SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 23

The door was forced open just as I twisted the key, like criminals escaping, they bulldozed inside the house, and a heavy boot crushed my toes. I cried out, pushing the large man who grimaced at me like it was my fault my foot was there. "Where is he?" unhinged, Cole was psycho-mad. His face and neck were a dark wine-red shade and his nostrils were flared and his lips pressed together in a thin line. Hateful. He came here to murder. There was something ugly about his violent nature, a deep brewing storm, a nightmare to witness, a rage so passionate he wouldn't be able to let go if he tried.

I played dumb. "Who? What is going on?"

It almost went unnoticed; his eye twitched. "Daniel. Where is Irvin?"

Daniel was half-way down the stairs and he shrugged. "Man. I don't know. I just woke up. I thought we were being attacked. What did he even do, anyway?"

"Boss." One of the men, a shredded, rough-faced man who looked like he swallowed steroids for breakfast, picked up Irvin's trainers and held it in the air like it was prize. I tensed, shit.

"Find him. Tear this place apart."

"OH!" I declared like I was Christopher Columbus and I had 'discovered' America. All eyes on me, I made pointy hand gestures that went nowhere. "I just remembered: He told me earlier he was going to the tattoo shop. I need clean clothes, got mustard armpits." Charlie pretended to gag.

I was given the cold shoulder and dirty looks. I thought it was a convincing lie but the search party began, inconsiderate of my cries. Cole gave me a critical stare. Daniel groaned into his hands which cupped his face. "Shay...give up."

Cole laughed disturbingly. "He's a minimalistic thief. If he could he'd steal shoes but can't because of the alarm tags. He owns a single pair of trainers and grieved and moaned about the pennies he spent for weeks. Unless he went barefoot, he's here."

I continued regardless of Cole's explanation: I offered up breadcrumbs but only got disdainful glares in return. Like hounds they rummaged about, shaggy tails shooting out of their rectum, sprouting fur, ethmoid bone shattering and growing into wet snouts, on all fours hunting and digging into the darkest crevices and smallest cracks. Heavy footsteps thumped on the ceiling, threatening to crack the plaster and break the necks of Cole's men. I wouldn't have minded if they came crashing through the ceiling. Dying in a bath of their own blood might just satisfy their bloodlust.

Seeing Irvin dragged down the stairs and thrown to the ground was tough, especially when he begged Cole to listen to him. He looked old; exhausted and almost to the brink of giving up. I wondered if he'd been to see his grandma since we last spoke. The man who had found the trainers kicked him in the stomach, towering over him like the rest of the bullies, spitting. "Shut up, bitch."

"Put him in the car. The boot." Cole didn't spare Irvin a glance. His face was set in stone, tone and cadence hateful and spiteful, unforgiving. The men were like a mob, destructively seeking perverted justice, indifferent to who they burned with their prodding pitchforks and burning torches. Irvin was thrown into the boot like a sack of potatoes carelessly and they hoisted themselves onto the boot, jeering loudly, taunting him. Trevor stood to one side, bemusedly watching, quiet.

"He didn't do anything! What the hell is wrong with you all?" I twisted around to give Cole a filthy stare, demanding answers, hands closed into fists, humiliated on behalf of Irvin and angry.

"Is this to do with Jess?" Daniel asked, taking a calmer approach.

"He didn't kill her!" I defended blindly. It was on my mind since I first saw the news, a dirty thought, the fearful possibility that I refused to believe even as I sat on the fence. He was upset when he left but that was because of his gran and his uncle, it didn't mean he'd lash out on Jess, strangle her to death. How much anger would he have bottled up to suffocate her, his fingers digging into her neck, pressing against tendons, watching her face turn a twisted shade of purple, eyes bulging as she tried to speak, to plead for her life? It made me sick to my stomach to think like that. Irvin wasn't a killer, not like Dad. I refused to believe it.