In the dead of night, the silence echoed.

Such suffocating, debilitating silence.

Fang fucking despised it.

He hated the void it created, allowing haunting memories that plagued him continuously to run through his mind on a constant reel, but as quickly as he was drowning in them, he drew in a sharp breath, his thoughts becoming clear once more.

Opening his eyes, it all came rushing back in—the image of Aidra’s panicked eyes as she struggled in the water … the feel of the ground dropping out from under him when he realized there was nothing he could do to save her …

Fang had always hated feeling helpless, and in that moment, that was all he had been.

Inhaling for calm, he pushed the thoughts away as he focused on the present and the reason why he was currently sitting in the low-lit basement of a house on a pig farm in the middle of fucking nowhere.

California wasn’t as easy for him to navigate as New York. Back home, he had contacts he could have called to get rid of any evidence he may have left behind, but out here, he had to use what was available.

And since he was in a bind, this was the quickest thing he could come up with.

Thinking of the pigs upstairs, Fang’s gaze finally moved to the man he’d dropped on the wooden table some minutes prior. It was a workman’s table, one that was thick enough to hold significant weight. And because he had been in a bit of a dark mood when he arrived, Fang had driven thick, iron nails through the man’s hands.

The closest to his God he would ever get.

To ensure he couldn’t fight with his legs either, Fang had taken a mallet and hobbled him.

It was the little things that made his black heart happy.

Fang didn’t care to know the man’s name—it wouldn’t change that he was going to die soon.

Collecting names was a custom his brothers had never understood about him. They didn’t understand why he cared what his victims’ names were, but he liked to know them to remind himself that they weren’t just targets or pictures in a file—a reminder they were just as human as he was.

But this one?

No, Fang wanted the disconnect. He wanted to treat him like he was nothing more than an animal because he was going to fucking butcher him like one.

“Come now, eyes open,” Fang said as he slapped the man a couple of times in the face, but when he didn’t get a reaction, he used his fist.

That was enough to get him up, groaning in pain.

“Who—who are—”

Fang sighed with a shake of his head. “Is that really going to make a difference? You knowing my name? You won’t live long enough to give a shit, I promise you.”

Watery eyes swung to Fang, darting over him from head to toe. “This about t-that girl?”

Fang smiled, revealing the gleaming metal that covered his canines as he reclaimed his seat.

That unnerved the man enough to make him stammer out, “I-I didn’t have a c-choice. Elias would have my kids killed, I—”

His heartbeat thundering in his own ears, Fang shoved out of his chair and crossed the short distance to the table before he grabbed the man by the jaw and put his finger to his lips. “Shh, stop your crying. I haven’t even started with you yet.” Only once the man had stopped his whimpering did Fang say, “I don’t give a shit about what he might have done—you should be worried about what I’m going to do to you now.”

“Please. I-I can tell you where to find him! I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Please!”

“You know,” Fang said as he released his hold, tapping the tabletop with sore knuckles. “That just doesn’t sound like enough.”

The man wisely stopped talking, though his eyes did all the begging as they darted around the room, desperate to find a way to escape, at least until he saw his own legs. Then his cry was al little more desperate.

Huh … maybe he should have made it hurt worse.

“Aidra,” Fang said softly as he pulled one of the blades he kept holstered at his belt free. “That girl, her name was Aidra.”

Just the sound of her name, even as he was the one who said it …

Fang blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, he’d severed two of the man’s fingers.

Oops.

“Shit, sorry.” He slapped his hand against his forehead before dropping his weapon. “Sometimes, I get ahead of myself. Where was I?”

But the man was too busy crying and whimpering to offer much of a response.

“Alright, let’s calm down,” Fang said irritably. “It was only two fingers.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the pain, but whatever it was had the man looking at Fang as though he were the one that had lost his mind—like he was insane.

Fang wasn’t sure if he was wrong, but he also wasn’t sure if he should be offended.

He felt too … calm.

Dragging his chair over, Fang sat on it backward, resting his elbows on the top of it. “Where was I—right. She was a proud little thing, my Aidra. I could understand why, though, after all the shit she went through. Her parents were killed in front of her, her little brother decapitated—that would fuck with the best of us, no? Since you seem to care about family and all.”

