I'm In Love With My Bestfriend's Billionaire Fiance!
Chapter 108: Target Locked!

Chapter 108: Target Locked!

(Jace’s POV)

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"What the hell is this place?" I muttered under my breath after a while, my voice barely carrying over the suffocating silence that clung to the street like a second skin.

There was nothing remotely welcoming about The Abbey. Every inch of it seemed soaked in despair, as if the ground itself had absorbed decades of forgotten sorrows and was now bleeding them out into the atmosphere. The air was thick, heavy, pressing against my chest until it felt like I could barely breathe. Even the sunlight, fierce as it was, seemed powerless here—its heat casting more shadow than light, warping everything into something bleak and uninviting.

I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket, trying to appear casual, but every instinct in me was wound tight, ready to snap. We kept moving, our footsteps strangely muffled against the cracked pavement.

Ethan walked beside me, glancing back and forth with sharp eyes, his fingers swiping quickly across the map glowing faintly on his phone. The deeper we went, the more oppressive it became. The houses on either side of us leaned in, their peeling paint and sagging roofs making them look less like homes and more like the broken teeth of some long-dead beast.

The only sounds were the whisper of the wind through broken windows and the distant, almost inaudible creak of something unseen shifting under the weight of time. Was Maven really here? Could someone as elaborate and calculating as Maven really be in a desolate place like this? Hope this motherfucker didn’t have us chasing a fucking red herring?

"We’re almost there," Ethan murmured without looking up.

I gave a small nod and instinctively drifted closer to the side of the road, seeking the thin strip of shade thrown by the leaning houses. Here, at least, I could move under a veil of shadow, less visible to anyone—or anything—that might be watching.

Every step felt like it carried more weight than the last, dragging my body down even as my mind screamed at me to stay alert.

Somewhere deep inside me, something primitive stirred—an ancient fear that spoke not in words but in vivid flashes of worst-case scenarios. It was all I could think about. I was just thinking of all the ways things could go wrong on this trip of ours. There could be an ambush, a shadow darting from a doorway, a hand reaching out from the darkness. Everything was suspect at the moment, and they were subject to my sharp scrutiny.

But the street remained empty, holding its breath as we walked deeper into its rotting heart.

The road beneath our feet looked like it had not been maintained in a long time, and that wasn’t a surprise. The whole fucking Abbey had been abandoned by the government. Potholes gaped like open wounds, and tufts of dry, stubborn grass pushed up through the cracks as if nature itself had tried to reclaim this forgotten place—and lost.

There was a sudden, sharp clang in the distance—the metallic rattle of a loose sheet of tin banging against something unseen. Both Ethan and I froze for a half second, heads snapping toward the sound.

Nothing.

Just the hollow whistle of the wind.

I flexed my fingers in my pockets, forcing myself to keep moving. Something had to be done about this, the people who live here deserve a better way of life and a better standard of living. I knew that with a simple call to the governor, I could make a difference, I could also make a difference if Chillz Media decided to set up a project here in the Abbey. I could make so much difference.

Ethan tapped the screen of his phone, his jaw firming as he studied the map some more.

We passed a rusted-out station wagon sitting half-on, half-off a collapsed driveway. Its windshield was spider-webbed with cracks, and its tires were absent, and the bonnet was open, but empty. There was no engine in it. Instead, a tangle of plastic bags and dead leaves had gathered around it, swirling lazily whenever the breeze shifted.

It was as if the deeper we walked, the worse it got. No sign of life. No barking dogs. No music behind any windows. And I couldn’t help but imagine how it would be on our way back. Having to walk all this way back to the top of the street to get a cab would be insane.

After what felt like a mile stretched across an eternity, Ethan slowed.

He lifted his head, studying something ahead, and finally pocketed his phone.

"This is it," he said, his voice low, almost reverent—as if speaking louder might wake something we didn’t want to meet.

I followed his gaze.

Vic’s house stood crouched at the end of the cul-de-sac, hunched like some wounded, feral thing guarding the mouth of a forgotten alley. Half-hidden by the skeletal remains of what looked like a gnarled tree, it almost seemed to pulse in the corner of my vision—an ugly bruise against the dismal backdrop of decaying buildings. The tree itself looked barren and twisted; it clawed at the air with blackened branches like it had been trying to escape for years, but never quite made it.

