Not yet.

I refused to break down.

Not yet.

The last man disappeared; I couldn’t stand still any longer. I took a step toward the driveway.

Franco imprisoned my elbow. “No. You’re going in with me. Three, four minutes, Tess. Patience.”

Three or four minutes. That was an eternity. Time had stolen Q from me. Only minutes from our arrival, and the heartless bitch decided it was too many minutes too long. In another few minutes I might be useless with sorrow.

I obeyed time no longer.

My legs itched. My lungs gulped air. I prepared for battle.

Run.

Run. Run!

I took off.

“Tess, no!” Franco tried to grab me, but his broken body was no match for my quick paced rage.

I careened around the hedge, flying toward the open door. The soft puffs of silenced guns broke the hushed virginity of the morning.

The massive granite pillars glittered in the sunlight. Pansies and merry flowers bordered the doorstep, looking innocent, harbouring evil inside. The disguise was good. But I knew the truth.

They would die. All of them.

My hands didn’t shake. My heart didn’t stutter. I leapt over the threshold, trading sun for shadows.

“Tess!” Franco yelled.

I didn’t stop. This was the beginning of my anarchy.

The décor was all red and black and morbid. Q’s team crawled through rooms, dispatching traitors with a scope and trigger. Their black attire made them look like spiders, casting a web of retaliation, taking over their prey.

“Clear!” someone yelled, followed by a gunshot to the right. I didn’t know where to look. Men’s shouts sounded—then cut short. Running footsteps stomped—then thudded to a halt.

All around me men died—dispatched with precise coordination.

They stole my right! They took away my destiny—ending the men’s existence before I could.

The crackle of someone’s walkie-talkie slammed me into motion. They may have killed a household of bastards, but they hadn’t found Q. No alarm sounded—no raised voices.

Q was still missing—and I knew his killer would be with him.

Raising the gun, I hunted.

Time lost meaning as I sank deep inside myself—tapping into instincts and heightened senses I never knew I possessed. I embraced the animalistic part—switching off humanity, thirsting for blood.

I prowled room after room.

Stripper poles and couches in one. Cinema and media in another. Kitchen. Bathroom. Office.

Bodies. I stepped over countless corpses from the efficiency of Q’s team. Clean shots to either forehead or heart. Their vacant open eyes didn’t raise my heartbeat or garner any emotion but hatred; deep seated hatred kindling in my chest where my heart used to be.

“Tess, you’re not listening to me. Stop this—before it’s too late. I can’t save you again.” Q’s voice threaded with my conscience.

You can’t save me because you’re dead.

Shaking my head, ridding the craziness brewing inside, I entered a bedroom. And slammed to a halt.

Dark, dingy, not a dungeon, but not far off. Bunk beds lined each of the four walls. The lack of windows, and dampness from the floor, settled fast into my bones.

I sat on a threadbare mattress, looking around my new home. Girls huddled on each bed. All of them wore an aura of tragedy, eyes bruised with loss, skin painted with injuries and shadows.

A man loomed over me, his beard black and gross. Reaching behind him, he bared a knife.

The flashback of Mexico interlinked with the image in front of me. Bars across the windows, mattresses on the floor, women bound and gagged.

Two members of Franco’s team helped the six girls from a variety of horrible positions. Some were collared to the wall, others were tied to poles, slouching painfully.

Their na**d bodies showed numerous evidence of abuse. Tortured. Raped.

Not anymore.

Now they were free.

My eyes stung. Q had saved yet more women—more birds—and he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of returning them to loved ones.

It’s your vocation now—embrace his love of birds and focus on nurturing rather than death.

My fist trembled around the gun. I couldn’t.

Bastards.

Devils.

I had to finish this. Whirling from the room, I ran. I needed to be far away—it threatened to unravel my hatred, dissolving me with tears.

I circled back to the front of the house, searching for a victim—any victim to transfer this rage onto.

My eyes fell on a staircase going down.

He’s close. My instincts sounded an alarm, purring with knowledge. Down there. Go.

I took a step, only to be wrenched to a stop. “Bloody hell, Tess. What were you thinking?” Franco swayed, breathing hard. “I’ve been limping all over the f**king house. It’s not safe. There could be anyone hiding, waiting to kill you.”

I don’t care.

“Let me go, Franco.” I pointed down the stairs. “He’s down there. I know it.”

Franco’s face whitened. “Let Alpha team go down. You don’t want to see if you’re right.”

“You’re wrong. I do want to see. I want to know what they did, so I can do the same.”

I need to see he’s really dead. I need to see the truth.

Franco shook his head. “Tess—this isn’t you. Stop it.”

I tore my arm from his grip. “You don’t know me! Stop pretending like you care. Your boss is dead, and I don’t want you to interfere. Go away.” I hated my cruelness, but nothing would stop me from finding Q.

Franco stood locked to the landing.

Not looking back, I darted down the stairs. I held the gun high, my finger teasing the trigger.

My first kill happened too fast to remember.

A shadow. A blur. A shout. A curse.

Bang.

I no longer teased the trigger but compressed it, letting loose a killing projectile.

The man dressed in a black suit crumbled to the floor, holding a gushing wound in his neck. “Fucking, bit—bitch.” His eyes narrowed to slits even as his arteries dumped litres of blood down his lapels.

I waited for a rush of sickness. I waited to feel different for doing something so barbaric, but I felt nothing.

Standing over him, I hissed, “Where is he? Tell me where he is.”

The man gurgled, holding the wound tightly. “Wh—who are you?”