Ballistic (A Vigilantes Novel) Page 16

  “You said they’re slaves. You’re right. Eden didn’t want to be caught up in all that shit. She was just … a normal girl.” Legs tucked into her chest, she caught a drag of her cigarette between words. “We didn’t ask to grow up where we did. How we did. But life is different where I come from. Every day is survival.”

  “It’s no different where I come from.”

  “Then, you know it doesn’t take much to become fed up with that life. To want out … no matter what you have to do to get out.”

  I did. I’d gotten mixed up in drugs, theft, burglary, even roughing people up for a known criminal, just to escape the place I’d come from. Only took a small bit of persuasion, and a heaping dose of hunger and desperation, not unlike the young girl I’d rescued earlier in the night.

  Nic ashed into the white foam cup beside her and stole another drag. “One night, Eden got into an argument with her mother. Something stupid, but teenagers are stupid. So she ran away. That’s when they found her. Alone. Scared. Vulnerable.” The tremble in her hands caught my attention, when she flicked her ashes into the cup again. She shrugged, her lip curled in disgust. “Men are pigs. Rapists.” Jaw shifting, she set the cigarette to her lips and drew in a long inhale, a light sheen of tears misting her eyes.

  “Not all men.”

  She wiped at her eyes and stood up from the chair, crossing the room toward the table where the bottle of whiskey sat. “Maybe you’re right, Dax. A drink?”

  The back of her head tipped with the inversion of the bottle, and when she swung around, arm outstretched, I nabbed the proffered drink.

  If she was telling the truth about Jasper, I wouldn’t let her carry the blood of a raping bastard on her shoulders. I’d killed before. Far more times than she had. If I had to, I’d do it again. Surprising that I hadn’t finished him off the moment I’d seen him with the young girl, except I knew the importance of looking into the eyes of the one who hurt you. I knew Nicoleta needed that kind of closure. “We’ll figure out what to do in the morning. I need some sleep.”

  Tipping back the bottle, I let the warm liquor heat my throat as I swallowed one long swig. The burn bulleted straight to my stomach, churning up a lightness that shot up my spine in a burst of tingles. The tension slid from my muscles, turning them soft, weak. Exhaustion weighed down on me, while the burdening thoughts I’d come home with seemed to grow lighter. Almost distant.

  Damn, the shit hit hard for some reason. Or maybe my head was just fucked up from the events earlier.

  “Why does it trouble you?” Following the sound of Nicoleta’s voice took my attention to the floor, where she sat at my feet, staring up at me with those hypnotizing eyes of hers. “You don’t like hearing about women being hurt. Why?”

  I sniffed and sank lower in the chair, as the ache in my muscles fizzled with every sip. “My father. He used to beat the fuck outta my mom. He’d get drunk and just … wail on her, over and over until she’d pass out.” Tipping back the bottle again, I took another long swill, and dragged my hand across my mouth to wipe away the dribbling whiskey there. “First time I ever punched someone in the face … was my ole’ man.”

  Lowering my gaze brought two Nicoletas to view, and with the heel of my hand, I rubbed my eye then shook my head. “’The fuck? Think I need … to lie down, or some shit.”

  Warning sounds blared inside my head, like white noise over the amplified swoosh of blood pounding in my ears. I pushed up from the chair, skirting around where she still sat on the floor, and stumbled my way to the bed.

  Tripping over my own damn feet, I caught myself on the mattress and sat on the edge, rubbing my temples. “’The hell did I drink?”

  In the next blink, Nicoleta was on her knees in front of me, like I was watching through a ViewMaster, flicking from one slide to the next. “You’re a good man, Dax. Good men deserve to be treated good.”

  My shirt was gone, my belt undone. When the fuck did I undo my belt?

  Everything moved fluidly before me, as if underwater, blurred to a wide lens that softened the edges. I turned to the clock, mentally noting an hour had passed in what felt like a minute.

  “Whaass happ’nin’?” The room spun in my periphery, and smack in the middle, Nicoleta stared back at me, breasts bared, begging to be touched, as she sat on my lap. In my weak attempt to push her away, my head tipped back, giving sharp awareness that I’d gotten fucked up in what felt like seconds.

  “You said you wanted this.” Her lips slanted over mine, stealing my next breath. “You said you wanted me.”

  Yeah, it was true. I did want it, but not like that. Didn’t even remember saying that shit.

  She leaned in again, pressing her lips to mine, and my body froze, caught between wanting to keep going and knowing I’d better stop.

  I turned my head to break the kiss. “How long … we been doin’ this?”

  “You finished off the bottle an hour ago.” Her comment had me kicking my head to the side, to where the whiskey bottle stood empty on the nightstand.

  I didn’t remember any of that, either. “I drank it all?”

  With her silky body rocking painfully against mine, I looked down to see only her panties separated my dick from her pussy. “You don’t want me now, Dax?”