The yard stretched before us like a wasteland. Knee-high grass tangled itself into messy knots, waving weakly in the anemic breeze. Old beer cans and scraps of litter clung stubbornly to the earth, half-swallowed by the dirt like casualties of a battle long lost. The stench of stale alcohol and rotting wood hit me even from across the street.

A single porch light dangled from a fraying wire above the front door, swaying back and forth with a sluggish rhythm. Its glow was a sickly, jaundiced thing, flickering at uneven intervals. Every time it blinked out, a heavy blanket of darkness briefly swallowed the porch, only to reveal it again a second later, warped and somehow more grotesque.

"Yep..." I muttered. "Depressing as fuck! How the hell do people even live here?"

Ethan only shrugged as he stared at the house, "You’d be surprised as to what people can be forced to endure when they don’t have a choice. No one is staying here because they enjoy the scenery or the ability of The Abbey to suck the life out of you. They’re here because this is the best they can afford."

"Oh shit..." I muttered, "I thought that Parallel City was bad, but this is really worse."

This only seemed to strengthen my resolve to figure out what I could do for The Abbey. And I was going to do that, but only after Maven had been properly taken care of.

Ethan said nothing else, keeping his eyes on Vic’s house.

The house itself was in no better condition than the others in the area. The siding peeled away from the frame like scorched flesh, revealing the raw, skeletal boards beneath. An upstairs window gaped wide open, the glass had been shattered but then covered poorly with a board that didn’t seem to do the job perfectly. A lone strip of fabric—once a curtain, maybe—dangled through the hole, twisting limply in the night air like some defeated, spectral flag.

My gut clenched. Somewhere deep in the lizard part of my brain, alarms were wailing, shrieking at me to turn around, to run, to never look back.

Every horror story I had ever heard—or imagined—flashed through my mind in quick, sickening bursts. I half-expected the ground to crack open beneath my feet or the house itself to lurch forward and swallow us whole.

And yet... we were here.

There was no room for hesitation now. No second-guessing.

Ahead of us, the gate hung from one rusted hinge, yawning open and groaning against the wind like an old man warning us off with his last dying breath. It would have been so easy to just walk right in. Too easy. Which made it even more dangerous.

We couldn’t just charge in blindly, no matter how tempting it was to end this and get it over with. We needed to be smart. Methodical. Cautious. This was still Maven we were dealing with, we couldn’t afford to be careless when we had come so far.

I scanned the street with darting, paranoid glances. Across the road, the ruins of an abandoned shop loomed, its front windows shattered, the signage barely hanging on. The roof sagged, the walls were cracked and broken, but most importantly—it provided shade. Cover.

A perfect vantage point.

"Come here," I hissed at Ethan, jerking my head toward the ruined storefront.

We moved quickly but quietly, our footsteps muffled by the cracked asphalt. The building offered immediate shelter from the prying eyes that may—or may not—have been watching. As we ducked behind a half-collapsed counter littered with old receipts and grime, I allowed myself a quick glance back at Vic’s house.

Ethan was already pulling his binoculars from his jacket, his hands were steady despite the thick tension that wrapped us like a wet blanket. He raised them to his eyes, adjusting the lens with small, precise turns of his wrist.

The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness.

From my spot beside him, I could hear the faint, mechanical whir of the binoculars zooming in and out as he scanned the length and breadth of the rotting structure.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t grunt or curse under his breath. Just that pursed, tight-lipped concentration as his eyes devoured every inch of the house.

"Well?" I rasped after a while, my voice was rough from the tension knotting my throat.

For a moment, Ethan remained frozen, the binoculars pressed tight to his face.

Then, slowly, he lowered them.

A grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—not one of happiness, but of grim satisfaction, like a man finding the final missing piece to a deadly puzzle.

"He’s home," he said. "Vic Morano is home, boss!"

The words dropped into the air like a stone into still water, sending ripples of adrenaline surging through me.

I smiled back at him—a tight, cold thing that barely reached my eyes.

It was, undeniably, the best news I’d gotten all day.

It was time to get the motherfucker!