Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

It took me only a few minutes to navigate out of the dock and enter the open sea toward the southern perimeter of the island where the waves swelled around me. Ignoring the thoughts of what lay beneath and beyond, I concentrated on getting to the shore. The icy water slapping me in the face, the choppy wakes making me sick, and the fear bullying me backward wouldn’t stop me.

Finally, I reached land. I shoved the stupid kayak onto the rocks and climbed the boulders to the top. Gun out, eyes up, arms wobbly from the paddling, I sprinted to the only big, white building I could see and hid behind a buzzing electrical box. I scanned the outside of the building until I found what I was looking for—a circular metal plate covering the ground. There was a chance in the darkness and fog that Silver might have lost sight of me (if he was watching) and wouldn’t catch me entering from below.

I strained to pull up the plate, then lowered myself into the dark, relying on the feel of each metal rung of the ladder and hoping my eyes would adjust. I couldn’t see how far it was to the bottom, but it felt never-ending. Like this tunnel led to China. Or straight to the fiery depths of hell—where Silver belonged.

For every inch I descended, my heart rate exponentially ascended. I couldn’t take much more of this.

Finally, my feet hit the ground and my eyes detected light. I raised my weapon and took careful, balanced steps through the darkness toward a barely lit tunnel. As I moved, all I could hear was the slight squeak of my own footsteps, a rhythmic drip-drop of water, and the buzz of electricity.

I moved through the cold, dank air, listening for any signs of movement above or below. I prepared myself for attack from any side, analyzing every space I encountered for potential threats and sabotage. A calm focus took over as I moved swiftly through the snaking underground chambers. Maybe my dad had taken these exact steps.

His strength and courage filled me as I stole through the darkness.

One foot in front of the other, Rue, don’t hesitate. Trust your instincts.

I clenched my jaw and moved forward. A faint sound came from above. I found a spiral staircase at the farthest west end of the bottom floor and began scaling it. Arms up, shoulder cocked, weapon high and tight.

I peered up to the first floor just to make sure no one was there. Then I continued up, my heart beating faster with every step. The air temperature warmed and the dank smell dissipated the higher I climbed.

Breathe, concentrate, keep your focus on the target.

My arms were tired, and my legs burned from the stairs. I took a moment to compose myself and slow my heart rate before I made the final steps to the point where I could see the room above.

There was a stifled cry. I peered up through the railings to locate the noise, my head shielded by metal rails.

My mom was sitting in a chair at the center of the round room. Her hands were bound behind her, and there was gray tape across her mouth. Two men stood in front of her with their backs to me, speaking in whispers. I recognized the small man as Filthy number five—Stanley Violet. Which meant the other one had to be Silver.

The dimly lit room appeared to be some kind of emergency antechamber with a cylindrical ceiling at least a hundred feet high. All the way up the walls I saw scaffolding and rungs of balconies for the different floors. Each floor was lit by small red lights. But on the main floor before me, there was vast empty space. No rigs, no machinery, no cover—except for the ring of shadows from the second floor scaffolding around the perimeter.

I bobbed my head back down and texted Sergeant Mathews:

She’s in the westernmost area of the white building, center of the island. At least 2 levels down. I’m about to move in. Wait for my call.

I put away the phone, eager to finally see the man who had destroyed everything and everyone I ever loved.

The urge for revenge boiled inside of me. Dark, rolling, and spilling over with hatred.

I was so close to saving my mom, getting justice for my dad, and perhaps even proving Liam’s innocence. It didn’t matter that Sammy wasn’t here yet.

If I shot Silver now, I could explain it all. Mathews would back me up, and when Sammy got here, his crime scene photos would, too.

How lucky was I to have found him just standing with his back to me, whispering tactics with Filthy Five number five and totally unaware of my location?

I slid the gun out onto the floor to steady myself. I only had one chance. I closed my left eye and focused down the barrel of the revolver toward the target. My finger itched to shoot. Just as I began to put pressure on the heavy trigger, he turned toward my mom and I finally saw Silver’s face.

It wasn’t him.

Or it didn’t look like him.

At least not the “him” in the surveillance picture Liam brought me. This guy was clean-shaven and much older than I expected. The picture Liam showed me of the guy at the art fair had that silver-fox beard thing going on. Sure, he could have shaved, but he couldn’t have aged twenty years. Now that I was looking, this guy also had weird posture, like he was seventy years old.

But if this wasn’t Silver, where was he? And who was this?

“Hello, Ruby,” said a voice from below. I almost pulled the trigger in surprise, but it was aimed in the wrong direction. “Put the weapon back in your holster.”

Really? Not hand it over or kick it twenty feet away?

The man was only a few steps below me on the spiral staircase, his face hidden. I recognized his voice from the phone call. Silver.

“You may need it in a few minutes,” he continued in that low, gravelly voice.

Of course, he still wanted me to kill. I thought about pretending to put my gun away and then turning it on him for a quick shot, but I wasn’t ready for my first bullet wound. He’d stop me—not kill me. I knew that by now he wanted me alive in order to kill Violet, but he’d defend himself if I forced him to. I couldn’t be impatient or hotheaded if I wanted to save my mom. I had to let it play out and take the chance when it presented itself.

“Listen, I know you think my mom’s a bad person.” I started to negotiate. “You don’t have to convince me of that fact, but—”

“Shhh,” he hushed me, using his gun to push me up the stairs. “There’s plenty to say, but not just yet.”

I holstered my gun inside my hoodie like he asked and climbed slowly up the metal stairs. Each step I took sounded like the clicking of the tracks on a roller coaster as it climbed its way up to the big drop. The roller coaster came to a pause as I stepped out into clear sight of my mom and the two men. My mom’s eyes widened with horror when she saw me, and she began jerking against the plastic ties binding her to the chair. One of her wrists was wrapped in bloodied white gauze.

The two men moved closer to her, as though they were protecting her from me. Like the way two lions would stand over their nice zebra dinner.

Who was the guy standing next to Violet?

I knew Silver was still behind me with a gun, but nothing prepared me for the moment he placed his hand at the small of my back to guide me toward the group. It was as if the roller coaster finally lurched forward from its pause on the precipice, making my stomach drop as the plunge took my breath away.

When I turned to face him, I found—Detective Martinez.

No, it couldn’t be. Martinez was dead. Shot. Burned. How could he be standing here wearing a tactical helmet and the smuggest smile I’d ever seen?

“But I saw you bleeding.” I talked myself through the memories. “From under your vest—”