The Anchor of the Void

ChapterII

Levi



I threw the last crate into the trunk, the weight of it settling with a dull thud that echoed through the trees. Axel was already behind the wheel, the engine of the black SUV idling like a low growl in the quiet of the forest. I climbed into the passenger seat, while two of our guys—silent, shadows in tactical gear—filled the back.

We had one job: get this batch to the shipment point. No mistakes. No delays.

“Everyone good?” Axel asked, his hands steady on the wheel.

I checked the Glock tucked into my waistband, the cold steel a familiar comfort against my skin. “Ready. Let’s move before the sun catches us.”

The forest was a wall of black as we started to roll, the headlights cutting a narrow, jagged path through the pines. We were deep in the heart of Blackwood Bay’s no-man’s-land, where the law didn't reach and the trees kept their secrets.

Once the house was a safe distance behind us, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette. The flame from my lighter flickered, casting a brief, orange glow across Axel’s stoic face before I snapped it shut. I rolled the window down, letting the freezing night air slam against my skin, a sharp contrast to the stale heat of the car.

I leaned my head back, my eyes tracking the endless, skeletal blur of the pines. I took a long drag, the smoke burning my lungs in the best way possible, then exhaled a grey cloud into the rushing wind.

“Quiet tonight,” Axel muttered, his grip tightening on the wheel.

“I just wish this f*****g day would end,” I muttered, taking another long drag. The smoke curled around my face before the wind ripped it away.

Axel shifted in the driver’s seat, his gaze fixed on the road, though I could feel his heavy silence. “Sometimes, I just wish we lived a different life,” he said softly. “I mean... you’re my baby brother, Levi. I hate seeing you in this line of work.”

A dry, bitter chuckle escaped my throat. I flicked the cigarette out the window, watching the orange ember dance and die against the black asphalt. “You know I’m the worse of the two of us, Axel. And yet you’re the one losing sleep over it.”

“Just tell me we’re getting out,” he pushed, his voice cracking with a rare moment of desperation. “Tell me we’ll both get the f**k away from this place soon. Just you and me, living a normal life. No shipments. No guns. Just... normal.”

I looked at him, the dashboard lights casting deep shadows across his face. But before I could answer, the headlights caught a jagged silhouette in the road.

Crack.

The windshield spiderwebbed as a gunshot shattered the glass. I dove toward the floorboards, shielding my head just as the world tilted. The screech of tires and the groan of twisting metal drowned out everything else until—SLAM.

The car hit a massive oak, the impact jolting my teeth and knocking the wind from my lungs. For a second, there was only the hiss of the radiator and the smell of ozone.

“Axel!” I gasped, my vision swimming. I scrambled up, my eyes frantic as I checked him. He was slumped against the seat, dazed and pale, but there was no blood—no red blossoming through his shirt. Thank God.

The shock lasted only a heartbeat before the predator in me took over. My hand moved of its own accord, blurring as I ripped the Glock from my waistband and racked the slide.

“Stay down,” I snarled, my thumb flicking the safety off.

The world outside the car was a symphony of crunching gravel and snapping twigs. I pressed my back against the door, my heart a dull thud against my ribs, holding my breath until my lungs burned.

The footsteps stopped.

A shadow fell over the shattered glass of the passenger window, blocking out the moonlight. A silhouette leaned in close, the dark outline of a head peering into the wreckage to see if we were dead or just dying. I could hear the faint, ragged breathing of the person on the other side of the door—someone who didn't realize they were leaning into a trap.

My fingers tightened around the grip of the Glock. I didn't wait for him to clear the glass.

I didn’t give him the chance to blink. I didn’t even give him the chance to realize I was alive.

I lunged upward, the barrel of my Glock finding the center of the silhouette’s chest through the shattered window. I pulled the trigger twice.

The gunshots were deafening in the cramped, metal tomb of the car, the muzzle flashes lighting up the cabin in jagged bursts of white. The man didn't scream. The force of the rounds simply threw him backward, his body snapping away from the car like a broken doll before he collapsed into the dirt and dead leaves.

I kicked my seat back, the mechanism clicking as it reclined, giving me just enough room to scramble into the rear. I stayed low, crawling across the floorboards toward the driver’s side, using the chassis of the car as a shield. The massive oak we’d hit was positioned perfectly—a wall of thick bark that offered the only cover in this godforsaken clearing.

I kicked the driver’s door open and rolled out, staying pressed against the tree trunk. Axel was right behind me, his breathing heavy and ragged as he slumped against the bark.

