CHAPTER 40

RAMSEY

FRIDAY LATE MORNING

Ramsey watches the house for an hour before he does anything, careful not to make a single mistake. Mrs. Elysian’s plans for the evening are only possible if he succeeds.

The closest neighbor is a quarter of a mile away. Dozens of trees provide cover from aerial views. The natural protection provided by the home’s remote location is one reason he suspects this to be the place where Anna and Catherine are being held. As evidence against Lincoln D’Angelo grew, Ramsey began looking into every piece of real estate the man owned. Street cameras caught a stolen van with tinted windows heading to one of Lincoln’s rental properties on Sunday. Ramsey followed it through cameras as far as possible, which helped narrow the search.

He wasn’t absolutely certain this was the house until this morning, when Jeremy returned from watching it and reported a guard change, during which the new guards brought bags with a box of Pull-Ups sticking out the top.

Now, Ramsey is hiding in a cluster of bushes in front of the house, observing. The security team has a lot to learn, currently acting more as a performance than an actual barrier of trained men and women. The seven guards are split, four inside and three following predictable patterns around the house.

Technology and time are more of an obstacle than the men. Ramsey counts at least three cameras, all of which are likely streaming live feeds. He must assume that Macgill, Reese, Nelson, D’Angelo, and anyone else has access to those feeds, as well as the guards inside the house. He can’t interrupt the signal because the technology is too advanced, so he estimates he’ll have three minutes after killing the first guard before reinforcements are sent out. Having a partner or a team with him would make the rescue mission safer and faster, but it would also be more noticeable, and create more variables. He can’t risk trusting the wrong person or alerting the oligarchs and committee too soon.

It’s a good thing that he works well alone.

As he has every seven minutes, a younger man approaches the bush that provides Ramsey’s hiding spot. With the other two out of sight, Ramsey crawls from behind his cover and steps up behind the guard, hooking one arm around the man’s throat, pressing against his vocal cords to keep him from shouting, and leveraging another on his shoulder.

He then moves his hands to the guard’s jaw and forehead and twists with all his strength, stretching the man’s neck to its breaking point. It took him months to perfect the ability of snapping a neck, but now it happens in seconds, barely giving the man time to claw at Ramsey’s arm.

He drags the body behind the bush and silently moves closer to the house, making it behind a thick tree right before the next guard turns around. The man pauses, probably realizing something is wrong before processing his colleague’s absence.

Then he half whispers, half yells, “Will?”

Ramsey recognizes the following unclipping sound as a gun leaving its holster. The guard resumes walking, slower now that he’s on alert. He passes Ramsey’s tree. Before he can call out or warn the last guard outside, Ramsey is behind him, breaking his neck, too.

He doesn’t bother hiding this body. The last guard will be dead before he has time to see it.

He’s standing at the end of the driveway, watching the road. Ramsey crosses the front lawn, walking on the balls of his feet and keeping low to the ground so he makes as little noise as possible.

Then he accidentally kicks a pebble. The tiny rock rolls across the driveway and the sound grabs the final guard’s attention. Ramsey is still two yards away when the guard turns.

His eyes widen. His hands go for his gun. His mouth opens to yell.

Ramsey leaps, and as they collide, he slams his elbow into the guard’s head, momentarily stunning him. They both grunt and gasp as they fall to the ground, grappling. Ramsey can’t get the necessary leverage to break the guard’s neck, and too much time is passing. If he doesn’t act soon, the guard will manage a yell, alerting everyone inside and anyone with access to the security video.

Rolling onto the lawn, Ramsey allows the guard to gain enough control to land on top. His accomplished smile lasts less than a second. Then his lips part with a gurgling gasp when Ramsey slams a knife into the guard’s throat. His eyes widen in horror.

Ramsey rips the blade free, pulling a waterfall of blood with it, and the warm liquid drenches Ramsey’s face, neck, and chest.

“Fuck!” he exclaims, shoving the body off him. He springs to his feet, tucks the bloody knife into his belt, and retrieves his gun. He switches off the safety and raises the gun in front of him, rushing to the front door.

