I swallow down the rising tide of vomit.
“Do you have any idea where he would go?” Dom asks, his free hand curled into a fist by his side while the other clutches the dagger POP gave him. Tension lines the rigid muscles of his jaw and neck.
“I assume he wouldn’t be idiotic enough to remain near the entrance,” Zane responds. He lazily flips his bedazzled dagger in the air and catches it by the hilt.
“I don’t know him or this building well enough to answer that,” I tell Dom, ignoring Zane.
“Fuck. Right. That was a stupid question.”
“So, what do we do? Call his name until he answers or comes out of hiding?” Doubt seeps into Beckett’s voice.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“And what do you suppose we do when we find him?” Dom presses.
“I don’t know,” I repeat.
And I don’t.
All I know is that if I do nothing—if I allow innocent people to be slaughtered for POP’s sinister amusement—then I’ll be no better than the ones hunting them right now.
My father once said that the scariest type of people are those who choose ignorance. They don’t actively seek to hurt others or hunt them down in a macabre game of hide-and-seek, but their self-interest and instinct for self-preservation give rise to a different type of evil—one that is subtle, almost unintentional, yet no less malicious.
There are three types of people, he told me. When you see the devil, you can join him, turn away, or simply hold his gaze. But if you do the latter, you become a witness, watching him commit unspeakable crimes but being powerless to stop him.
I refuse to merely stare the devil in the eye.
My dad forgot to mention a fourth type of person: the one who sees what the devil is doing and drives a knife into his heart.
A strange pang reverberates through me at the thought of my father. All my memories of him—and my mother, for that matter—are tainted by the knowledge that they once were a part of POP. Yes, they didn’t know exactly what the organization was doing, let alone the human-trafficking component, but they still helped create the website and app used to harm hundreds, if not thousands, of people.
They turned their backs on the devil, and look where that got them?
Someone screams from farther ahead, and my skin crawls at the haunting noise.
“Go!” I urge the others, breaking into a run.
We turn at a fork in the hall, then push open one of the doors.
The girl from before is lying on her back with a POP member straddling her hips. His dagger is pressed against her nipple.
“I’m going to enjoy doing this, bitch,” he rasps, leaning in even closer. The other three standing against the wall chuckle.
My guys don’t hesitate.
All three of them lunge forward, and within seconds, the POP members are lying on the ground, their necks broken. I go for the fourth member, a battle cry catching in my throat. He swipes at me with his blade—and I feel a brief stab of pain—but before I can focus on it, a furious Zane stabs him in the neck.
“Good fucking riddance.” Zane bares his teeth at the bastard and spits on his still form.
Good fucking riddance, indeed.
The woman scrambles to her feet in terror, attempting to put her body flush against the corner of the room. I drag my attention off the dead body and back onto her.
“Please. Please don’t.” She begins to sob.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” I whisper, my throat tightening at the horrific sounds escaping her. This close, I can see her dirty blonde hair is caked with grime, and her face is sunken from hunger. My heart plummets at the sight, bottoming through my stomach. “We’re not…we’re not a part of them.”
“Here,” Dom says, extending a cloak and mask he must’ve removed from one of the dead POP members. He carefully averts his gaze, offering her what little privacy he can. “Put this on.”