I peered around the side of the oak, my gun raised, scanning for the rest of the convoy. My stomach turned when my eyes landed on the vehicle trailing us. The doors were swung wide, the interior lights casting a ghoulish glow on the two men in the back. They weren't moving. Their heads were lolled at unnatural angles, the upholstery soaked in shadow.

“s**t,” I hissed, the word disappearing into the cold night air.

They hadn't just targeted us—they’d wiped out the backup. We weren't in an ambush; we were in a slaughter.

I pulled a spare piece from my ankle holster and shoved it into Axel’s shaking hands. I didn't need to say a word; I just pressed a finger to my lips and signaled for him to stay low behind the trunk of the oak.

I leaned out just enough to peer into the treeline, my pulse slow and steady despite the ringing in my ears. The forest was a graveyard of shadows until a shape detached itself from the pines. A lone silhouette stepped out into the open, moving with an arrogant, reckless gait back toward our wrecked car.

Stupid asshole, I thought, my jaw tightening.

He was walking right into the kill zone, completely exposed under the pale moonlight. He didn't check the perimeter; he didn't even have his head on a swivel. He was just a ghost walking toward his own funeral. I raised my weapon, aligning the sights with the center of that moving shadow, and held my breath.

I didn’t give him another second to breathe. I exhaled, squeezed the trigger, and let the Glock bark.

The silhouette jerked as my round found its mark, the impact spinning him halfway around before he hit the dirt. But before I could confirm the kill, the forest exploded.

A heavy-caliber rifle opened up from the treeline, shredding the bark of the oak tree just inches above my head. Wood splinters sprayed like shrapnel, slicing across my cheek.

“Down! Get down!” I lunged for Axel, tackling him into the mud as a second volley of lead punched through the car’s rusted frame, the metal screaming under the assault.

The quiet woods were gone, replaced by the rhythmic flash of a muzzle hidden deep in the pines. We were pinned. The amateur I’d just dropped had friends—and they were much better shots.

“Come on out, Levi! You think you can f*****g mess with me?”

Henry Sawyer’s voice tore through the trees, cracked and vibrating with a frantic kind of rage. I felt a slow smirk pull at the corner of my mouth. Henry Sawyer. Did the i***t really think a loud voice and a stolen gun made him a threat?

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. Silence was my best weapon.

“Stay here, Axel. Don’t move until I tell you,” I hissed. I didn't wait for his protest. I coiled my muscles and burst from behind the oak, a low, zigzagging sprint toward a thick cedar twenty feet away.

Two rounds hissed past me, one thunking into a trunk with a wet thud, the other whistling close enough to stir my hair. I dove the last few feet, my shoulder hitting the dirt as I rolled behind the cedar’s rough bark. I tucked my knees in, breathing shallow, my eyes already tracking the muzzle flashes in the dark.

I adjusted my grip, aligning my sights as a shadow detached itself from a thick pine forty yards out. He was trying to flank me, but he was loud—clumsy. I tracked the movement, waited for the heartbeat between his strides, and squeezed the trigger.

The muffled crack of my Glock was followed by a heavy thud as the man went down, collapsing like a sack of stones.

Immediately, the woods erupted again. A retaliatory shot slammed into the trunk of my tree, sending a spray of bitter-tasting sap and bark into my hair. I didn't flinch. I stayed low, my mind working like a grid, mapping the trajectory of the flash. I knew exactly where he was.

I leaned out just an inch—a quick, dangerous peek—and caught the silhouette crouching behind a fallen log. He was already lining up his next shot, but I was faster. I centered the red dot of my sight on the dark mass of his shoulder and shot him.

“f**k!”

A man’s voice hissed through the dark, sharp with pain or frustration. That was all I needed. I didn’t wait to see his face or wait for him to readjust. I pivoted on my heel, bringing the Glock up in one fluid motion, and sent a round toward the sound.

The muzzle flash briefly illuminated the shadow lurking behind a cluster of ferns—a man doubled over, clutching his side. My bullet caught him square, the impact snapping his head back before the darkness swallowed him again.

I didn't wait to see him hit the ground. I tucked back behind the tree, the smell of cordite thick in the air, my ears ringing in the sudden, heavy silence that followed.

“Well... I guess you killed all my friends. But guess who I’ve got in my hands now?”

Henry’s laugh rang out, a jagged, manic sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. It wasn't the voice of the boy I knew; it was the sound of a man who had finally snapped.

My stomach dropped. Axel.

I whipped my head toward the oak tree where I’d told him to stay. The shadows there were empty. Cold dread flooded my veins, sharper than the winter wind. I stood up, my legs heavy but steady, and stepped out from behind the cedar.

