Crowe's hands shook violently as she stuffed clothes and valuables into a duffel bag. Her movements were jerky, frantic, as if time itself were pressing down on her chest. "No… no! We have to leave now!" she screamed, voice raw and panicked.
Her wife sat on the couch, pale and frozen, one hand gripping the armrest like it could anchor her to reality. "Leona… please… just breathe…" she whispered, her voice thin, quivering, almost swallowed by the thick, oppressive tension.
The front door clicked.
Caleb's shadow fell across the threshold, stretching long and heavy across the worn carpet. Boots silent, eyes locked on Crowe, knife glinting faintly—then shifting, in his hand now, to the gun he had taken earlier. Every muscle coiled, every nerve tuned to lethal intent.
Crowe froze, mouth parting in a scream. "No! You can't—please! I'll tell you whatever you want! Just… don't hurt her!"
Caleb's gaze didn't waver. "You're going to give me to the hideout. Every detail. Every route. Every bastard still breathing. You lie… and you die. Understand?"
Crowe's fingers clawed at the duffel bag, her body shaking violently. "O-okay… okay! I'll tell you! But don't hurt her! Please! I—I'll give you everything you want, just don't hurt my wife! She hasn't done anything!"
Her wife's pale face twisted in terror as she whispered, "Leona…" but Crowe's focus was on Caleb, desperation etched into every line of her face.
"I'll tell you everything!" Crowe begged, voice breaking. "The hideouts… the garages… the routes… the men… I'll take you anywhere… just don't touch her! She's innocent! I swear it!"
Caleb's grip tightened on the gun, pressing the cold metal against her temple. The faint metallic scent of blood from Jamal's kill hung in the air, thick and suffocating. "One wrong word, one hesitation… and she dies. Got it?"
Crowe's eyes darted to her wife. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. "Yes… yes! I'll do it… I'll tell you… I swear! Just… please…"
Caleb's hand didn't move. The tension was unbearable, the silence stretching, broken only by Crowe's ragged breathing. She trembled violently, pressing her hands together as if to ward off the inevitable.
She gave him every detail, every name, every abandoned building address, the hideout, everything!
For a long moment, Caleb let her plead, savoring the terror in her eyes, the helplessness in her trembling body. Then, with a sudden, precise motion, he raised the gun, as Crowe turned her head to glance at her wife again.
Caleb pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed like thunder through the small apartment. Crowe's body slumped, lifeless, blood pooling beneath her. Her wife screamed, stumbling backward, hands clutching at the floor, eyes wide in disbelief, heart hammering as the reality sank in.
Caleb stood over Crowe's corpse, the gun slick in his hand, and looked at her wife—alive, terrified, but unharmed. The room was heavy with the scent of gunpowder and fear, shadows flickering in the dim light, mixing with the blood staining the carpet.
The Raven circled outside, white streak faintly glowing, a ghostly reminder of Isaac. Caleb's eyes followed it, every muscle coiled, every nerve ready
Caleb turned slowly toward the screaming wife, gun still warm in his hand, the echo of the shot ringing faintly in the room. Her sobs were raw, uncontrolled, filling the air with a suffocating despair.
"Shut up," Caleb barked, voice low, deadly, slicing through her cries like a blade. She froze mid-scream, eyes wide, tears streaking her pale face.
"You even know what your wife was?" he continued, stepping closer, the weight of his rage pressing down like stone. "Do you know what she did? Who she really worked for? What she helped the gang do… what she helped them take from me? From my family?"
The woman's lips quivered. "I—I… I didn't know… I didn't—"
Caleb pressed the gun lightly against the side of her head, the cold steel biting through the panic. "You didn't know, huh? You didn't see the blood, the lives she ruined, the screams she caused? My wife… my son… you know what they went through?"
Her body shook violently, words choked in her throat. Caleb's eyes burned with the weight of a year of grief, rage, and pain, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly small, heavy with the metallic stench of blood and the raw echo of his vengeance.
Her sobs choked her words. "I—I remember you….. I was your nurse… the one who took care of you… while you were in the coma. I had no idea… no idea about what Leona was doing… I swear, I had nothing to do with it. I'm sorry… so sorry…"
Her voice trembled, but in it was a fragile sincerity that cut through the thick tension. Caleb's gun stayed trained on her, every muscle coiled, eyes burning with grief and rage. He didn't speak, didn't blink.
For a long, heavy moment, silence filled the room—broken only by the faint drip of blood from Crowe's body and the distant city hum. The woman's confession hung in the air, fragile and human, a stark contrast to the carnage around them.
Caleb's hand didn't move immediately, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, he lowered the gun. He stepped back, letting the woman collapse to the floor, trembling, alive but marked forever by the horror she had witnessed.
Caleb just walked away, he may now be a killer just like them but he will not take the lives of the innocent.
End of chapter 14.