by E. S. Carter
He has come for me.
Sickly green with flashes of red swirl through the car. My father’s aura giving up his secrets. He’s angry but more than that he’s scared.
The knowledge fills my blood with a burst of energy and despite maintaining my high-speed my thoughts are clear.
I am the key to ending all this.
With me, the Craven line will die forever, and I will rid the world of a monster that has committed untold atrocities on thousands, maybe millions of people.
This ends here.
This ends now.
The world stills as the continuous sound of gunshots, now close enough to bounce off the armour of the car, sound like mere pin drops to my ears. The trees that line the road seem to open up and lead the way, pointing out the direction of our end.
The hump bridge.
My childhood fairy tale turned mother’s grave.
How apt that it will be the place to take the life of Alec Craven.
Will the ghost of my mother watch as his soul is dragged into the depths of hell? Will she finally have peace and embrace me in her arms, wiping away all that I’ve lived through since the day she left me?
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
The word whispers from the trees, all that is good in this godforsaken life ushering me onwards.
Do it, Faye. End this.
I force my foot to the floor, the car speeding up effortlessly.
My father is too preoccupied with staring out of the back window, his head twisted, his eyes watching Cole’s car gain on us despite our increased speed.
The road ahead narrows into a single lane, the entrance to the bridge beckoning me with arms opened wide.
Do it, Faye.
Be the breeze. Float away.
My arms lock, my grip on the steering wheel tightens and my father turns his head in understanding just as we mount the cobbled bridge.
I stop looking at the road ahead to watch his face morph from shock to understanding to horror filled rage. His hand rips the gun from between my legs too late to be of any use.
With a small, peaceful smile on my lips, I yank the wheel violently to the left, the car banking instantly and careening through the low stone wall.
Down.
Down.
Down.
We fly, all sense of time and space leaves us as we plummet through the air, hitting the swollen, murky river in a glorious explosion of glass, water, and blood.
So much blood.
Peace overcomes me, and I do not fight as feculent water washes away all our sins. I turn my head to watch my father struggle. A shard of twisted metal buried deep in his gut pins him to his seat as the fast rising water steals his blood and his body.
Grasping fingers reach out in a feeble attempt to hurt me. The contact invading my senses and wrenching me away from the inside of this car.
No. I want to watch the life leave his eyes. I want to take joy in witnessing his final breath.
The oncoming vision ignores me and everything goes black.
Familiar sounds and shapes form behind my eyes. The blackness transforming into light. The pale lemon walls of my room at Craven Hall come into view as I lie curled in a ball on my bed.
In my open doorway, I see both my mother and my father. To anyone else it would seem as if they are sharing a sweet embrace but I can see the force of his hand at her nape, the squeeze of his other into the soft skin of her stomach.
He’s kissing her; eating at her mouth like he can consume her from the inside out. When he breaks his mouth from hers, he grins, his eyes finding mine as he whispers something in her ear and I watch her whole body stiffen further.
Then he’s gone, and my mother stands shaking in the same position he left her.
Moments pass, and she brushes off the encounter, walking into my room and gently shutting the door behind her.
I notice she is walking strangely like she is in discomfort and she doesn’t take a seat on my bed as she normally would. Instead, she kneels on the floor, her hands reaching out to cup my tear stained face.
“Don’t cry, pretty girl. Daddy isn’t mad at you. It is I that have done something wrong. So no more tears, okay?”
I sniff but nod, even as young as I am I know she needs the comfort of my agreement.
“That’s my girl. Remember what I told you? We’re going away, you and I. Soon, but only for a little while. Would you like that?”
I offer her a tremulous smile and nod once more.
“Good. Now sleep little one, I’ll come and get you later.”
She kisses each of my eyelids, her delicate fingers wiping away the residue of my salty tears.
“Be the breeze, my love. Float away.”
The fucking car is taking too long.
“Where the hell is it? Get that fucking car here now!”
I pace outside the open gate of the paddock, my eyes searching the road for the vehicle Luke has demanded. Every second that ticks by feels like a fucking hour. Every moment that passes seals Faye’s fate.
“It’s on its way, Brother. The teams are evacuating Craven Hall. There are injured that need immediate help. They are only obeying your orders.” Luke’s words incense me despite their truth.
“If she dies…” the threat lingers in the air between us.
He opens his mouth to speak, but the roar of an engine silences him.
The Force One leader, a man whose name I never bothered to remember, screeches before us driving another dark SUV identical to the one I left for Faye.
“Get in! Which way?” None of us bother with formalities and for that I am grateful. I point down the dark road in the direction Faye and Alec fled, and we pull off with a spin of tyres and the grinding crunch of gravel.
This trained killer can drive, and he propels us down the country road with the skill of a rally driver. But it still isn’t fast enough.
I lean forward on the dashboard, my eyes squinting in the darkness, an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety churning my gut.
“There!” I point at the speck of light off in the distance and relief floods my veins.
