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‘I might love you if you let me.’
THIRTY
EWEN
The metallic scent of blood hit me as soon as I walked into the takeaway shop. Usually, at such a late hour, the smell of fryers and garlic would fill the air, but the shop hadn’t opened that day.
The metal counter stood open, and I stopped before going through. Turning to Cora, I took a breath.
‘There are dead bodies back there. What you’ll see can’t be unseen,’ I repeated. By walking through that door, you’ll be an accessory to whatever happens. This will go unreported to the police.’
White blanched her face as her eyes flicked to the door beyond the counter.
‘This is part of you,’ she said after a few moments. ‘A big part of your life.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not just going to be one week, right?’
‘A lifetime, I hope.’ Admitting it made my stomach clench. If Cora had any sense, she’d run for the hills rather than stay with me.
‘I can’t promise that. Not yet.’ Her voice quivered as she reached out to take my hand.
‘I can wait.’
‘Then show me this side of you.’
Every step through the building filled me with fear—fear that she wouldn’t be able to handle it, but also amazement that she wanted to try.
The smell of death grew stronger the further we entered the back rooms, heading for the walk-in freezer. Mac waited on a stool, his face grim as we approached.
‘Who the fuck is she?’ he asked.
‘She’s with me.’
‘Nah, man, she shouldn’t be here. Fewer witnesses, the better.’
‘I trust her.’ I said, setting Mac with a glare.
‘Fine. But if she pukes, you’re the one scrubbing it up.’
He very well knew the clean-up crew would scrub the scene of any evidence. They could hide evidence better than the bloody government.
‘Mac, this is Cora. Cora, my brother, Mac.’
‘An unfortunate meeting place,’ Mac said as he tipped his head toward Cora.
‘Indeed,’ she breathed.
‘Show me.’ I shrugged off my suit jacket and hung it on the stool, trying to avoid the layer of grease that permeated everything in the room.
Cora gripped back onto my fingers, her nails digging into my hand.
Mac opened the door to the deep freeze.
Three of our younger recruits were cuffed to the built-in shelving inside. Red stained the floor in great arcs where they must have flailed and thrashed before their deaths—that they were dead wasn’t in question. Their blood had frozen to dark ice and crystals clung to their hair and eyebrows. Even their clothing looked stiff as a board.
All three had their feet amputated. A neat pile of limbs lay stacked in the corner. The pain and fear as they sat chained and witnessed each other being mutilated must have been horrific.
