The Silent Sounds of Chaos (23 page)

He saw the edge a kitchen cabinet, yellow wood splattered with red. Bile rising in his throat, Finn tightened his grip on the gun and advanced, stumbling when he took just two steps and caught sight of the object laying across the entrance to the kitchen.

His eyes narrowed as he focused on what he was seeing. They widened when he realized what it was—a hand, leading to a body he couldn’t see on the other side of the wall. Sucking in a breath, Finn rounded the corner, ready to attack and let loose a flurry of bullets, but the room, a filthy kitchen cluttered with dirty dishes, was empty.

Except for the woman lying lifeless on the floor.

A quick scout of the room confirmed it was clear. Finn shuffled in, stepping carefully around the body. It wasn’t Snow. He couldn’t see her face, but still he knew; he could feel it. Kneeling, Finn pushed the woman onto her back and took in her face. She was older, gaunt and cold, with matted hair and bloodshot eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. A wound slashed across her throat seeped blood.

He hoped her death had been quick and painless, something she never saw coming. It surprised him to feel such mercy—and blamed it on this being the first murdered woman he’d ever seen. Not his first dead body, there were plenty of junkie overdoses over the years, but none of them ever had their throats split wide open.

“Loose ends.”

Joe’s voice from the doorway had Finn looking up slowly, gun at the ready. The older, far stronger man was leaning against frame, arms crossed, stance too casual for the crime splayed out before him. Finn didn’t see a gun or knife on him, but knew there had to be one or both tucked away somewhere.

The body was a buffer between them. Blood slowly spread from beneath the woman, toward Finn’s boot-clad feet. He took a step back before asking, “Why her?”

Joe spared the woman a passing glance. “She knew too much.”

“Did…” The words stuck in his throat; he forced them out. “Did Charlie order this? Did he order you to take Snow?”

“Charlie?” Joe chuckled and shook his head. “Charlie is an old fuckin’ man who ain’t got it in him to rule anymore. I’m done following Charlie’s orders.”

“Then … why?”

“Why?” Pushing off the doorway, Joe straightened to his full height, his glare bearing down on the younger boy with the weight of many years’ pain. “Only four people know what went down that night. Since you’re here, I can only assume ‘ole DU is out of the equation. I’d be impressed if I actually liked you, kid.” His eyes narrowed, looking down at the woman before returning to Finn. “This broad here cuts down the witnesses to two. That leaves me and you.”

One hand reached behind his back. Finn saw the motion and sprang, lunging for Joe before a weapon could be drawn. He could have used his own gun, but the fury within craved blood. Finn wanted to make the man suffer for what he’d done, to tear him apart with bare hands.

One punch landed solidly across Joe’s cheek, another to his chin. It was like hitting a wall, each strike sending spikes of pain through Finn’s hand while barely slowing his rival, who matched each hit with his own. Stars exploded in front of Finn’s eyes when a fist was swiped across his temple. His vision dulled and he dropped to his knees, the momentary falter all Joe needed to take control.

“All this time I thought you never knew,” Joe rasped as he dragged a half-conscious Finn from the kitchen, down the hall, into the bedroom at the end. Blood was smeared around his lips, coating his teeth. “DU had her first, ‘til I took that sweet young thing all for myself.”

“Fucking son of a bitch,” Finn snarled, grabbing at the hand fisted in his hair but not able to free himself. He’d lost his gun somewhere in the kitchen. Twisting against the hold, he frantically searched for Joe’s, not seeing it anywhere.

“All this time I thought you never knew,” Joe continued as though he wasn’t dragging another person along the floor. “Had my mask on and everything. You did good, you little shit. Barging in to Charlie’s office that day, demandin’ a job. Playin’ the part of wannabe thug all them years. Actin’ like some hero off to save a girl. And I played right into it, didn’t I?”

