Peter has dark hair and stood tall, giving him an air of authority and experience. His piercing blue eyes swept the room with a practiced coolness, though the tension in his jaw hinted at the anger simmering beneath.
For a fleeting moment, Gwen allowed herself to admire him—his strength, his presence. It was human nature to be drawn to beauty and power, and Peter Montgomery embodied both. She quickly masked her thoughts, burying them beneath a layer of professionalism.
Little did she know that this Peter Montgomery she now faced was nothing more but a little puppet in our op evil mc's fingers.
"Keep digging," Peter said firmly, his voice low but resolute. "These people were criminals, no doubt, but we can't condone vigilante justice. If this continues, we're looking at chaos in the streets. It's our job to ensure that doesn't happen."
Gwen nodded. "Understood."
Peter lingered for a moment, as if wanting to say more, then gave her a curt nod and walked away, leaving Gwen to the grim task before her.
The scene was nothing short of horrific. The underground chamber reeked of death, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the putrid stench of decay. Gwen steeled herself, forcing her stomach to settle as her sharp eyes took in the carnage.
Seventeen bodies lay scattered across the floor, each one a testament to unspeakable brutality.
The Black Cross gang had been wiped out, their deaths anything but merciful. Broken bones jutted at odd angles, and deep gashes marred their flesh.
The expressions frozen on their faces spoke of agony and terror, their final moments etched into their lifeless features.
This wasn't just murder—it was a statement. Whoever had done this wanted to send a message, and they had delivered it with cruel precision.
But amidst the horror, there was a glimmer of hope. Over 30 women had been rescued from the gang's clutches.
Victims of forced prostitution, kidnapping, and drug trafficking, they had endured unimaginable suffering. Now, they were free, though their road to recovery would be long and arduous.
Gwen exhaled slowly, willing herself to focus. Justice wasn't always clean or easy, but it was necessary.
"Detective Monroe…" A voice broke through her thoughts. She turned to see a young officer approaching, his face a mix of nervousness and hesitation.
"Yes?" Gwen prompted, her tone sharp.
"We found someone who might have information about what happened here. He...," the officer began, then paused, fidgeting under her steely gaze.
"…he what?" Gwen pressed, her irritation evident.
"He says he'll only talk if we pay him," the officer admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. His sheepish smile did little to mask his discomfort.
Gwen's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Bribery? He thinks he can negotiate with us after a massacre like this?" Her tone was clipped, laced with disdain.
The officer nodded hesitantly.
"Fine," Gwen said, snapping her notebook shut. "Let's see what this opportunist has to say. But if he's wasting my time, he'll regret it."
With a sharp turn on her heel, she strode toward the makeshift interrogation area, her heels clicking against the cold concrete floor.
The sound echoed through the chamber, a reminder to everyone present that Detective Gwen Monroe was in control.
It didn't take long for Gwen to spot him—the rat-faced maintenance worker sitting smugly in a corner of the interrogation room.
Middle-aged and weak looking, he exuded the air of someone who had perfected the art of opportunism.
His sharp, darting eyes were constantly evaluating, calculating the odds, as though every interaction was a game he intended to win.
Gwen let out a quiet sigh. She already knew this would be an uphill battle. Men like him thrived on leverage and didn't give anything away for free.
This wasn't going to be a simple conversation; it was going to be a negotiation.
"This is the hotel's maintenance worker," the young officer who had fetched Gwen explained, his voice laced with distaste.
"What's your price?" Gwen asked bluntly, cutting straight to the point. She had no patience for small talk.
The maintenance worker grinned, his yellowed teeth on full display. The stench of his breath hit her even from across the room, a putrid mix of tobacco, cheap alcohol, and decay.
Gwen's nose wrinkled slightly, but her expression remained otherwise impassive.
"Five grand. Not a penny less," he said, raising his hand with an open palm as if presenting an unnegotiable offer. His smugness was palpable.
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"Impossible," Gwen replied coolly, folding her arms. "I can give you a thousand. Not a penny more. If that's not enough for you, I'll have no problem booking you a cozy little cell for the night. Let's see if that helps loosen up that stinky mouth of yours." Her voice was sharp, authoritative, leaving no room for argument.
The man blinked, his grin faltering for a brief moment before returning, this time more sheepish. "You got yourself a deal, ma'am," he said, chuckling nervously.
"I'm a law-abiding citizen, after all. It's always a pleasure to assist the fine folks of law enforcement in any way I can. But, uh... I need to see the cash first."
Gwen exhaled through her nose, her patience wearing thin. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a single $1,000 bill and placed it on the table in front of him.
"Speak," she ordered, her tone icy.
The man grabbed the money eagerly, tucking it into his shirt pocket with a satisfied smirk. "Alright, here's what I know," he began, leaning forward slightly as if to share some grand secret. "Maya Pierce. That's the name you're looking for. She's been here, alright. I saw here at exactly o…"
The maintenance worker shared his side of the story, conveniently skipping over the part where he sold Maya to the gang. He was clearly a man well-practiced in covering his ass.
He rambled on for what felt like an eternity, weaving an elaborate tale filled with flowery language and embellishments that bordered on outright fiction.
Every detail seemed stretched, every event dramatized as if he were auditioning for a storyteller's spotlight rather than providing crucial information.
When he finally stopped, he leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk, clearly proud of his so-called accomplishment.
His chest puffed out slightly, and the smug glint in his eyes hinted that he believed he'd delivered something truly remarkable.
Gwen studied him for a long moment, her sharp gaze cutting through his feigned innocence. She didn't trust him—not one bit. But for now, the name Maya Pierce was a lead.
"You said you saw Maya talking with Black Cross Gang members and…" In the end, Gwen still had to do her due diligence and asked the maintenance worker in uncovering some holes in his story.
***
Huge shoutout and thanks to ddecoen for the gifts!
You are awesome! Thank you! ^_^