21-year-old Florence Ivelle struggles through college to claim freedom but gets trapped into a deal with her brother, Alastor, leaving her at his mercy until she graduates. She doesn't expect to be kidnapped into breaking it.
Three masked men take h...
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It scared me that I recognized the murderer.
My jaw slackened as I watched him corner his victim against a wall, the night vision of the camera capturing the fear in their eyes. She was a woman with tangled, blonde hair, her pupils blown as she trembled, her fear rendering her silent as she stared off the man with the gun.
She was brave in her last moments—braver than I'd been with my captors, and I watched as her final breaths were taken stoically, her chin held high as a bullet was sent through her throat.
She slumped to the floor, and sickened, I watched the man's teeth gleam with delight.
"I know him," I stammered as shock filtered through me. My captors looked at me. "He comes to 'Killian's CBD'." I gripped the underside of the desk for support. "I—I know him."
Yoongi was the first to take action, leaning forward to pause the footage. The silence that followed was overbearing, images of the innocent women's lives being taken playing in my mind.
Yoongi's question sliced through the quiet. "What does he buy?"
I looked at the keyboard resolutely, hoping wherever the woman was, she felt no pain. "Nothing," I whispered. "He'll just..." The life was taken right from the woman's eyes. "He goes to talk to Killian." Did she have a family? Was she someone's sister or wife or friend? "In the back of the shop."
"What's in the back of the shop?"
"I don't know." My tongue was numb, and my chest ached with every word I spoke. "I'm not allowed to go in."
"Is it locked?" he pressed.
"It's"—the woman's eyes were so devoid of any life, frozen in time as she was murdered—"always locked."
He looked at me closely, but my focus on him was blurring, spotting at the edges. "Do you know his name?"
"Silas." His name violated the very air we breathed—air the woman would no longer be able to breathe or feel against her skin.
"When he leaves the room," Yoongi continued, "does he leave with anything?"
Bile rose in my throat, threatening to consume me. "Sometimes. With a paper bag."
"When was he there last?"
My surroundings spun. "Past midnight. Monday's truck had just come in."
"The shop stays open for that long?"
"No," I managed. "I was just—I was closing, but Killian said he could come in."
Jungkook said rigidly, "He took whatever was in that shipment; he works with Killian."
Yoongi folded his arms. "Does he have a specific time he goes to the shop?"
"No." My voice quivered, unlike the brave woman who didn't break eye contact when she was shot. "Is there..." My next breath stammered on itself. "More footage like this? You said this was the most recent one." I had to take a moment before I gathered enough vocal stability to ask, "How many?"