Finn grunted when he was tossed to the floor but immediately picked himself up, refusing to show weakness. He was a bad-ass, not some weakling victim Joe could toss around like a ragdoll. “Played into what?” he asked around a mouthful of blood, entirely confused by the man’s ranting.

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid.”

“You don’t play dumb with me,” Finn shot back, ready to lunge. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I didn’t catch on until your little sleep-talkin’ fuckup.” Joe laughed to himself, an incredulous and insane sound. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

He was done with this idiotic tirade. “I don’t give a shit what you think is happening here. I don’t even care why you brought Snow into it. Just tell me where she is. What did you do with her?”

It struck him then, where he was, the stench in the room, the reason why Joe brought him here instead of killing him in the kitchen. Slowly, almost unwillingly, his eyes moved to the closet. The door was shut, black shadows creeping out from the cracks and crawling toward him, beckoning him forward.

Before he could move, Joe was on him. Finn was propelled backward into the wall but caught himself, bracing his back against the window and landing a solid hit to Joe’s gut. His opponent doubled over, giving Finn the opportunity to send a fist into his jaw, another to his cheekbone.

Hit for hit they matched one another, tumbling over the bed in a flood of fists and blood. Finn wasn’t a particularly skilled fighter and his strength would never match Joe’s, but his blood burned with a wrath he’d never known before, blinding him in a red haze.

All around them cheap paneling splintered. Glass shattered and clothing was torn, blood bursting from lips and noses. No words were spoken, only furious shouts and pained grunts. Finn managed a tight headlock, sending his fist into Joe’s gut, but the hold didn’t last. His opponent spun from his grasp and countered, sending Finn flying against the wall with a sharp kick to the back.

There was no time to push off, no chance to retaliate. Finn felt his body tugged away from the wall mere seconds before he was thrown to the floor. Exhaustion racked his limbs, weakening his attempts to shove the stronger man off.

Cold fingers wrapped around Finn’s throat. Joe’s hands tightened, his weight pinning Finn to the floor. “Your momma done finally confessed, huh?” he asked in a tone that was too calm compared to his maniacal laughter earlier. “She musta really hated you, you little punk. She knew the consequences of opening her whore mouth.”

“Fuck you,” Finn spat back, his voice rough and garbled. Blood dripped down his throat, choking him as much as the hand gripping his neck.

“Ain’t so tough now, are you? I shoulda ended you a long time ago. You wanna know why I let you live?” Joe’s face lowered until it was mere inches from Finn’s. “‘Cause I thought, even if you did know the truth, me and ‘ole DU fucked you up so much you knew better than to open that bratty fucking mouth of yours.”

Breath wheezed out of Finn’s closing throat, black spots dancing before his eyes. Still, he felt the rage building at the admission and managed to say, “I never … forgot … what you did to me.”

Joe chuckled, a harsh, unforgiving sound. He ground Finn’s head farther into the floor and laughed again at his wince. “You always were ‘ole DU’s favorite. Skinny little kid that shook like a leaf whenever someone looked at him. You were the perfect toy. But he liked your girl too. We both did.” Now the smile faded, replaced by an expression far more sinister. “You still wanna know what we did to her?”

He didn’t want to listen. He didn’t want to hear the truth. But what he wanted no longer mattered.

“I broke every finger and every toe, one by one.” Perverse pleasure glinted in Joe’s eyes. “I remember it so clearly. All the cracks. They were like music. And her skin.” He rolled his shoulders as though gratified by the thought, his body responding to the jerks of the boy beneath him as he kicked his feet, struggling for freedom. “So soft and slick. So easy to cut open. And every time she screamed, it just made me want to do it all again.”

An unnatural sound escaped Finn, a guttural scream filled with years of hate. It would be his last breath, the air fleeing his lungs, unable to draw in more, but he released it willingly even against the burn in his chest. His hands released Joe’s wrists and clutched the sides of his face, thumbs digging into dark eyes. Joe arched back, trying to shake off Finn’s grip, but he held strong, ready to die if it meant taking this fucker down with him.

