Before I Go: A dark and tense psychological crime thriller. Marie Reyes (best reads .TXT) 📖

keep spinning. His mind always spouted this kind of gibberish when he thought he was close to the end. He needed to snap out of it, be on guard, present.

The house was not far now. “So, we still just walking through the front door?” Michael asked. He was essentially just a human sacrifice at this point, someone to throw into the cenote, an offering for better things to come. It was unlikely his sacrifice would mean anything. It wasn’t as if Josie was getting out of there either. He was just voluntarily adding himself to the body count. At least this way, he might be remembered as a hero by someone out there, rather than a coward, not that he believed that suicide made someone a coward anyway, but it was hard not to internalize the comments he had seen on the internet whenever the latest celebrity suicide would hit social media. Death was death. Humanity liked to pretend that offering yourself to death was noble when it was in society’s best interest. Being cannon fodder was okay, but there was no need to lose a willing wage-slave if they didn’t have to.

“Michael! Head in the game.” Miguel’s stern voice made him stand to attention. “Take this.” He passed him a blade. It wasn’t much, and they would probably be searched and disarmed upon entering.

“I wonder how many men they have?” It was all starting to feel startlingly real now. It was strangely quiet, and they couldn’t see anyone from the front of the building. The place looked abandoned, with no lights on, and off-white bars over the dark windows.

The surrounding forest had taken over the boundary walls. Vines crept their way up, weaving through gaps in the brick, pushing out chunks of mortar as they consumed the wall.

Chapter Thirty Six

It felt strange watching Miguel just go up to the door and knock, like a guest coming around for drinks. Nothing happened. The door remained closed. Miguel pounded his fist on the door this time.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Michael said, stating the obvious.

“Maybe we go around the back,” Miguel suggested, peering down the overgrown path down the side of the house, and at that moment the sound of a security latch sent him racing to the front of the door. The minute the latch had been lifted, before the door could be opened more than half an inch, his foot smashed against the door and he burst into the house like a charging bull, gun in hand. The door had hurtled forward with such force that it slammed back on itself after it hit the wall, almost shutting in Michael’s face, and as he went to open it the ear-splitting noise of Miguel’s gun firing sent him ducking for cover. The door creaked open, and he waited, crouched, with his hands over his head, to see what it revealed. A man Michael didn’t recognize lay on the floor. The mouth hung open so wide, it looked like it was disconnected from the jaw. Blood covered the floor and wall, the splatter marks almost reaching up to the ceiling. Samuel stood against the back wall with another man, watching as two men restrained Miguel, holding him down on the floor. He spat and shouted as he struggled. Even between the two of them, they could barely keep him down. The rage wouldn’t let him stop. Michael was surprised they hadn’t killed him already and wondered what they wanted from them. They could have been killed a million times over already.  He stepped inside, lifting his legs up high to avoid treading on the body in front of him. He felt strangely accustomed to seeing dead bodies now.

The man that stood with Samuel stepped out from behind the shadows at the back of the room and walked towards Michael. Each step, slow and deliberate. His footsteps echoed on the hard-bare floor  “It’s nice to finally meet you. I see your friend isn’t here, but no worry. It wasn’t hard to find out all about Aleksander Janssen. He will be dealt with.” The man was short and slim. Although he hadn’t introduced himself yet, Michael was certain this was El Verdugo. The way Samuel carried himself around this man. He respectfully kept back, hands down in front of him, not saying a word, like a mourner at a funeral. Somehow Michael had expected something different of El Verdugo, not this compact man that stood at his eye level. The news that Aleksander would not come out of this unscathed should have been the last straw, but he felt compelled not to let his emotions show.

“Where is Josie?” He managed to get the words out without stuttering or wavering.

The man nodded at Samuel, who made himself scarce. “She’s coming. You can call me Antonio, not that stupid nickname people insist on calling me.” He ran his fingers through his wild, curly hair. Michael wondered if he’d made his hair so tall to compensate for his height.

One of the men held Miguel down as the other man kicked him in the side repeatedly. Miguel rolled over onto his back groaning and the man stomped his foot into his gut at full force, and again, and again. The sound so visceral, Michael could feel it vicariously in his own stomach and put his hand in front of it, as if to protect it as he wondered what pain he would have to endure.

Josie stumbled in as Samuel dragged her by her arm that was tied behind her back. A deep blue and purple bruise took up most of the upper right hand-side of her face. They stared into each other’s eyes as if trying to connect on some greater level until Samuel pushed her down onto a chair by her shoulder.  Even with the bruising, it was obvious she had been crying from her damp red face and swollen eyes.

“Why haven’t you killed us already?” He had avoided asking this question up until