The jungle road stretched empty behind them — nothing but mist and the fading echo of screams from The One-Night Grave.
Inside the main hall, the air still reeked of blood, piss, and spent lust. Anton Volker's castrated body lay slumped in chains — a ruined heap of meat and bone, blood pooling black under the morning light. The severed piece sat discarded on the concrete like trash, flies already buzzing.
The monster boys stood scattered across the stained concrete — suits still mostly pristine despite the gore, black embroidery glinting dully in the weak morning light. Lucas leaned against a wall, wiping the bloody belt on his velvet cuff like it was nothing. Victor cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. Damon lit a cigarette with slow, deliberate movements. Leon paced a lazy circle around the body. Ren stood motionless, gloved hands folded, eyes half-lidded.
Lucas broke the silence first — voice low, confused, almost offended.
"Where the fuck did Vernon go?"
Victor turned, scanning the empty chairs and corridors.
"Damn, he's not here. When did he slip out?"
Damon flicked ash from his cigarette, silver-thread ravens on his pocket square catching the light.
"Where the hell did he go? And where the hell is the girl with him?"
Leon crossed his arms, double-breasted suit still somehow immaculate.
"Shit — did he take her away? Without us knowing?!"
Ren tilted his head,
"He just… grabbed her last night and walked off like we didn't exist. No word. No explanation. And now both of them are missing."
Victor cracked his knuckles, voice dropping.
"Vernon's being weird lately. Never seen him act like that. He never touches the girls. Never looks twice. And suddenly he's carrying one out like she's his fucking property?"
Lucas pushed off the wall, gold cufflinks flashing as he laughed,
"Did he take her to enjoy somewhere else? Was bro not satisfied with one night?"
Damon laughed — low, dark, filthy.
"Maybe he didn't want her to return to the One-Night Grave. Wanted her all to himself."
Leon snorted.
"But he could have told us! What the hell is he playing at?"
Lucas grinned — cruel, confused.
"Was he worried we might enjoy his girl too?"
Kai was hearing all of their conversations with deadly silence.
He heard every word.
Every confused murmur.
Every crack of suspicion.
Every filthy joke.
But the last sentence echoed inside Kai .
*Was he worried we might enjoy his girl too?*
Kai's expression didn't change.
But something inside him shifted — cold, calculating, deadly.
He kept thinking deeply.
Silent.
The silence from him was worse than any scream.
And in that silence, suspicion took root — patient, inevitable, and final.
The small mustard-yellow house sat quiet under the late morning sun, the kind of quiet that feels wrong when you're waiting for something that never comes.
Inside, Aunt Meera paced the narrow living room, the hem of her long skirt brushing across the worn rug. Her loose house shirt hung slightly wrinkled, shifting with each restless step. Her hands twisted the edge of the fabric between her fingers until it creased.
Uncle Raj sat at the dining table, phone pressed to his ear for the third time that morning, the same number glowing on the screen: Elvina's mother.
The call connected.
"… yes, yes, Ira said she was coming to your place last evening for the memorial… what?" His voice cracked on the last word. "She didn't come? At all?"
Meera stopped pacing. Her face drained of color.
Raj lowered the phone slowly, like it weighed ten kilos. "She never reached there."
Meera's hand flew to her mouth. "Raj… where is she?"
Raj stared at the table, knuckles white around the phone. "She went there after school. Said Elvina's family invited her. She promised to be back by morning. She didn't call. Not once."
Meera sank onto the sofa, voice trembling. "She's never done this. Never. Even when she was angry, even after… after Alina… she always came home. Always called."
Raj rubbed his face hard, eyes red. "Maybe the phone died. Maybe she stayed somewhere safe. Maybe—"
"Raj." Meera's voice broke. "She's a girl. Alone. In this city. You know what happens to girls who disappear."
The room filled with the kind of silence that presses on your chest.
Meera whispered, almost to herself, "Oh my dear child! Where is she?."
Raj stood abruptly. "I'm calling the police."
Before he could dial, tires crunched on the gravel outside.
They both froze on the window.
A long black car — sleek, expensive, tinted windows dark as oil — rolled to a stop right in front of their gate. The kind of car that didn't belong in their lane. The kind of car that made neighbors peek from behind curtains.
Meera clutched Raj's arm. "Raj…"
The driver's door opened.
Vernon Krossvale stepped out.
Tall. Broad. A long black coat draped over his shoulders, most of the front fastened, only a few buttons left open near the chest , catching the sun like silver threads.
Black trousers tailored sharp. Hair loose, falling across his forehead. Face carved from stone — unreadable, but carrying that same cold aura that made grown men step aside.
Meera's breath caught.
Raj instinctively pushed her behind him.
The passenger door opened.
Vernon reached inside — one large hand closing around a slim wrist — and pulled Ira out.
She stumbled onto the gravel.
She wore a long pink dress — calf-length, soft chiffon, expensive, flowing. Her hair was loose, tangled, cheeks flushed. A faint red handprint still bloomed across her left cheek — unmistakable.
Meera choked on a sob. "Ira!"
Uncle Raj pulled the front door open.
Vernon stepped forward, his grip tight around Ira's wrist, dragging her toward the doorway. Ira jerked against his hold once, breath uneven, but he hauled her up the short path and shoved Ira forward into the house.
Ira's eyes found her aunt — wide, glassy, exhausted. She yanked her wrist free from Vernon's grip and ran — barefoot, dress fluttering — straight into Meera's arms.
Meera crushed her close, hands flying over Ira's face, her hair, her arms. "Dear… oh God… what happened to you?"
Raj stood frozen, staring at Vernon.
Vernon didn't wait for an invitation.
He walked towards the sofa like he owned the ground he stood on.
He sat — slow, deliberate — on the old sofa. Legs spread slightly, elbows on knees, coat falling open further to show more of his masculine chest.
The air shifted the moment he sat — heavier, colder. His presence filled the small living room, made the sofa look flimsy, the walls too close.
Meera held Ira tighter, rocking her like she was five years old again.
Vernon looked at trembling Mr. Raj Royvane— with his intense gaze—calm, emotionless.
"Get her out of the city."
Raj was still trembling hard.
"Any city you want. I'll give you money. As much as you need. Just leave. Don't come back. Understood?"
Mr. Raj nodded with fear. Mrs. Meera held Ira tighter.
Vernon then looked at Ira.
She clung to her aunt, face buried in Meera's shoulder, but her eyes flicked up — met his .
Disgust. Fear. Something else — something raw and confused.
Vernon's jaw flexed — once.
He stood.
The movement was final.
No goodbye.
No more threat.
Just the soft click of the door closing behind him.
Silence crashed down.
Meera pulled Ira's face up gently, thumbs brushing the red mark on her cheek.
"What happened, Dear?" Her voice cracked. "Who slapped you like this?"
Raj stepped forward, hands shaking.
"Where were you all night?"
"Why did Vernon Krossvale come here?"
"Why did he bring you home?"
Ira looked between them — eyes glassy, lips trembling.
Thinking what she should answer.
To be continued....