Without hesitation, Ramsey kicks the door with as much force as he can manage. It flies off the handle, wood splintering with magnified cracks. In one inhale, he takes in the house’s interior layout, furniture, and most importantly, people. There are two guards in front of him, meaning the other two are somewhere else in the house.

Ramsey aims the gun at the closest guard’s head and pulls the trigger.

BANG!

The bullet is lost in a cloud of red where the man’s head was half a second earlier.

The body hasn’t hit the floor when Ramsey turns to the next guard and squeezes the trigger. He miscalculated the man’s height, so the aim is off and the bullet hits his collarbone. Ramsey tilts the barrel of the gun up and shoots again, this time hitting straight between the guard’s eyes.

Only then does Ramsey exhale. At the same time, a guard comes into view from a hallway, and Ramsey repositions the gun but he’s a second too late because the guard manages to fire his weapon first.

White hot burning explodes from his leg. He tumbles and hits the ground, his vision spotting from the pain. He blinks, groans, and rolls onto his knees. The guard has lined up for a second shot but before he gets the chance, Ramsey raises his gun and pulls the trigger a fourth time.

The bullet rips straight through the man’s throat, sending out a mushroom-like explosion of blood and pulp.

Back on his feet, Ramsey limps to the stairs leading into a basement. He’s momentarily deaf from incessant ringing, so he doesn’t recognize the shrill cries for what they are until he reaches the bottom of the staircase.

The seventh and final guard stands in the center of a concrete basement furnished with shelves of canned food and water bottles, a bed, a toilet, and a sink. The guard is holding a sobbing woman in front of his chest, the barrel of a gun pressed to her temple. Curled in the corner of the bed is a young child.

Catherine Imes and Anna Carter.

Anna is screaming and her face is bright red. Tears stream down both the hostages’ faces.

“Take one step and I’ll blow her brains out in front of the kid.” The guard’s words barely penetrate the monotone ringing from the gunshots in Ramsey’s ears.

“I would advise against that,” Ramsey says, his voice much calmer than the other man’s. “The others are all dead. Reinforcements will take at least fifteen minutes to arrive, plenty of time for me to kill you.”

“Before I shoot them?”

Ramsey’s arms are steady, his aim never wavering from the sliver of the man’s face. He’s using Catherine as a shield, but she’s a small woman in comparison to his large stature. If she moved an inch, Ramsey would have a perfect shot.

“You’re one of those Sin-Fighting Warriors, aren’t you?” Ramsey says. The longer he studies the man, the more he recognizes him. Blonde hair, faded tattoos on his neck, scar from where he had surgery as an infant to fix a cleft lip. “Cameron, right?”

Cameron’s long lashes brush his top lid when his eyes widen. “How did you . . .”

“I know all of you.” Ramsey briefly glances to Anna, ensuring she’s still safely on the bed. She’s the reason Ramsey is here, not Catherine. He could shoot Cameron now and Anna would be okay. Catherine might be too, if she was lucky.

But Ramsey doesn’t pull the trigger. Not yet. The child has been through so much trauma. She doesn’t deserve to watch another family member be shot, even by accident.

“I also know that you’re being manipulated. Your Elders,” he spits the word out, “are exploiting your beliefs, turning you into a mindless soldier. You’re replaceable.”

Cameron shakes his head, jerking Catherine slightly. The woman yelps, and he presses the gun harder into her head. “Shut up!”

“Let the girl go, Cameron.”

Catherine gives quiet, gasping cries. She stands frozen, too afraid to move, staring at Ramsey, her eyes stretched wide.

“No!” Cameron screams, causing renewed crying from Anna. “This is all a part of a bigger plan. The Elders have a plan!”

“The Elders are selfish humans who care about nothing and no one but themselves,” Ramsey says, taking a small step forward. “As soon as you’re no longer useful, they’ll get rid of you.”

“Don’t move! I’ll shoot her, I swear I will.”

“The vote happened six hours ago, Cameron. It passed. You should know that. You can let Anna and Catherine go now.”

“My orders are to hold them until an Elder comes tomorrow. The announcement must happen first,” Cameron says.

