from them.

Worst of all, I know there are others. Their identities are blurred in my mind, like polaroid photos with the faces scratched out. It’s killing me to know that I’ve forgotten them.

Slamming the pen down, I grab handfuls of my stupidly long hair. My heart is beating too fast. Pumping blood. Keeping my vital organs alive. Suspending me in life, when all I deserve is death.

Tugging on my hair, I gasp as a few strands come away in my hands. The sizzle of pain is a welcome distraction. Breathing deeply, I wrap a thin strand around my fingers.

Pain cleanses us of all our sins.

We suffer for him.

Fire races across my scalp as I pull again, harder this time. The strands rip away from my head with a faint pop. It hurts even more, and I nearly cry from the relief.

“God loves us for our labours,” I whisper hoarsely.

Staring down at the list of girls that looked into my eyes before they took their last breath, I feel physically sick. None of them had to die. I scrawl another name at the bottom, biting back a sob.

Harlow Michaels.

I should’ve joined them on this deathly list. The night he carved his marks into my flesh, I saw the fabled light. It was so close, inches away. I could almost taste it on my tongue.

Why did I survive, when they didn’t? For what purpose did God spare my life? There has to be a reason for all this pain and bloodshed. I can’t live in a world where the darkness exists for no goddamn reason.

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