A sharp shout sounded from Joe’s lips to match the blood starting to drip down his face, but he too had made his vow. Finn’s airway closed and the fight left his arms, and he peered up at Joe through spotted vision to see the face of death above him, contorted into carnal satisfaction.

I’m … sorry … Snow.

His last thought would be of her, the girl who made his life worth living. He would see her face, hear her voice, imagine them together in another world, finally united.

But the vision he struggled to see never came. Instead his fading blue eyes locked on that sick pleasure in the narrowed orbs above him, watching as it erupted into panic for only a second before being replaced by emptiness. Blood and brain splattered Finn’s face. The hands around his throat loosened, Joe’s body falling on top of his, jerking with its final moments of life.

Air returned to his lungs in sputtering gasps. Each breath burned as it entered, momentarily distracting Finn from the dead man crushing him, the revolting odor of a skull turned inside out. It was the smell that finally broke his daze and he shoved at the body, scrambling to his knees while spinning around to the door, shocked to see Charlie standing there with his arm still raised, gun pointed at Joe. Next to him stood Chix, Infinity’s most-feared bouncer, the same bouncer who’d granted Finn entry as a kid in need of a job.

Finn didn’t know how Charlie got there, or why he was there. Nor did he care. Questions could be asked later; right now he had to get to the closet. The crawl to the other side of the room seemed to take hours, though it was likely less than a minute before his hand touched the peeling wood. His fingers trembled.

Snow was in there. He could feel her presence, except this time in a different way, a way that told him he was forever alone in the world. But he had to know, and so Finn pushed open the closet door, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, unable to wash away the sight of his failure.

A YOUNG GIRL lay upon the cold carpet, knees drawn up to her chest, hands mangled, open lesions on her bare back. Yellow-gold hair was spread around her head in a halo. It seemed she was sleeping, her expression hauntingly calm. If not for the abuse her body had gone through, she would be just a girl playing hide-and-seek in the closet.

Except she was still, so still.
Why won’t she move?
Finn asked himself. He refused to believe she was gone. Not his Snow. Tentatively, Finn reached out to touch her, to insist she wake and tell him she was okay.

But she didn’t respond. The girl lay motionless, blood smudged along dirt and bruise-covered legs, arms, jawline, throat. Everywhere. She was hurt everywhere, and Finn could do nothing but lower himself to the floor next to her.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, needing to talk to her, to feel her. His hand touched her cheek, feeling cold flesh beneath his fingertips, then moved to her hair, feeling the soft curls marred by dried blood.

But she didn’t respond.

He moved closer, hoping, praying, deluding himself into believing his warmth would thaw the ice coating her skin. His arms wrapped around her and he began to rock, the steady back and forth a bitter balm to his aching heart. Whatever tough-guy persona he’d tried to put on earlier—tried to put on his entire life—melted away and, for the first time since he was seven years old, Finn let himself cry.

And, still, she didn’t respond.

What was the point, he asked a cruel world that didn’t care. What was the point of hearing Snow’s thoughts, of fate bringing together two kids who needed a friend, just to tear them apart? Or maybe it wasn’t the world that was at fault. Maybe
he
was to blame. Because of who he was. Because he didn’t try hard enough. Because he was mean where she was sweet, tough where she was soft.

A hand touched his shoulder, startling Finn out of his misery. The effort it took to lift his head exhausted the boy. Charlie stood over him, an expression of rage tinted with grief coloring his aged face. He looked so much older in this moment, Finn noted.

“We need to leave.”

Finn shrugged off his hand, but Charlie’s grip only tightened. “I’m not leaving her. I’m not failing her. Not again.”

“I’m not giving you a choice.” Over his shoulder, Charlie said to the bouncer still standing just outside the door, “Call the cleanup crew. Get rid of this mess and the one at the hotel Joe was tracked to. You know what to do if there are any witnesses. I’ll take care of the rest.”