I tried to push the image out of my mind as we made our way through the building.
Tried not to think of my family and friends.
“The morgue is this way,” Seven said, directing us to the large metal doors at the end of the hall.
There was another swipe pad by the door, but his magical electronic skeleton key didn’t work.
“Looks like we need help,” Six said.
They changed direction, heading to the other end of the long corridor to one of the few lights on. The first room was empty, or at least seemed that way, as were the next two. Finally, at the far end, there was not one, but three people.
Two snaps as Seven and Six walked in, followed by a shrill scream.
“Get her card,” Six said, his tone leaving no confusion on who he was talking to or room for debate.
I stepped between them, trying not to look at either of their fresh kills or into the eyes of their next victim.
But then I did look and there was a gasp along with my name, my real name, slipping from her lips. “Paisley?”
Fuck.
No.
I looked into soft, familiar olive green eyes. Her brown hair was up in the most perfect mussy bun like she always wore it.
Marissa Wade.
“Rissa?”
Complete and total shock rolled through me. I blinked at her as I covered my mouth. Tears started to fill my eyes.
No. Oh, no. Why? Why is she here?
They were going to kill her.
We went to college together, had the same major. We were always partnered up because our last names were next to each other. Over those years she became one of my best friends.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice shaking. We hadn’t talked in a long time, years really, but her Facebook status said she was still in Phoenix, and mentioned nothing about moving.
She looked between Six and Seven, and their guns out, then back to me.
“I transferred last month. What…what’s going on?”
“You’re going to let us in to the morgue,” Seven said as he pushed past me and grabbed her arm.
That moment, watching him drag her down the hall, was like seeing what happened to me from the outside.
“No!” I reached out for her, but I didn’t make it two steps before Six’s hand wrapped around my neck and he slammed me against the wall. Pain radiated down my bones when my head hit the cinder blocks behind me. The barrel of his gun pressed against my temple as I watched Seven drag her away.
“What did I say?” Six asked with a snarl.
I looked back at him. “Please, no. Not her. Please, don’t kill her.”
“Do you want to die with her?”
The blood in my veins froze. It was our first week all over again. Any progress I thought might have happened, especially after he saved my life, was nonexistent.
In front of me was the hardened killer. The assassin.
My eyes squeezed tight when I heard more of the distinctive snaps.
Six’s fingers tightened around my throat more, causing me to gasp for air.
How could I be so stupid? Everyone Six killed had friends and family who loved them. Sure, the body count at night was lower, thus less of an overall tragedy, but I was still aiding them in taking lives.
“She’s my friend,” I managed to choke out.
There was no softening in his eyes, just the hard gaze of a killer.
He pushed the tip of the gun harder into my head. “Now or later?”
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes before whispering, “Later.”
He released me, and my body sagged as I drew in a deep breath. That was all I was allowed before he grabbed hold of my arm the same way Seven had Marissa and pulled me down to the morgue.
Once we got there, it was like reliving my abduction all over again.
Marissa cowered against the wall, sobbing as she stared at the fresh body and the deep red blood that seeped all over the concrete floor.
Seven opened each cooler door, pulling corpses out. The ratcheting of the drawers, the jarring slam when they reached the end.
I stood in the middle of the room a few feet from Six.
“Fuck,” Seven whispered as he stared down at one of the bodies. He turned the head and looked behind the ear, the same as Six had done. “It’s Four.”
Six turned to Marissa. “Bring up his file,” he said as he raised his gun and pointed it at her.
My chest clenched watching her shake, her steps unsteady as she moved to the computer. The shaking was so bad, she messed up the password three times before getting it right.
Seven pulled her back as Six pushed me forward. I gave Marissa an apologetic look before taking over.
My eyes perused the files. Their John Doe had almost identical attributes to ours.
“The trajectory of the bullet is execution style, just like Three,” I said as I read through the examiner’s notes and drawings.
Distinctive markings listed the shadow of what the examiner believed to be a removed tattoo on the right side shoulder blade, and four small black dots in the same place Dr. Mitchell found three on our John Doe.
Four markings for Four and three for Three.
Did Six have six?