Buried Slaughter by Ryan Casey Page A

all.”
    The situation was almost dreamlike to Brian at this point. He truly did not know what to say. Clearly the bloke knew him from somewhere, or had him mistaken, or…‌
    Shit. He hadn’t arrested him, had he? Fuck. The last thing he needed was some revenge stunt from a nutter.
    A cough sounded from Brian’s right-hand side again. Tony tutted and moved back to his feet, squaring up to his brother. “Can you get that fucker to shut up for five minutes, please?”
    Tony’s brother cowered slightly, then rushed over towards David Wallson, who would be totally clueless as to what was going on.
    “You’ve got this wrong,” Brian said, speaking a little loudly. “I…‌I’m not here to arrest you. Fuck, I couldn’t arrest you if I wanted to.” Brian immediately regretted his honesty. Informing his captors that he was no longer a special detective might just tip them over the edge and make them believe they could get away with whatever they were planning to do. He just had to hope these mystery people didn’t hate him too much for some petty arrest however many years back.
    Tony returned to Brian’s sight and stood beside his brother. “You ain’t? But then…‌then who’s your mate? Like last time. When you was undercover.”
    Brian shrugged‌—‌or at least, attempted a shrug, but it sent a shooting pain down his spine. “That bloke you caught me with is not a police officer. Far bloody from it, in fact. He’s…‌He’s a journalist. We’re doing a story on something else.”
    “Ah,” Tony said, cutting through Brian’s speech. He tapped the gun onto his palm. “That’s what this is. Big police report on our dodgy activities. Fallen officer tries to rise to fame again. That what it is? Well, you won’t find fuck all here.” He squared up to Brian and pointed the gun at his chest, which rapidly shook with every heavy heartbeat. “No drugs. No immigrants. No nothing.”
    “Okay,” Brian said. His throat was wobbly and he felt like he’d pissed himself ten times over. “Just‌—‌just please. We aren’t here for you I swear. We aren’t‌—‌”
    “And if you do find owt,” Tony said, pressing the gun further into Brian’s shaking chest, “then I’ll take care of it. And nobody will bat an eyelid around here. I promise you that, officer. You journalist sellout scumbags are not getting a smidgen of a story out of‌—‌”
    “We couldn’t give a fuck about whatever dodgy shit you’ve been up to.”
    The voice caught Brian by surprise. Judging by the way Tony and his brother swung their necks to their left, it surprised them, too. But it was David. No doubt about that.
    “What did you just say, journo twat?” Tony rose to his feet again and walked slowly in the direction of David. His gun hand was shaking.
    “Please, Tony‌—‌”
    “Fuck off,” Tony said, pushing aside his brother. “Twats need to learn some manners. So what story is more important than us, eh? You think we’re that dumb we’d fall for your bullshit attempts to get out of here? Shat yourself yet?”
    “We’re investigating the Pendle Hill and Longridge Fell killings,” David said. “We’re looking into the history of this…‌the churchyard we were in. We’re looking into the past to try and understand the future.”
    The room was completely silent for a few moments. Brian wasn’t totally sure whether David had made the right decision singing about the massacres to these two unknown foes, and the longer time dragged on in silence, the more he questioned the decision to speak.
    But eventually, Tony lowered his gun and sighed. He muttered a few inaudible words to his brother, then the two of them turned back to face Brian and David again. The brother protested initially, but it seemed like Tony had won out their little debate.
    Which scared Brian to death.
    “Sorry for the confusion, gents,” Tony said.
    Then, he gripped the top of the balaclava and pulled it from his head.
    It was in that