Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
What is she doing now?
I swallowed.
The envelopes from the last year had a Paradise City address, indicating she had moved an hour away.
My heart ached.
Good. I don’t need to bump into her, while I’m. . .hungry for death.
I gripped the envelope harder.
May she enjoy her new life.
I didn’t let myself think of what her new life could entail—husband, kid, years of the sort of passion that I couldn’t give her from behind bars.
To think too deeply about it would cause me to change my mission and murder the lucky bastard that got to hold her for all this time.
Focus on destroying Crimson Mob. Nothing else.
As we drove into the city, towering steel buildings stretched up to the sky like giant stalagmites.
What the fuck? How did they build those so fast?
Traffic surged and flowed alongside us, and the air was thick with the smell of exhaust fumes intermingling with the scent of street vendors’ food.
Shadow Heights is so fucking big now.
I gazed out of my window in awe at a colorful Christmas mural painted on an otherwise mundane brick wall. The vivid hues of red, green, and gold brought a rare warmth to the cold cityscape. There, a jovial Santa, larger than life, handed out presents to kids of all races and sizes.
Everything is so different.
Around me, the city was decked in Christmas decor. Twinkling lights adorned the streetlamps, and garland hung from building facades.
Digital billboards flashed with faces I didn’t recognize, advertising products and TV shows that had emerged during my absence.
The world had moved on, adopting new trends and technologies, leaving me feeling like an artifact of a bygone era.
The city’s noises—the cacophony of car horns, the distant siren of an ambulance, the murmur of a crowd—filled the air and set me on edge.
The streets were bustling with life, a river of faces passing by, each absorbed in their own world. Many stared into phones that appeared thinner and longer than the old one I had.
It’s only been five years, but already so much has changed.
The world had clearly continued to turn while I was locked away, and now I had to catch up, to find my place in it once again. But this time, it wasn’t just about adapting to freedom or finding a way to live. This time, my purpose was singular and sharp as a knife.
Revenge.
We turned a corner, and the cityscape changed.
The buildings became more familiar, yet still strangely different.
Shadow Heights’s downtown—once a rundown part of the city—now stood transformed, its streets lined with trendy cafes and upscale boutiques.
Anthony broke me out of my thoughts. “So. . .where are we going?”
“The Blood Den.”
“The vampire bar on Main Street?”
I nodded.
“That’s a tourist trap.”
“It’s also Crimson Mob’s secret headquarters. Let’s see if that is still true.”
Chapter 4
A Bloody Revelation
Thirty minutes later, we pulled up to a bar that looked like it was ripped straight from the pages of a Gothic novel.
Crimson velvet curtains draped the windows. Gargoyles leered from the roof. Their stony eyes seemed to follow the car as we approached.
Swinging above the door was an ornate wrought-iron sign, etched with a vampire’s sinister fanged smile, proclaiming the venue as “The Blood Den.”
Anthony parked us right in front. “This place looks like Dracula’s vacation home.”
I stared at the bar.
Memories washed over me, and I couldn’t help but scoff at the garish Christmas decorations haphazardly strewn across the entrance.
Twinkling lights and festive wreaths—adorned with red berries and golden bells—clashed with the dark gothic architecture.
The addition of holiday cheer was a pathetic attempt to soften the image of the place, as if Christmas could make a den of treachery look less menacing.
I knew this place all too well. Once a mere novelty spot in the city, it had been taken over by Crimson Mob and transformed into one of two secret headquarters for Red Widow’s top guys.
Outsiders saw a themed bar.
Insiders knew it was a hub for meetings, deals, and plots.
I used to joke with Francesca that it was a vampire’s den run by blood-suckers of a different kind.
Anthony killed the engine. “So. . .this spot really deals with Crimson Mob?”
“It does.” I took off my suit jacket and then placed it on the back seat.
“I’m your backup. The Whisper wants me to go in with you, so that—”
“I don’t need backup.”
Anthony smirked. “Even Batman needed backup.”
“Stay in the car.” I grabbed the two guns, made sure each was loaded, and the safeties were engaged.
Without holsters, I had to rely on my clothing for concealment. I cautiously slipped the first gun—its barrel pointing safely away from my body—into the waistband of my pants at the back. The gun’s grip was just within reach.
“Hey. Respectfully, you’re a big deal in the game, but. . .it’s been a while.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“So squeezing the trigger doesn’t push out the bullet?”
Anthony frowned.
“And once the bullet hits the heart, somehow they will still survive?”