The Devil’s Game

The taxi's headlights cut through the darkness as it rolled into the neighborhood. Aiden leaned forward in the backseat, rubbing his temples. The bar shift had been hell tonight, drunk idiots, rude girls… the usual chaos. All he wanted was to see Elena's little face light up when he walked through the door.

"Right here's good," Aiden said, passing a crumpled twenty to the driver.

The street was dead quiet with that thick, heavy silence that made everything feel off. He looked at his father's house and frowned. Usually Elena would've heard the car by now, and would be pressing her nose against the window.

"She’s probably sleeping," he muttered to himself, walking up the driveway.

His footsteps echoed on the wooden porch. He raised his fist to knock, but the door swung open at his touch. His hand froze mid-air.

"What the hell?"

His father never left the door unlocked. Ever. The old man was paranoid about it, always double-checking, and muttering about safety. Aiden's gut twisted as he pushed the door wider.

"Dad?" His voice came out quieter than he meant it to. "Elena?"

Nothing. 

He stepped through the doorway, his shoes squeaking on the hardwood. The living room was dark except for the glow of the street lamp filtering through the curtains. Everything looked normal. 

"Dad, you here?" He asked louder this time. "Elena?"

Still nothing.

His heart started hammering. Something was wrong. He moved deeper into the house, his hand trailing along the wall.

When he reached the dining room, his breath caught.

His father was on the floor.

Face down, arms spread. And so much blood pooling around him like spilled paint, dark and shiny under the ceiling light.

"No, no–" Aiden's legs moved before he could think.

He dropped to his knees beside his father, his hands shaking so badly he could barely grab his shoulders. The blood soaked into his jeans, warm and sticky.

"Dad! Dad, wake up!" He shook him desperately. "Come on, please..."

He rolled him over, and his stomach lurched. Three bullet wounds to his chest. The old man's eyes were half-open, staring at nothing. 

Aiden pressed his hands against the wounds, but the warm blood kept flowing between his fingers. "Dad!"

The realization hit him like a punch to the throat. His father was dead.

And then it slammed into him like a freight train.

"Elena!"

He scrambled to his feet, nearly slipping in the blood. His vision blurred with tears as he ran down the hallway, his shoulder banging against the wall.

Her bedroom door was at the end of the hall, and his heart stopped when he saw it. The door was busted. The wood around the lock was splintered, hanging off the hinges.

"No," he whispered. "God, no…"

He shoved the door open and stumbled inside. The pink nightlight was still on, casting everything in a soft glow. Her bed was empty. Sheets thrown back like she'd been ripped out of them. Her stuffed rabbit on the floor.

And blood. A splash of it on the carpet near the closet.

"Elena!" His voice cracked. He spun around, checking the closet, under the bed, behind the door. 

His foot hit something. He looked down. One of her shoes. The little white sneaker with the pink flowers she loved so much. Just one. Lying there like she'd lost it while fighting, while someone dragged her away.

His hands went to his hair, pulling, his chest heaving. The room tilted. Everything was tilting.

He ran back to the hallway, checking every room, throwing open doors. 

They were all empty.

She was gone. Someone had taken her.

He burst out the front door onto the porch, his eyes scanning the street. Nothing. No cars. No movement. The neighborhood was dead. These people went to bed at nine and didn't wake up until morning. No cameras. No witnesses. Nothing.

His hand dove into his pocket, pulling out his phone. His fingers were shaking so bad he almost dropped it. The screen lit up, bright in the darkness. He pulled up the dial pad and typed 9-1-1.

His thumb hovered over the call button.

He stared at it. Breathing hard. The tears blurring the numbers.

The police. He should call the police. That's what normal people did. That's what he was supposed to do.

But then what? They'd show up put out an Amber Alert that maybe someone would see in the morning. They'd tell him they're doing everything they can while Elena was out there, scared, hurt, or worse–

He couldn't finish the thought. His chest felt like it was caving in.

The police would take too long. If Elena was still alive, every second mattered. Every single second.

His thumb moved away from the call button. His mind raced.

There was someone else. Someone who didn't wait for warrants or procedures. Someone who had eyes everywhere, who had people in his pocket, including the police. 

His boss.

"Shit," Aiden whispered, already running.

He sprinted down the street toward the road, his lungs burning. A taxi was just pulling up when he got there, and he jumped on, slamming his hand against the door.

"The bar," he gasped at the driver. "Downtown. Fast."

The driver looked at him like he was crazy… probably because of the blood, but didn't say anything.

Aiden collapsed into a seat, his leg bouncing frantically. Come on, come on, come on. The car crawled through the streets. Every red light felt like an eternity. He wanted to scream.

Finally, the bar came into view. He was out the door before it even fully stopped, running across the street, ignoring the honking cars.

He went straight to the back entrance, the one only staff used. His hands fumbled with the keycard, dropping it once before he got the door open. The private elevator was right there, thank God. He jammed the button.

The ride up felt like it took forever. He was pacing, his hands in his hair, muttering under his breath. "Please, please, please…"

As soon as the elevator chimed Aiden burst out and ran straight for the office door at the end of the hall. He grabbed the handle, shoved it open, and slammed it shut behind him.

"Boss, I need–"

The words died in his throat.

Three men he had never seen before stood in the middle of the office with dark suits and cold eyes. And one of them immediately pointed his gun directly at his face.