Jake’s mind was clouded as he slowly regained consciousness, his head throbbing from the blow. Muffled voices echoed around him, but the words blurred together as he struggled to make sense of where he was. He flinched, wincing at the sharp pain in his temples, and tried to move, only to realize he was tied securely to a metal chair. His arms were pulled back and restrained, his legs bound tightly. His mouth was gagged. He pulled against the restraints, his muscles straining, but it was no use—the bindings held firm.
As his vision cleared, he looked around as much as he could. He was in a vast, empty corporate floor—an eerie, sterile space that stretched about 75 meters. His heartbeat quickened as he took it in. This wasn’t police holding, and it wasn’t the FBI either. This was someone else.
A voice broke through the murmur, dripping with a thick French accent. “Ah... he’s awake. The Crimson Killer himself.” The tone was mocking, laced with sinister and amusement.
Jake tried to turn his head to see who was speaking, but he couldn’t. He knew that voice, though, even if he couldn’t see the face yet.
Footsteps echoed, deliberate and slow, getting closer until a figure stood directly behind him. Two hands clamped down on his shoulders, squeezing with a mocking familiarity. The man slowly walked around Jake, finally stepping into his line of sight.
It was Neil, dressed in a black blazer over a casual white shirt, a smug smile on his face. “Bonjour, Jacob,” he said, savoring every syllable. He watched Jake’s reaction carefully, but Jake remained composed, masking his unease with defiance. Neil chuckled as he reached forward and pulled the gag from Jake’s mouth. Jake coughed, his throat dry, but his eyes held steady on Neil’s.
“You’re going to die, Jacob,” Neil said, his words soft yet menacing, his accent lending an edge that made the threat sound like a foregone conclusion.
Neil snapped his fingers, and a guard stepped forward, placing a chair right in front of Jake. Neil sat down, leaning back casually as he took out a knife, twirling it in his fingers. The blade caught the dim light, flashing ominously.
“Jacob... Jacob... Jacob... Le tueur écarlate,” Neil said, dragging out each word, savoring the supposed terror he thought it would bring. “The Crimson Killer. You killed one of my cousins, and now you’re after the other.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You messed with the wrong family.”
Jake clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze unflinching. “What the hell is this, Neil?” he demanded, his voice laced with anger.
Neil’s face contorted, his sneer intensifying. “You and that FBI bitch killed Anna,” he hissed, each word cutting like a blade.
Jake’s eyes widened as he twisted against the ropes, anger boiling inside him. “I loved Anna, Neil! Alexandra killed her!”
The confession only seemed to enrage Neil further. In an instant, he lunged forward and punched Jake square in the face. The force sent Jake’s head whipping back, and he tasted blood.
“You loved Anna?” Neil snarled, his voice dripping with disbelief and scorn. “Anna was stabbed in the chest and left to die. Do you know who does that, Jacob? You.”
Jake spit blood onto the floor, his eyes blazing with defiance. “Alexandra killed Anna,” he repeated, his voice filled with conviction. “She’s playing you, Neil.”
Neil’s expression twisted as he lashed out again, landing another punch across Jake’s jaw. “Alexandra loved her sister! She saw you as family, and you tried to kill her!”
“Anna was the real head of the table,” Jake retorted, his voice sharp and unyielding. “Not Alexandra. She’s been lying to you from the start.”
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The Crimson Silence
Tajemnica / ThrillerIn the heart of New York City, Jacob Daniel leads a seemingly normal life, running a café near Central Park with his closest friends, Sam and Katie. But when Katie's boss is found murdered and the FBI pulls her into a high-stakes investigation, the...