Thirty feet away, Henry emerged from the darkness. He was using Axel as a human shield, one arm hooked tightly around my brother’s neck, the other pressing the barrel of a handgun hard against Axel’s temple. Axel looked pale, his eyes wide and fixed on mine, pleading but silent.

I raised my Glock, the front sight settling right between Henry’s crazed eyes.

“Let him go, Henry,” I said, my voice a low, dangerous growl. “You’re out of friends and you’re out of time. Don't make this the last mistake you ever make.”

“You think I’m scared of you?” Henry screamed, his voice cracking as it hit the higher registers. He shoved the barrel deeper into Axel’s temple, forcing my brother’s head to tilt painfully to the side. “I’ll do it! I’ll put a f*****g bullet in his brain right here! You don’t mess with me, Levi! You don’t get to win this time!”

He was shaking—I could see the tremors traveling from his hand to the gun—but that only made him more dangerous. A desperate man with a twitchy finger is a killer’s worst nightmare.

I saw it then—the exact moment Henry’s eyes went dead.

“Henry, wait—”

BANG.

The muzzle flash was a blinding strobe light in the dark. The force of the shot jerked Axel’s head back, his body going instantly, sickeningly limp in Henry’s arms. Henry didn’t catch him. He just let go, and my brother hit the frozen ground with a heavy, wet thud that sounded like a bag of stones.

The ringing in my ears was deafening, but the silence from Axel was worse. He didn't gasp. He didn't groan. He just lay there in the dirt, the moonlight reflecting off eyes that were already staring at nothing.

A low, guttural sound tore out of my throat—a noise I didn't recognize as my own. The world narrowed down to the smell of burnt powder and the sight of my brother’s blood soaking into the Blackwood Bay soil.

The world shattered before I could even pull the trigger. A sudden, searing heat punched through my shoulder, spinning me around. My body reacted on instinct—pure, cold muscle memory. I returned fire as I fell, my first round shattering the gun in Henry’s hand and the second tearing through his shoulder.

Henry screamed, a high, thin sound, and vanished into the wall of pines, his blood trailing behind him like ink in the dark.

I didn't chase him. I didn't care if he lived or died.

I scrambled through the dirt on my hands and knees, my breath coming in jagged, sobbing gasps. I reached Axel and pulled his limp weight into my arms, his blood warm and terrifyingly slick against my skin.

“Axel? Axel, no—hey, look at me!” I choked out, cradling his head against my chest. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold him. “Wake up. Axel, stay with me! Don't you dare do this, you hear me? We’re getting out of here. We’re going to that different life, remember?”

I pressed my hand against the wound, trying to keep his life from leaking out into the indifferent forest floor, but the silence coming from him was absolute.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please, Axel. Just breathe.”

I pulled his lifeless body tighter against my chest, my fingers digging into his jacket as if I could anchor his soul to the earth. The warmth was already fading, the forest air reclaiming him. A low, ragged sound vibrated in my throat, half-sob and half-growl, until the grief curdled into something much harder. Something sharper.

I let him go gently, laying him back onto the cold pine needles, but the man who stood up wasn't the brother Axel had loved.

I stared into the black void where Henry had vanished, my vision tunneling. The pain in my shoulder was nothing but a distant flicker—a dull hum compared to the white-hot rage screaming through my veins.

“I’m going to kill him,” I whispered, the words coming out as a jagged promise to the silence. “I will f*****g end him. I’ll hunt him to the edge of the world and tear the life out of him with my bare hands.”

I reached down and gripped my gun, the steel freezing against my palm. I didn't care about the shipment. I didn't care about the Consuelos. I only cared about the blood on the grass and the man who had spilled it.

“I swear it, Axel,” I breathed, stepping over my brother’s body and into the shadows. “He’s a dead man walking.”

Eleanor

“What happened to you? Oh God, you’re shot!”

The words tore from my throat as I stared at Henry’s hand. It was a mangled mess of red and bone. When he leaned against the passenger door, a sharp wince escaped his gritted teeth—a sound that made my skin crawl. In the pale light, he looked less like my brother and more like something that had crawled out of a grave.

“You can drive, right?” Henry rasped. He didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed on the dark wall of trees behind us, watching for ghosts. He pressed the keys into my palm, his skin slick with blood. “Drive us home, Eli. Now.”

I didn't argue. I scrambled out and ran to the driver’s seat, my hair whipping across my face in the freezing wind. My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the keys before finally jamming them into the ignition. The engine roared to life, a violent intrusion in the dead silence of the woods.