The adrenaline pumping through my body is due to my need to save Faye and not at the thought of killing Craven. If I had more time to think on that, I would be disgusted with myself.
There is nothing more valuable than ending his life.
She is.
No. She’s a trophy, a sweetener, nothing more.
Liar.
Windows open wide and the rush of air blows through the confines of the car; my long hair flicks around my face obscuring my view.
With swift fingers, I gather up the length and secure it with a rubber band found in the glove box.
“Shoot out the fucking tyres.” Grim yells at Luke as he repeatedly stabs his dagger into the back of my chair, bouncing in his seat with deadly energy.
Gunshots reverberate in my ears. My brother’s usually perfect aim misses its target and repeatedly hits the armour plate of the car.
The speed and darkness hinder his typically perfect shot.
We gain on them, but not enough. I’ve ordered the driver to ram them off the road if he can, but there is no way we can gain the speed necessary to get close enough.
“Crazy, fucking girl.” Grim’s voice holds a touch of respect, and I scan the road ahead to see what would have made him offer anyone, let alone her, such praise.
It’s then I see it.
The bridge.
I can see how this plays out even before their wheels hit the cobbled ground.
She’s going to kill them both.
She’s going to deprive me of my vengeance and steal her life from me, taking away everything that’s mine.
Our tyres scream, skidding us along the road sideways as the driver comes to a halt mere inches from the bridge. The sound of metal hitting stone bombards my ears and we all watch, open-mouthed as the car in front of us plows through the brittle stone wall at the crest of the bridge. The
noise is deafening, louder than any explosion and in mere seconds the vehicle plummets, landing with an almighty crash into the overflowing river below, bloated and swollen from the recent rains.
I am out of the car and racing towards the bridge before I take my next breath. The steep and jagged incline of the bank towards the river becomes an unwelcome foe as I scramble down the side of the bridge. I use any rock, root or branch within my reach to bring myself nearer to the fast disappearing rear end of the car. Its angry red taillights mock me like evil eyes set in the face of my greatest enemy.
Luke calls out for me to stop; all three men hot on my heels.
I ignore him, sliding down the craggy bank, bringing myself closer and closer to the raging waters until I see my chance.
Without a look back, I dive into the river’s churning depths.
My sight is instantly stolen by the black swirling water; my lungs scream with the need for breath as I fight against the swirling current and dive deeper towards the front end of the mangled car.
A strange light guides me, highlighting my way. It could be the moon, or it could be coming from inside the car, but it feels brighter than either of those things. It’s like something or someone is aiding my quest.
I make it to the driver’s side door and drag myself around to the shattered windscreen. The entire car is now submerged, barely an inch of space left for the water to fill.
Alec still struggles for life despite the hole in his guts from the ten-inch-thick post that spears him to his seat. Every cell inside me screams for me to rip apart his soon-to-be dead body so that I can be the one to send him to his maker but it’s the girl at his side for who my blackened heart beats. For once, my heart wins.
She’s unconscious, the water fully engulfing her, swirls of her dark hair floating around her body obscuring her face. I scan her for visible injuries and see none. As black spots creep into my vision from lack of oxygen, I pull out the knife strapped to my leg and cut at the seatbelt that holds her in place. Once the fabric tears, I drag myself through the broken windscreen, welcoming the shards of glass that rip at my skin in a much needed surge of pain, allowing the burst of adrenaline to overtake my need for oxygen.
Placing both arms around her lifeless body, I drag her from the wreckage and kick with all that I have to pull her to the surface.
Something wraps around my ankle tugging me back down into the inky depths, and I almost lose my grip on Faye as I kick with all the strength I have left to shake off whatever has me in its hold.
My eyes scan beneath me and land on Alec’s disturbed face. Even now, with death only moments away, he finds the power to try and take my life.
A movement to my side stops my useless thrashing, and I see recognition flood Alec’s face as my brother swims towards him, Grim’s large hunting knife in his fist.
With a powerful slash that seems to cut the water through the middle, much like I imagine Moses parted the Red Sea, Luke carves into Alec’s throat. The murky water instantly turns red just as my lungs expand demanding that I breathe.
Coppery liquid floods my chest, my grip on Faye loosening further before I join her in the darkness.
In death there is peace.
“I’m sorry I failed you, Princess.”
Luke
I sit behind my cluttered desk, pointless paperwork strewn over its entire surface, and run an angry hand through my perfectly coiffed hair.
I fucking hate a mess.
I hate sitting behind a desk, like a corporate suit, hiring and firing and signing on dotted lines.
I may look like your average, well-groomed businessman. Someone with more power than they should have at such a young age but I am none of those things.
Taking over the reigns of The Red Order and turning it into the society it once was was my brother’s dream. Not mine.
I sought vengeance, not bureaucracy.
The façade I wear may make me appear more suited to this role than Cole, but I am not.
In his absence, the weight of the entire order falls on my shoulders, and it’s a heavy burden to carry. It makes me yearn to be more like Grim. I want to wear my spirit on my skin, as he does. His scars not only tell of his demons, they celebrate them. Everyone looks at him and sees his true core.
