Page 3 of Hell’s Weapon

“We’ve had a tip off.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, a message came in from Brian Albright.” He looks at me like I should know who that is. When I cock a brow, he stumbles into an explanation. “He’s the CEO of BAI, the insurance company. Big millionaire, probably a billionaire. Anyway, a message from his phone alerted his team to something potentially sinister and they’ve contacted us. It looks like a ransom.”

He turns the laptop in his hands around and opens it. I gesture for him to come closer and he trots into the office I’ve acquired, so I can see the screen. I read the message and almost immediately dismiss it. Yes, our killer has been targeting the rich, but the wealthy deal with hundreds of threats all day every day. Especially the less than savoury ones. Which an insurance mogul surely is.

However, as I’m about to tell the detective to stop wasting my time, I reread the last line.

‘Or I’ll have to add some decorations to his apartment.’

Pausing, I look down at the photos on the desk again. The last few kills hadn’t just been left as bodies, they’d been displayed, cut up and propped up like gruesome ornaments.

“Do we have an address?”

“Yes, sir. He’s at a penthouse down river.”

I lean back, tapping my fingers to my chin, grazing the dark stubble there. My gut is telling me this is it, this message is from her.

“Let’s go. Gotta be worth a look.” I push back in my chair and stand, grabbing the jacket off the back to put on.

The junior detective jumps, looking perplexed. It’s really fucking irritating.

“Come on. Move!” I growl. “Grab the team and let’s go check it out.”

He launches into action and suddenly the station floor where the detectives hole up, is a flurry of activity. A case this big has several officers working on it and four of them are currently on duty. They all scramble as I walk through the space to the elevators.

Hopefully, we’re about to catch us a killer.

I take the lead position at the door. Besides the fact I’m a couple inches taller and broader than the other detectives that came with me, I’m the only supernatural being amongst them. If there is indeed a psycho killer beyond the reinforced door I’ll be able to take whatever is thrown at us much better than the mortals currently working as my partners.

It’s not like I can’t die. I’m immortal, not invincible. But bullets won’t do shit to me unless I’m very unlucky and it goes straight through my eye socket and into my brain. Knives are just irritating, especially if they cut through tendons, but a stab to the chest or gut will simply piss me off. I’d be weakened, sure, but it wouldn’t be fatal.

It would take something of greater power to end my life. Beheading, or full dismemberment, something along those lines. And a human killer, no matter how skilled they are, wouldn’t have the strength to fight me.

Lifting a closed fist, I rap on the door three times. “Police, please open up.”

Silence.

I try again with the same result.

Albright’s PA had met us down in the lobby, he was the one to raise the alarm and had come straight over. He’d handed us a spare key as we’d arrived and after asking him a couple of preliminary questions, we’d made our way up to the top floor.

Knocking a third and final time, I dig the key out of my jeans back pocket with my other hand, not expecting to get an answer. The apartment beyond remains deathly quiet, so I slide the key into the lock and open the door.

The smell hits me first. Albright is definitely dead. Or someone is, at least. There’s so much blood the air is completely saturated. My nose wrinkles against the onslaught. Sometimes I wish my sense of smell wasn’t quite so astute.

It’s not until we’ve passed through the entryway that my colleagues catch the scent, but I see them all physically react. I call out again as we move as a unit into what looks like a formal lounge. This place is a little bit of a warren. A fucking posh warren if all the marble and plush leather are an indicator, but a warren none the less.

The smell of fresh death gets stronger as we stalk across the room. There isn’t a thing out of place, not a single reason to suspect any foul play. But there’s an eerie silence whenever we pause. An air of foreboding fogging up the apartment. I strain my human ears for any sign of life bar the four men close to me. My hearing might be superior in this body but it’s not as acute as my feline form. Just when I think we might be the only living beings inside these walls, I hear it.

There is another. It’s hard to detect under the thumping base of the quickened beats of those directly behind me, one of which is going way too fast–I hope the junior detective is fit because his heart is being put through a strong dose of fear right now.

The beat currently at a distance is calm, a steady rhythm, possibly even slightly slower than I’d expect, for a murderer about to be caught. At least, I hope it's our killer. I need this job concluded so I can get out of this realm. Turning my head this way and that with slight annoyance at the restrictions I have in this form, I locate it and move.

We take an archway off the formal looking lounge and that’s when we find him, Mr Albright. There are too many pieces to count, all strung up on his own innards and displayed like festive freaking bunting across the dining room wall. The carpet below is completely crimson before it becomes splatter which dots the rest of the fibres as far back as the entryway we’re standing in.

It’s on my second sweep that I spot Mr Albright’s head sitting proudly displayed as a centre piece on the heavy oak table. His mouth is open and stuffed with a plum.