“Where’s Luka and the rest?” I asked, my voice thin and trembling as I threw the car into gear. My heart was thudding against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Henry? Where are they?”

Henry didn’t answer. He just leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, his breathing heavy and jagged. The smell of copper and burnt powder filled the small cabin, suffocating me as I pushed the pedal down, desperate to get us away from whatever he had left behind in those shadows.

The house was a tomb when we pulled into the driveway. It was five in the morning, that grey, hollow hour before the sun truly breaks. Dad’s spot in the driveway was empty; he’d be at the station by now, oblivious to the blood on our hands.

I stumbled out of the driver’s seat, my legs trembling so hard I could barely stand. I hurried to the passenger side and braced myself as Henry leaned his weight against me. He was a dead weight, his breathing coming in shallow, whistling hitches. I managed to guide him through the back door, our footsteps heavy on the hardwood, until I lowered him onto the sofa.

He slumped into the cushions, his face as pale as the moonlight we’d left behind.

“Marie!” I called out, my voice a jagged whisper that sliced through the silence of the hallway. “Marie, wake up!”

I didn’t wait for Marie to appear. I grabbed the phone, my fingers slick and fumbling as I dialed the family doctor’s private line. By some miracle, he answered on the second ring.

The next hour was a blur of antiseptic smells and the rhythmic tearing of bandages. The doctor worked in a grim, practiced silence, eventually stepping back and wiping his hands. He told me Henry was stable but needed to stay put—no hospitals, no police. I just nodded, my brain too numb to process the legal risks.

Once the front door clicked shut behind him, the silence in the living room felt deafening. I sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing Henry. He looked small against the cushions, wrapped in white gauze that was already starting to bloom with red.

“What happened out there?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I heard the shots, Henry. Where are your friends? Where are Luka and the others?”

Henry didn’t look at me. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes vacant and terrifyingly dark.

“They’re dead, Eli,” he rasped, the words sounding like they were being dragged over broken glass. “He killed them all. Every single one. And then... then he shot me.”

I stayed silent, the world around me tilting on its axis. I couldn't comprehend the scale of it—the blood, the bodies, the sheer finality of what Henry had said. I didn't really know this Levi; he was a ghost story Henry told, a name whispered in warning. But if he had done this, he wasn't just a man. He was a force of nature.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as bone. I looked down at Henry, whose eyes had fluttered shut as exhaustion finally claimed him. Stepping away, I moved toward the stairs like a sleepwalker.

I didn't even make it to the bottom before I saw him.

My father was standing in the entryway, the harsh foyer light carving deep, angry lines into his face. He looked like he was vibrating with a cold, controlled fury. He didn’t look like a cop; he looked like a judge.

“What the f**k happened, Eleanor?” his voice was a low growl that shook the air.

I froze on the bottom step, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Henry’s... he’s hurt, Dad,” I managed to choke out, my voice small and thin.

“What did your stupid brother do now?” Dad’s voice didn't carry sympathy—it carried the weight of a man who saw a death sentence coming. He started toward the stairs, his boots heavy on the wood. “I told him. I warned him not to mess with Fernando Consuelo’s men.”

I stepped into his path, my hands trembling as I reached out to stop him. “Dad, please. He’s hurt. Are you really going to do this now?”

He didn't stop, his eyes burning with a mixture of fear and fury.

“He made a decision, Dad. A really stupid, life-altering decision,” I pleaded, my voice rising. “But right now, he needs to rest. He can’t handle your anger—he can barely stay conscious.”

My father stopped just inches from me, the smell of stale coffee and cold rain clinging to his uniform. He looked past me toward the door where Henry lay, his jaw tight enough to snap.

He looked at me for a long moment, the fire in his eyes dimming into a weary, heavy sadness. He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder—his grip was firm, a silent acknowledgment of the nightmare I’d just survived.

“Go to your room, Eli,” he said, his voice low and tired. “I’ll deal with this.”

I didn't argue. I couldn't. I just nodded and retreated to my bedroom, my feet feeling strangely light, as if I were floating through a dream. I hadn’t slept a wink, and the sun was already threatening to rise. I had class in a few hours—thankfully, it was remote, just me and a teacher—but the thought of normal life felt like a cruel joke.

I stepped into the bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a ghost. Then I saw it: a dark, drying smear of Henry’s blood across the lace of my nightdress.

With shaking fingers, I peeled the ruined fabric off and let it fall to the tiles. I climbed into the tub, the water scalding hot, and watched in a daze as the steam rose around me. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, watching the water swirl down the drain, turning from a pale, sickly pink to clear again. I wanted to believe it was that easy—that I could just wash the forest and the gunfire away.