Gangs Aren't My Style (A Black Death Novel)

Chapter 15 - The Hangman's Tree

Gangs Aren't My Style

Book I of the Black Death Trilogy

PART ONE: Tears Fall When You See The Truth

Chapter 15 - The Hangman's Tree

A fire blazed in the night, the thick flames licking high into the air as they battled the overbearing smoke for possession of the modern building. Inside, a single scream sounded, but the sound was overshadowed by the rumble of a crashing ceiling beam that happened nearly simultaneously. Outside, a figure stood resolute against the biting chill of the evening wind, unaffected by the gory sight displayed across the formerly thriving home. As sirens began to cut through the thick atmosphere, the man turned from the devastation and, his black trench coat rustling with his every movement, he disappeared into the shadows as if one with the black abyss. He cared not for the lives he had left destroyed behind him. They had been spies, plain and simple. Such was their fate.

The man dropped his arm to his side, crimson droplets splattering the ground in a clear trail as he walked. A bloody hunting knife dangled loosely from his fingers, as if an extension of his arm. His gate was one of a killer's, quick and silent. However, his steps faltered at the vibration that came from his front pocket. His men knew well enough not to contact him while he was on a mission unless there was an emergency.

The dim light of a cell phone was reflected on the few contours of his face that had not been obscured by his cloth hood. A scowl was briefly seen as the man's vulture eyes devoured the message printed across his phone's display before he spun abruptly. The hunting knife lodged itself into thick stone and the man strode off angrily. He gave no visible signs that he had been the one to throw the weapon, the action having merely been a twitch of his left hand, but the furious march of his steps mirrored the harsh force that had impaled the knife to the wall. The like semblance between the two left little to be questioned as to the identity of the culprit.

The man growled under his breath before reluctantly returning to the scene of the crime and retrieving the knife he had thrown in irritation. He then slipped unseen into the deep shadows of a side alley, leaving behind no trace of his presence other than a splatter of blood and a dagger-sized crack left in the rock face.

This stealthiness was also the saving grace that allowed him to arrive back at the gang's mansion without a single soul able to place his mysterious shadow to a person, let alone to Daniil himself. He stomped across the perfectly manicured yard that characterized the outside of the estate, his gaze focused on the rear of the grand building.

Something crunched under his heavy boots and he looked down in annoyance to find a single, out of place rose petal on the ground. Its inky black hue would have blended into the night had the rays of the bright exterior lights mounted on the corners of the mansion not brought it to life upon the sea of healthy, spring grass. He scowled at the out-of-place fragment that might have once been considered beautiful, kicking the crumpled leaf to the side before continuing on his unwavering path around the manor.

Perhaps he should have paid more heed to the simple item that served as the only deviation from an otherwise leafless yard -should have paused to wonder where the black petal could have originated from- but he dismissed it as useless knowledge. Therein lay his first mistake, but forgetting under what circumstances he had seen it would eventually come to be his second.

Daniil stopped cold in his tracks, his breath momentarily freezing in his throat. His eyes were peeled to the sight of six men, who had been functioning as the night's patrolling guard, strung up by their necks from the trees of the massive Oak at the back of the property. They swung slightly in the faint breeze, dangling from lengths of rope fashioned into nooses. Despite having a strong stomach, Daniil felt his internal organs twist in revulsion at the image of the crudely fashioned hangman's tree.

Upon closer inspection, it could be diagnosed that two rounds had been released into each of the men's lower stomachs, testifying to their slow, excruciating death. They had bled out and, after their last breaths had been taken, hung up side by side.

Daniil knew the signature of the murders before he pulled the bloody note from the head guard's chest. The paper had been secured by a blade, boldly thrust deep into the abscess between the bones of the dead man's rib cage, and had been nearly saturated with his blood. Nonetheless, the words shockingly remained legible.

You were wise to keep the girl close, however it will not be enough to keep me away. Be wary, she knows the deepest, deadliest secrets of your gang and I plan to expose them before the world.

-Looking forward to our little game, Adam Soverage

Blast it all! Daniil thought, glowering into the night. He'd been certain that he'd rid the world of that particular nuisance years before, yet here in front of him hung evidence that the man himself was very much alive and had already chosen his next target.