The Darkest Half (In the Company of Killers Book 8) by J.A. Redmerski

Author:J.A. Redmerski [Redmerski, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lonely Raven Studios | J.A. Redmerski
Published: 2022-09-18T16:00:00+00:00

15

Izabel

The shot is quiet. Blood from Nora’s head stains the wall behind her, and her body falls against the floor, an empty shell like she had always been in life. Lysandra steps to the side to avoid getting blood on her expensive stilettos.

I’m not shocked or very saddened by Nora’s death, but I admit it is unfortunate. I did think of her as somewhat of a friend, but she never let me or anyone else get close enough to develop stronger feelings for her—much of the time, we weren’t sure we could even trust her. I guess we could, after all.

“Did you hear what she said?” Niklas asks me.

“Yeah,” I tell him; neither of us can tear our eyes from the screen in case we miss something vital. “Whoever it is inside that room, she knew.”

We could barely hear the muffled, faraway voice of the person to whom Nora and Lysandra were speaking, enough to know that it was a man. And the mystery person never stepped into the doorway because he knew he would be in full view of the camera—in full view of us.

“It’s Vonnegut,” Niklas says.

“Yes. It’s definitely Vonnegut,” I say, then add with grave revelation, “And it’s likely someone we all know.”

“I don’t even want to think about that.” Niklas shifts uncomfortably next to me.

“Whoever it is,” I say, “the bastard is here, in this building, just feet from us somewhere.”

But he is not on this floor. The shootout in the hallway could be heard on the screen, but not from within our prison. Not even faintly, so there’s no way it happened on the same floor or several floors close to us. But it is, without a doubt, the same building. The spotted tile on the floor in the camera is the same as in the room we’re being held; the gray-white paint on the walls; the thick mahogany door—the door is the same as the one Nora just died within feet of.

“Nora was about twenty or so floors up,” I contemplate. “And judging the view from that impenetrable window over there, we have to be near the top, if not the very top.”

“That means floors twenty and up are heavily guarded.”

My stomach sinks. I’ve never doubted Victor’s ability to get himself out of pretty much any situation, but I’m not feeling so great about this one. The Order knows him better than almost anyone—they made him who he is. They know what they’re up against, just like they knew what they were doing when they imprisoned Niklas and me inside this room. Seems counterproductive to give us a room with a view, but it was smart. Because they have no intention of feeding us, possibly no intention of giving us water, so no reason to open the door. The window glass is made of half-inch thick polycarbonate; it would deflect anything thrown at it. There is only one ceiling tile—the one made to retract for the screen to appear—and, as I said, it is far too high for either of us to reach even if we stood on each other’s shoulders.

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