They look at me and see refinement, class, and deceptively clean-cut good looks.
In some ways it’s a bonus, they underestimate me.
In others it’s a curse, for I can never truly be myself. My mask must never slip. Well, not in polite circles at least.
The loss of my brother angers me. We’ve never been separated, sharing everything since childhood.
We shared our quest for revenge, our thirst for blood and even our women. Nothing was off limits or taboo. Cole fed my demons, while I helped him reign in his beast. We may not look alike, but we shared very similar tastes. A by-product of our upbringing I guess.
Alec Craven took everything from me.
My parents and now my brother.
My only consolation was getting to slit the bastard’s throat.
“Mr. Hunter.” The faceless voice of my secretary comes over the speakerphone. “You have Mr. Blake on line one and Jeremy Winston’s lawyer on line two.”
I grip the fountain pen in my hand so hard that it splinters in two. Ink stains my fingers and blots the papers beneath my fist.
Two fucking months I’ve been doing this alone.
Two months of non-stop bullshit. Of placating high ranking members, or pushing forward new bylaws and of fighting off assassination attempts by those who want to overthrow me. Many of those are Pyramid leaders who lost loved ones in the Craven Hall massacre, despite us doing all we could to save them. We lost a total of twelve lives that day. Twelve mothers, sons, lovers or daughters. Twelve souls ripped from this life and discarded like worthless trash.
I can appreciate their family’s need for vengeance. It doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for them.
With blackened fingers, I press down on the speaker button and bark out, “I’m done for the day, Diana. Tell them to call back.”
I release the button without waiting for her reply, then have second thoughts and push down hard on the button once more. “Actually, Diana. Tell them to fuck off, and if they don’t like it tell them to get in the queue and take a number. There’s a long line baying for my blood.”
I hear her gasp before I cut her off.
Not bothering to wash my hands, I grab my car keys, wallet, and phone from the desk drawer and leave my office without looking back.
My inky fingers swipe my phone screen as I stride towards the elevators. Hitting dial is the first thing that has felt right in days.
It rings twice before his familiar voice answers, and I don’t wait for him to speak before I say, “Set up the playroom and stock it full. I’ve just taken a few days off, and it’s time to let off some steam.”
The doors to the elevator shut closed with a hiss, and I press the button for the underground parking. “Oh, and Grim. No brunettes, this time, just blondes. I want to work out some Mummy issues.”
I hear his depraved laugh through the tinny speaker as I cut him off and I can feel the stress leaving my body with each floor I descend.
The doors open into the cavernous parking garage and ignore the entire fleet of cars, instead walking towards the Ducati Macchia Nera. This bike is one of very few of this model made by the superbike manufacturer, and its name means ‘Black Spot’ originating from the marks you will undoubtedly leave on the road when you crank up the accelerator.
I bought it because it’s black; it looks like sin and it allows me to speed without consequence. When the demon you carry inside you sits so close to the surface you learn to find ways and means of keeping it from breaking free. Since I am unable to kill at leisure, or fuck night and day, this bike gives me another welcome release.
I realise I am the Hunter you’d least expect to see on the back of a motorcycle. The mode of transport fa
r more fitting of my brother with his wild hair and angry countenance, but as I’ve already told you, one should always beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I strip where I stand and pull on the full leathers that sit in my saddlebag. The matte black helmet hides my face from view as I hook my leg over the seat and make the Ducati growl.
This is exactly what I need before I get to the playroom. If I were to enter there in my current mood, those blondes would get a whole lot more than they signed up for; a whole lot more.
Chances are, none of them signed up with the intention of dying and the likelihood of that happening is high, unless I can control myself. This way I can ride back to Hunter Lodge and reassemble my mask, slipping back into my skin of composure.
Cole once told me that I reminded him of the lead in the film ‘American Psycho.’ The serial killer who lured people in with his clean-cut looks before annihilating them with a nail gun. I can remember being insulted by his attempt at a joke. Not at the fact he compared me to a psychopathic killer, but because I am far better looking than Christian Bale.
I speed my way out of inner-city London, weaving my way through early evening traffic, cranking up my pace once the congested streets turn into bustling motorways then morphing into quieter country roads, and I let my mind drift. Finally, I allow myself to miss him. The feeling is foreign for two reasons. One, us Hunters do not have such fanciful emotions and two, wherever he is I doubt he misses me.
I slow down significantly when I approach the gates to Hunter Lodge. The gravel under my tyres is a welcome sensation after days in the city.
Pulling in front of the main garage, I climb from the bike, remove my helmet and spot Grim’s ugly American Cadillac parked just outside the doors. Why he insists on driving a car that looks like it belongs to Miss Daisy, I’ll never know. Cole once told me it was sentimental, having belonged to his long-dead Grandmother. Likely the only member of his family he never murdered. Still, watching a heavily scarred, tattooed warrior climb out of this hideous Oldsmobile is a sight to behold. And don’t even get me started on his taste in driving music.