Fang waited for the man to give a shaky nod before continuing. “We all have our issues, so I can understand why she was closed off, even if it annoyed the hell out of me.”

His gaze seized on the rivulets of blood as they dripped off the side of the table, landing in a shallow puddle on the floor.

“It took a long fucking time before she was willing to let me in, but once she did …” Fang trailed off as he smiled absently, remembering the good times he and Aidra had shared.

The way she used to get excited about the smallest thing when he got her alone. She had an image to uphold around Nix and the others, but when she was with him, she let that wall down and smiled more, laughed more, and offered him her love and happiness without expecting anything in return.

Fang’s voice was softer as he said, “She hated the idea of me taking care of her—of anyone taking care of her. I could have bought her the fucking world, but she wouldn’t have accepted it because she would have wanted to get it for herself.”

“I was just following orders,” the man said in a rush, as though he were afraid of what Fang might do now that he’d spoken without permission.

“That’s the worst, isn’t it?” Fang asked as he got to his feet, moving his chair out of the way. “Now, you have to answer for a wrong someone else ordered you to make.”

“I can tell you where to find him!” the man repeated a second time, as though Fang would change his mind about what he planned to do.

“I’ll find him on my own, thanks. For now, I’ll settle for you.”

There was an assortment of tools all around the darkened room, the stuff of a killer’s dreams.

As he surveyed the space, trying to make a decision, Fang brushed the front of his jeans in an unconscious movement, counting down in his head.

It was reflexive, a ritual he’d taught himself long ago before his first assignment.

Focus the mind.

Clear the thoughts.

“Tell me something,” Fang said as he grabbed a hatchet from the wall. “Did she say anything before you pulled that fucking lever? Did she?”

One look at his face told him that she had, and though it turned Fang’s stomach to think about, that nausea climbing higher in his throat, he had to know.

“What did she say?” Fang asked, distantly hearing the crack in his voice, despising the weakness.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“Her pride would have stopped her from begging you—not even with her fucking life on the line. She still wouldn’t have begged.”

“Christophe. She asked for someone named Christophe,” the man confessed, on a broken sob.

It was the last thing Fang expected him to say.

It was a name from a distant past, one that Fang rarely went by anymore—even his brothers answered only to the names they’d been given once they joined the Lotus Society.

It was a name he had only ever offered her.

Because she loved him, and he hadn’t just wanted her to love the new version he had created once he escaped his hell—he wanted her to love all of him.

In those last moment of helplessness, she had called out for him … hoping he would save her.

“You’re not going to die because you took her from me,” Fang told the man as he raised his hatchet, the metal gleaming in the dim light. “You’re dying because you made her weak, and she would have hated you for that.”

He swung before he meant to, the edge of the hatchet coming down as Fang watched with some satisfaction as it sank through the man’s flesh like butter.

His screams made Fang’s ears twitch—his struggles only making it easier for him to dislodge his weapon.

He didn’t stop swinging, not even after the man’s cries ceased and hardly anything was left to tear apart.

He didn’t stop until he couldn’t feel his arm anymore.

He didn’t let the hatchet drop from his hand until someone was pulling it from him and a powerful arm pulled him away from the table.

Tăcut.

The loyal fucking bastard.

The one who’d refused to let Fang do this alone though he hadn’t wanted the help.

It didn’t matter that Fang was soaked in blood, or that he was close to a mental breakdown because of the coppery scent that was hanging heavy in the air, Tăcut guided him from the room without a word.

“I think I need a drink,” he said to the silent one, clapping him on the back with a bloody hand. “I want to forget about tonight.”

Fang wanted nothing more than to drown in his grief until nothing was left of him, and maybe tomorrow he would wake up, and this would all just be a terrible fucking dream.

But as he left the room, finding Invictus and Thanatos waiting on the other side of the door, he knew it was all too real.

And he couldn’t do anything about it.

“You know,” Fang said once they were outside, the fresh air like a balm to his soul. “I should probably help feed him to the pigs. I made those hungry little bastards a promise.”

Tăcut merely shook his head.

That could have meant a variety of things in Tăcut-speak.

No, he was done for the night and needed to disappear for a while.

No, they had it under control, and he had done enough.

Either way, Fang knew that this was it for him—he’d come to the end of the line.