The drive back to the fortress was held together by a silence so thick it felt like it was choking me. The only sound was the rhythmic thump-thump of the windshield wipers struggling to keep up with the downpour.
Asher sat beside me, his large hands gripped tight on the steering wheel. The blood on his knuckles had dried into a dark, crusty brown. He didn't look at me once. He didn't offer a word of comfort. He just drove with a cold, mechanical precision that terrified me more than the man on the motorcycle had.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard it. Crack. The sound of a life ending. Yes! I have seen people taking their last breath as a surgeon but nothing prepared me for what I actually saw Asher do. The way he broke the killer's neck putting an end to his existence in a snap like it was a piece of cake to take life.
