78
Joe was already dead by the time I saw him. His body was slumped against the wall, head twisted at a grotesque angle. But that wasn’t what turned my stomach—it was the sight of Adeline walking over to him once again, calm as the night itself, her finger still resting on the trigger of a sleek Sig Sauer P320 AXG Scorpion.
The first shot must’ve been clean—straight through his skull. But Adeline hadn’t stopped there. The wall behind him was painted with a visceral mosaic of blood and brain matter, bits of flesh dripping onto the cracked linoleum floor. She had fired again, and again, and again, the deafening cracks echoing in my mind even now. His head was nearly unrecognizable, just a shattered pulp of bone and tissue.
Tams and Tim were sprawled on the floor beside him, lifeless. Blood pooled beneath them, dark and viscous, reflecting the dim, flickering fluorescent lights overhead. Their uniforms were shredded where the bullets had torn through, leaving gaping wounds that still oozed sluggishly. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, mixed with the acrid scent of gunpowder and decay.
My stomach churned violently as I stared at the mess of gore, my knees threatening to buckle. I tried to swallow it down, the rising bile, but it surged up anyway. Doubling over, I heaved, emptying the sparse contents of my stomach onto the floor.
Adeline turned her head toward me, utterly unfazed. She spun the gun in her hand like a toy, her expression blank and almost bored. “First time seeing dead cops with their brains blown out?” she asked, her tone so nonchalant it made my skin crawl.
I wiped my mouth with a trembling hand, the acrid taste of vomit still clinging to my tongue. I tried to answer, but the words caught in my throat.
Adeline snorted softly, shaking her head as she holstered the gun. “Pathetic,” she muttered, stepping over the bodies like they were nothing more than trash bags blocking her way. “Let’s go.”
She strode out of the room without another glance, leaving me to stumble after her. My legs felt like lead, and I could barely keep upright, but I forced myself to follow. The bile threatened to rise again as I passed the carnage, but I bit it down hard, breathing shallowly through my mouth to avoid the stench.
When we stepped outside, the cold hit me like a slap. The air was sharp, biting at my skin through the thin fabric of my prison clothes. It smelled clean, crisp—a stark contrast to the suffocating rot of the station. I gulped at it greedily, filling my lungs over and over, desperate to purge the stagnant filth from inside me.
The police station stood like a hulking, decrepit beast behind us. Its faded brick walls were cracked and stained, the windows barred and smeared with grime. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a couple of rusted patrol cars, their paint chipped and their tires bald. A single streetlight flickered erratically, casting weak, uneven shadows across the asphalt.
Adeline didn’t pause, her movements brisk and deliberate. Her boots clicked against the ground as she scanned the area, the gun steady in her hand. The way she moved—so sure, so poised—it was like she was expecting an ambush any second.
“Odds of us getting shot down right now?” she said suddenly, her voice calm but sharp.
I stumbled to keep up with her pace, my breath hitching as I glanced around. The outskirts of New York at this hour were eerily quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy, unnatural. The faint hum of distant traffic was the only sound, but it did little to ease the suffocating tension.
“Pretty fucking high,” she answered her own question, not waiting for me to respond. “So keep up, or I leave your sorry ass here.”
I quickened my steps, my legs trembling but moving as fast as they could manage. The gravel crunched underfoot, the cold air stinging my throat with every ragged breath.
Adeline’s gaze darted toward a cluster of skeletal trees bordering the station’s lot, her grip on the gun tightening. She slowed slightly, her body coiled like a spring. “Stay close,” she muttered, her tone leaving no room for argument.
I nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at me, my heart hammering against my ribs. Every shadow felt like a threat, every faint sound a prelude to violence.
We passed a rusted dumpster, its stench briefly overpowering the fresh air. Beyond it, the road stretched out into the darkness, flanked by overgrown weeds and a scattering of broken streetlights. Adeline moved like a predator, her eyes constantly scanning, her steps purposeful.
“You know,” she said, her voice low, almost conversational. “I’d planned on spending tonight drinking in my shitty apartment, maybe watching some crap on TV. Instead, I’m here, saving your ass.”
Her words were sharp, yet there was something teasing in them, like she found the whole ordeal mildly entertaining. I couldn’t understand how she could remain so calm. Especially not after…
“Without Bunny?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
Adeline froze mid-step, her back to me. Her shoulders tensed, her whole body going rigid like a live wire. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t move. The silence stretched long enough for my pulse to thunder in my ears.
Finally, she turned, slow and deliberate, her face unreadable. Her gun was already in her hand, the black steel gleaming faintly under the pale streetlights.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice eerily calm, “fucking start with that.”
I opened my mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe to explain, but the words died in my throat when she raised the gun.
“If you think,” she said, her voice sharp now, cutting through the cold air like a blade, “that it’s okay to bring up something that emotional while we’re supposed to be running for our lives, I will blow your goddamn head off. Right here, right now.”
My stomach dropped. She wasn’t joking. Her grip on the gun was steady, her finger hovering near the trigger like she was considering it.
“Adeline—”
“The only reason you’re not already in pieces on the ground, like that cop in there, is because Dominic’s dead too.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, but her eyes burned with fury. “That’s the only thing keeping this even. You and him, the reason Bunny left the house in the first place, the reason he’s fucking gone.”
My mouth went dry. “I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m really sorry for his death, Adeline.”
Her face twisted, pure rage boiling to the surface. “Stop!” she screamed, the sound echoing into the night. “Stop fucking talking about my father like you knew him! You didn’t know anything about him!”
I flinched, but she was already turning away, her movements jerky and furious.
“Catch up,” she barked, not looking back. Her steps were fast, purposeful, the sound of her boots slamming against the pavement like gunshots.
I scrambled to follow, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. My legs felt weak, but I forced them to move. She’d barely taken a few more steps when—
CRACK!
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