Page 51 of Watched

“Where’s the phone?” I ask. We’d searched him and the entire garage, only finding his personal one I’ve been monitoring the past few days.

Atticus lifts his chin, and Blade clasps a hand over his mouth. I groan, turning my head away when Blade cuts down At’s bicep and the muscle flops open. Tears stream, his blubbers dissipating into Blade’s hand.

“Now, or I’ll drive this into your fucking knee.” Blade slides the bloody blade across At’s trembling lips.

We know he must keep the phone close by. If he’s the pawn to draw us out, he’d need to relay messages about our appearances.

“You think you’re safe,” Atticus seethes, saliva bubbling in the corners of his mouth. “They have this place under surveillance.”

“You mean those?” I point to the camera in the corner. “Even if they come here...”

“That’s what they’re for,” Blade explains, pointing to our guns. “And the people stationed throughout the surrounding five blocks. You think we’re amateurs?” His words are followed by a manic laugh that sends a chill down my spine.

When Blade’s calm and laughing, that’s when you know he’s truly enraged.

Blade steps beside me. “You know what? We don’t need you.” He rears the knife back.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Atticus pleads.

The tip stops at his knee, dimpling the white jean fabric.

“You have one second until I dig in to see what a kneecap looks like,” Blade threatens, and I bite back my laugh. He already knows.

“The skirting board—in my office, under the window,” At blubbers. “Pull it back. It’s hidden in the wall.”

I push up and swing a crowbar to my shoulder, making my way into the office. The already loosened wood pops off, and I find the hole in the timber, sliding out his phone. I turn it on, not finding any texts or calls.

They aren’t entirely stupid.

Scanning the room from right to left, I tap the back of the phone rhythmically. I’m missing something. He’d need a way to contact them first. Stepping into the hall, I watch Blade circle Atticus slowly, the tip of his knife screeching as he drags it along the metal chair.

“I need a phone number. If you kill him, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out. Have fun,” I call out.

Blade chuckles. “Let’s play, motherfucker.”

“My chair,” Atticus blubbers, snot bubbling from his nose. “In the lining of my chair.”

Well, I feel like an idiot. That’s so goddamn obvious.

My brain is usually a series of thoughts I can decipher quickly, but the interminable thought of Rome is ravaging my usually efficient mind. Even if it makes me a lesser genius, I’m not opposed to the god that is Rome Aston consuming my best asset whole.

Muffled yells flow down the hall while I feel the fabric for any irregularities. My lip curls in disgust when the choking and screams become almost non-existent.

Blade just cut out his tongue.

Finding a folded piece of paper slid in the underside, I step back out in time to witness the horror that is Blade Wilder. The concrete floor is pooled in crimson, and cuts span Atticus’ barely conscious body. Blade’s masked face looks down at Atticus unstrapped from the chair, now laying underneath the hoist with an eye missing.

I tilt my head, watching the engine lower. The crushing of his skull makes my ears ring as they try to drown out the horrid noise.

Once At’s brains are splattered, Blade lifts his head. “Look at that. I made a masterpiece.” He removes a gold ring from At’s pinkie finger, stuffing it in his pocket.

“Please don’t tell me you’re actually keeping a souvenir?” I throw a distasteful look he won’t see and take my gun, handing Blade his.

“I stay true to my word.”

Entering the cabin, I answer the unknown number. “Done,” she informs, meaning the body is dealt with. I pull the phone away and hang up, dropping into my chair and plugging Atticus’ into my laptop before sending a text.

Me: They’re at their old high school.