Without warning, a wave of dizziness washes over Ramsey. Pain from the gunshot wound colonizes part of his body and he stumbles. Black dots fill his vision. He’s losing too much blood.

Ramsey blinks, grips his gun, and steadies himself before Cameron can take advantage of his momentary distraction.

“It’s too late, Cameron. I’m here, and I’m taking the kid. You’ve failed no matter what. The Elders will kill you for this. It’s up to you whether Catherine dies, too. Tell me, does she deserve death? You believe in justice and holiness. Will shooting Catherine be justice? Will it make you holy?” The words wilt as they leave Ramsey’s mouth, each second draining more energy.

“She’s part of the problem.”

Catherine closes her eyes and hiccups in broken breaths.

“She’s an innocent young woman guilty of nothing except losing her sister to a madman and taking care of her orphaned niece.”

“She is not an orphan!”

“Anna lost the only parents she ever knew.”

“She’s the product of the rotten Elysian line.”

Cameron’s replies grow increasingly desperate, and Ramsey is wavering where he stands. Too much time has passed. He has to end this now before reinforcements get here.

“It’s up to you, Cameron. Do you face your death like a coward and take an innocent life with you, or do you face it with courage?” Ramsey asks.

The question seems to take Cameron by surprise. His hold on Catherine relaxes a fraction. She’s too scared to make a run for it, but she’s been leaning against Cameron, unable to hold herself up, so the slack moves her an inch to the left.

It’s enough.

Ramsey pulls the trigger.

Blood sprays the side of Catherine’s face. The bullet’s force throws Cameron back, and he hits the shelf before falling to the floor. Anna is screaming, but Catherine has gone silent. She turns before Ramsey can tell her not to look. He follows her gaze and sees the corpse through the eyes of someone normal. Someone who hasn’t killed and tortured dozens of people. Someone who doesn’t intimately know what death looks like.

Half of Cameron’s jaw is gone. The rest of his face, shoulder, and neck are drenched with his own blood, pieces of bone, teeth, tissue, and gray matter. The cartilage of his nose and broken white pieces of jawbone are visible. Even a section of his tongue has been blown away.

Then, Catherine screams. It’s louder than Anna’s screaming.

“We have to go, hurry!” Ramsey says, trying to cut through the sounds of terror. He heads to the bed and reaches for Anna, but the child cowers away from him. She’s howling, and her wide eyes jump quickly around Ramsey. He remembers that he’s covered in blood, and Anna just watched him shoot a man, so of course she’s scared of him.

But Catherine is bloody too, and she doesn’t have the presence of mind to carry Anna, so Ramsey mutters, “Fuck it,” and grabs Anna’s feet. The child screams and kicks as he drags her across the bed, then scoops her up. Her limbs flail, and he holds her tight with both arms.

“Catherine, we have to go!” Ramsey yells. He positions himself in front of her face, blocking her view of the mutilated corpse, and watches a thick, torn piece of Cameron’s skin slide down her cheek. “Now! Others will be here soon.”

Her eyes finally focus on him and a second passes before she nods.

“Good. Follow me.” He hobbles up the stairs, the wound in his leg making every step excruciating. He’s losing strength and has to apply everything he has left to keeping hold of Anna. By the time they make it to the car he parked down the road, Ramsey can no longer see straight.

Anna slips free from his grasp and falls to the ground. He groans and begins to bend down for the child, but Catherine is there first. The walk seems to have renewed her senses. She’s not crying anymore. She picks up Anna and deposits her in the back seat of the car. Ramsey belatedly realizes he didn’t bring a car seat.

Catherine’s voice is strong when she says, “Give me the keys.”

Ramsey shouldn’t. He should drive them. He knows where to go and what to do. He’s meant to be rescuing her, not the other way around.

A fresh throbbing pain destabilizes him, and he catches himself against the car. He fishes the keys out and hands them to Catherine, wondering if she’s going to leave him here to die. She could, maybe even should. He’s a stranger who killed seven men in a matter of minutes.

But Catherine bends over, wraps an arm around Ramsey’s middle, and supports his weight as he stumbles to the passenger’s door. Catherine opens it and he falls inside.

He’s awake only until she turns on the car. Then he slips into unconsciousness.