Page 60 of Crimson Wrath

“Anton,” Carl’s voice trembles, betraying the fear we all feel. “What if we’re too late?”

“Then God help Cartwright, because nothing will save him from me.”

Chapter 20

Anton

It’s hard to believe it’s midday as we pull up outside the dilapidated building.

It’s as if the Sun forgot to shine on the place. Clouds cast grim shadows over the crumbling house. The boarded-up windows and tattered curtains are a sickening hint of what might be happening within. The chill of the winter air seeps into my bones, but it’s nothing compared to the icy anxiety gnawing at my insides.

What did that motherfucker do to her?

What state is she going to be in when we find her?

Will we even find her?

I push the thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand. I feel my jaw clench as I survey the scene – this is where she’s being held, where Cartwright has ensnared her like a spider with its prey in its web.

Hang in there, Zayka.

“Boss.” Luka nods toward the chain-link fence encircling the property. His eyes alert and calculating. He grips his gun with the steady confidence of a seasoned soldier.

“Let’s move,” I order, my voice low and guttural. My instinct is to rush in, firing and killing indiscriminately, but I know that I can’t give in to the temptation. Tension coils in my chest as we approach the fence, every muscle primed for action. Carl follows close behind, his own weapon drawn and ready.

“I’ve got your back,” he says, and I nod.

Together, we slip past a gate that’s hanging off its hinges and edge closer to the house, staying within the shelter of heavy trees and outbuildings. It’s impossible to be unaware of the danger lurking within. Leaves crunch beneath our boots, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet of the abandoned yard.

“Three guards at the front door,” Luka murmurs, pointing out the obstacles between us and our goal.

“Two on the left, near the broken window,” Carl adds, his voice low.

“Take them out quietly.” My instructions are met with decisive nods, and we split up, each man focused on the task at hand.

I move forward silently, murder in my mind. She’s in there, somewhere, and I’ll tear this fucking place apart if it means getting her back.

“Carl! Over here!” I gesture for him to accompany me toward the front door and he follows without question. The guards are heavily armed, but their overconfidence is going to be their weakness. A plan forms in my mind as we creep closer, every step calculated and precise.

“Take the one on the far side, then keep watch for others,” I instruct before slipping into the shadows, stalking the first guard like a predator honing in on its prey. The element of surprise is on my side, and within seconds, his limp body slumps against the wall.

“Good thing you wore black,” Carl says as he returns to my side. The guard is lying in a pool of his own blood that’s gushing from a gaping throat wound. The shit is everywhere, coating my hands, soaking into my shirt.

“Did you come back just to discuss my laundry problems?” I raise an eyebrow. “Where’s your guy?”

“Done.” Carl’s voice carries a hint of grim satisfaction, signaling his own success. We exchange a glance, knowing it’s time to strike.

I’m coming, Zayka…

The thought of her battered and broken fuels my resolve, my rage simmering beneath the surface. Cartwright will pay for what he’s done – but first, we must save her.

“Move!”

We storm the derelict house, our footsteps muffled by the rotting floorboards. It’s dark enough inside for darkness to disguise us. We navigate through it with ease, thanks to years of experience in worlds just as treacherous as this.

“Clear,” Carl whispers as we search each room with bated breath, my heart hammering against my chest. I know she’s close. I can feel it in my bones.

And then the silence is shattered.

---