Xander
3 years later
I am sitting on the edge of the table, as I'm on the edge of losing what little sanity I have left. In front of me there is another wrecked dead body, Frank is one of the chairmans of the Castle organization, the baster was another dead end for me. I even pulled his liver out while he was alive, I don't know what to do , I am not sure of the reality anymore.
Standing there, drenched in blood—Frank's of course, and she is still missing. My hands are shaking from the fucking rage and the obsession eating me alive.
I pull out a cigarette, lips curling in frustration as the lighter clicks once, twice—my patience is thin, but when the flame finally catches, I brings it to the tip, inhaling deep. The smoke swirls around me, mixing with the scent of iron, sweat, and death. But nicotine does nothing. It doesn't quiet the storm in my head, doesn't drown out her voice—the one I hasn't heard in three fucking years.
My jaw tightens, I exhale slow, deliberate. Another body on the floor, another name crossed off my list. And still… nothing. No trace of her. No proof she's dead. No proof she's alive. Just an empty fucking void where she should be.
Three fucking years. Three years of chasing ghosts, clawing through the filth of this world, searching morgues, back alleys, brothels—anywhere a body might end up. Her body. But nothing. No whispers. No leads. Not even a corpse to claim.
I joined hands with criminals, law enforcement, private investigators—anyone who could give me a sliver of truth. I burned through every connection, every favor, every fucking soul who thought they could lie to me. And still—nothing.
I joined hands with criminals, law enforcement, private investigators—anyone who could give me a sliver of truth. I burned through every connection, every favor, every fucking soul who thought they could lie to me. And still—nothing.
I'm losing my shit, three fucking years after I try to rescue her and fucked up, I failed her once again, And now, I'm left with this—checking unidentified bodies, chasing dead-end cases, hunting whores who might've seen a ghost that doesn't exist.
But she's mine. Dead or alive. Mine.
I press the cigarette to the table, watching the ember die against the wood, the burn mark joining the hundreds before it. No time to waste.
It's time for the next target.