Page 2 of Torment
She’s not going to answer, she can’t. But I already know the answer, and I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes the fresh hell that she’s stepped into.
CHAPTER TWO
PRESENT DAY
Red.So much fucking red.My favorite.The sea of flashing lights that bounce off of the black glass of Perdition, the fire trucks parked up and down the length of the drive at the base of Abaddon, and blood. Tipping my head I look down at the poor bastard who lies splattered at my feet. I recognize him vaguely, sure that he’s a regular at this place.
Perdition is a waste land, swallowing people whole when they walk through the doors. They come in thinking they’re going to just spend a few dollars, play some table games or slots then go home. But the sad reality is that most of them come in, and never leave. Even if they walk out the door, they're stuck here. Always coming back trying to make up for yesterday's loss, or chasingthat high of winning big–only to leave worse off than when they got here. This isn’t the first suicide that’s taken place here, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Watching police officers string up their yellow tape, I take a step back, pluck the cigarette that's tucked behind my ear, and stuff it between my lips. Dragging the zippo from my pocket, I light up the cancer stick and inhale deeply.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Michael speaking with investigators through the crowd that has gathered at the base of the tower. He runs his hands through his jet-black strands, then drags it down his face looking exhausted as ever. This place has aged him, that’s for sure. Perdition has been open for business for a little over a year now, and he looks ten years older than the day we met him. He feels a sense of responsibility for the patrons. Each time something most people would consider tragic happens here, it eats him alive.
I understand that by societal standards, a person plunging to their demise is sad–devastating for those close to them. I don’t get tripped up in those emotions, it solves nothing. I see no sense in letting a choice that someone else made for themselves fuck with my emotions–or lack thereof. Emotions get in the way of what needs to be done and cloud judgement. I feel no pity for people who have made piss poor choices that wind them up in terrible positions. No sympathy for people who refuse to help themselves. And no empathy for the people who enable others and end up getting burned. At some point they knew, saw the signs, and stuck their hand in the fire anyway.
“Excuse me.” A short, brunette EMT clips before shouldering past me to get closer to the body on the ground. Taking a step back to allow her and her partner room to work–on what I’m not sure because the guy is very much dead–then continue watching Michael speak to the police. They shake hands and the officer walks away. Michael stuffs his hands in his pockets then dropshis head. I make my way over to where he stands, and his eyes lift to mine. Pulling one hand out of his pocket, he dejectedly rubs his chin before reaching for my palm.
“Karson.” He nods.
“Michael. Slater is working on pulling footage from today to follow this guy's movements throughout the casino. Maverick is also on his way to help us with securing the scene more and getting these fucking vultures back inside.”
I nod in the direction of the group of people who stand around the entrance of the tower, watching the scene in front of them as if it’s a re-run of their favorite fucking episode ofFriends.
Michael lets out a weak laugh through his nose.
“Thanks. A couple of the officers are going up to the booth now, if I had to guess they’re going to take over the footage before Slater even finds anything.”
Smirking, I nod. If I know Blackburn, he’s already got the last twenty-four hours copied and will find everything there is to track down about this guy before the police eventhinkabout going through the tapes. That’s the thing about a suicide case, they won’t even bother. It’ll sit in an evidence box, they’ll give fake ass pleasantries and condolences to whatever family this man might have had, and they’ll go on about their day. They’re useless in cases like this.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it before they even consider looking into it, don’t worry,” I tell him as the sound of a motorcycle revving echoes against the glass building surrounding us. Maverick pulls around the corner, gliding his bike to a stop on the sidewalk in front of Abaddon, and puts down his kickstand before shutting it off. He yanks off his helmet and struts himself in our direction.
“What do we know?” he asks, glancing between Michael and me.
“Well hello to you too,” I clip. “Not too much as of right now. A couple was walking in from the parking garage when they heard some yelling, then this man landed on the ground just a few feet away from them.” I point behind him and he turns to look. “They’re over there speaking with investigators now.”
His eyes search mine for a minute, then nods for me to continue.
“We’ve got a few of our guys on top with police, and Slater looking through surveillance. Elias is inside keeping anyone from coming out here, but we need to get anyone who wasn't a witness back in the building.”
“Let’s do it then.” He slaps a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “We got this.” Maverick assures him and starts toward the crowd of on lookers, his voice booming over the commotion telling them to get the fuck inside. Following behind him, we make sure the area is clear of civilians before making our way back inside.
“What the fuck, man?” he asks. “Tell me Slater’s got the footage before those useless pricks take over.” Pulling out my phone, I dial Slater’s number. He answers right away.
“We’re good,” he says and I hang up.
“He’s got it,” I tell Mav.
“Let’s get up there then.”
Three grueling hours later,we exit the security booth. We didn’t get the chance to see everything, but we saw enough. This is far from over. I’m ready to get back to my post. We walk in silence back down to the ground floor and out the door we came in. The scene has been cleaned up, EMS and fire have alreadyleft, and the coroner has already taken the body. All that’s left is a few crime scene investigators who are packing up their cars, and the pool of blood on the concrete that will never wash away.
“What a fucking mess,” Maverick mutters as we reach his bike. “You got this? I’m going home to my wife. I need a few more hours of sleep before I come back.” He huffs and I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you're married. I got this. Give Babe a smooch for me.”
I love watching the way his jaw clenches when I call her that and the way his eyes ignite with rage. He knows I’m fucking with him, but the truth is, I like Parker–and that’s saying something. I fucking hate people, with the exception of a select few. She brought my brother to life, and when she was taken it nearly killed him.
“Karson,” he warns through gritted teeth, and I chuckle.
