life of slavery, paying back a debt they could never hope to diminish even slightly.

An electric car hummed past the alleyway and came to a stop. A door opened, slammed shut. Heavy footfalls echoed against the concrete, boots sloshing through the puddles. The man stopped, looked around. A security light came on, illuminating his short, black, spiky hair and long coat, as well as the body he’d come to find. He cleared his throat and moved closer, kneeling down beside her. He lifted her head with two fingers, gently pushing the rain-soaked hair from her face. She was cold, too cold, her lips blue, face ashen. His fingers on her throat confirmed what he already knew and he closed his eyes.

Too late. Again. The anonymous tips were alwaystoo damn late.

No doubt the cops would get around to the scene at some point, but their chances of caring were low. He had time to comb the scene, and so he did. He followed the trail of blood and found the knife, serrated as to cause maximum pain. Whoever had done the deed had acted out of cruel spite: another fact that was grim to consider but easy to believe. The woman had dragged herself on hands and knees to her death place, probably begging for her life as he’d kicked her down, laughing.

A diamond-studded cufflink. He picked it up, looking it over before placing it back at the edge of the puddle it had almost fallen into. He could see the scene now, some rich young