  “N’like this. I wan’ you, but … fuck. I need … t’sleep … it off.” Every blink of my eyes grew longer, the blackness shuttering my lids. “M’sorry.”

  She held my face in the palm of her hands, liquid amber washing over me, and with the next blink, everything went black.

  23

  Nicoleta

  “Don’t be sorry. Be grateful I care enough not to kill you.” I slid my bra over my shoulders, staring down at Dax, passed out on the bed. I’d drugged his liquor with a double dose of Hedonic, hours before he’d arrived, knowing he’d opt not to tell me where he’d taken Jasper. Few swigs into his whiskey, and he’d spilled the location.

  At least, I thought he had. The words had come out slurred, but if I wasn’t mistaken, it was the old Detroit River station, a marine delivery service building downriver. Mostly used for storage, if I remembered right, from some news report about it being vandalized a few years back.

  I trailed my finger down the sharp edges of his jaw over his perfect lips. Ones that begged for another kiss. Leaning forward, I let a moan escape between us as I seized them again, sucking the whiskey from his skin.

  He was a tragically beautiful man. One I knew would ruin everything for me.

  Eyes still rapt on him, I pushed through my T-shirt and yanked on my boots. From the bathroom, I swiped one of the towels on the sink, and nabbing the keys to the ‘Cuda off the table, I padded out the door, down to his car.

  Screams echoed down the hallway, as I angled the flashlight I’d found in Dax’s glovebox ahead of me. For any other girl, those haunting sounds would be enough to raise the hairs on the back of the neck and turn her around. For me, they were the sound of sweet vengeance.

  The screams of the innocent souls he’d swallowed, begging to break free.

  Water that’d pooled on the floor splashed beneath my boots, as I tromped forward, ignoring the thoughts that attempted to invade my headspace.

  The visuals of Eden on a recording that looked like it’d been filmed on an eight-millimeter reel. Her screams. God, those screams.

  I paused mid-step and slammed my palms to my ears, eyes clenched shut. As if I could hear them right then.

  No. Not now. Not when revenge was so close.

  Opening my eyes, I kept on, locating the source of the cries in a dank and rayless room, whose concrete walls carried moss and water stains over chipped brick and splotches of graffiti. Place had been kept for storage and occasional deliveries, but certainly hadn’t been maintained over the years. The stench of mold and piss hung on the air as I entered the room, finding Jasper in his underwear, blindfolded, and tied to a post, where he sat on the floor with his feet bound together.

  “Who’s … who’s there?�
� The shaky quality in his voice told me Dax had already scared him shitless.

  Good.

  The yellowish stains on his tighty-whities marked the source of the piss odor stinging my nose. There’d be more of that. Much more.

  “Please …” His voice cracked on the plea, as if he’d suffered too much already. “I’ll give you anything you want. I’ve got money.”

  I wanted to laugh at that. He had nothing. For the last few years, the little weasel had worked day shift in a small garage, living on a few pennies more than minimum wage. At night, he trolled the streets for homeless kids, taking them in, feeding them a hot meal in exchange for sexual favors. The more desperate they were, the better, until one of them had finally worked up the balls to go to the police and he’d gotten locked up for two years. He’d eventually found the BDSM club on his release, where he could indulge in his sick little fantasies without getting caught.

  Until Dax had found him.

  Smiling, I rounded the pole that held him tethered by handcuffs, a glint reflecting off the shiny metal beneath my flashlight. Hand tucked inside my pocket, I ran my hand over the foreign key I’d spotted dangling from the ring that also held keys to the ‘Cuda and the apartment. One I didn’t recognize, until that very moment, staring down at its mate biting into Jasper’s wrists.

  The sight of the cuffs brought to mind the screams again. The video reel wound up inside my head, transporting me back into that disgusting scene, and not even clamping my eyes could erase the visual.

  “No, no, please! Don’t do this!” Eden begged between sobs, as Jasper clasped the cuffs around the steel rack inside the shower. The clanging of the metal had kept a steady beat as she tried to break free. His breaths grew excitable.

  The sound of his breathing had rippled down my spine in waves of disgust, reminding me of how a starved animal might sound at the prospect of fresh meat. Desperate. Hungry. Shaky with anticipation and lust.

  Jasper flipped on the shower, and the scalding sprays, evident in the steam gathering inside the stall, incited a squeal of pain as Eden hopped to move away. He turned it down just enough to lose some of the hot steam, showing the girl standing naked, cuffed to the rack, facing the wall of the shower. She couldn’t see the soaked cloth in his hand, until he smacked it over her mouth. Yanking the showerhead off its hook, he held the spray to her face.

  Her sobs turned to choking and gasping, as he commanded her to stick her ass out, or drown.

  She did as she was told, and he removed the spray.

  A sharp cry bounced off the walls, as his cock penetrated her. Once again, he held the spray to her face, all while thrusting into her from behind, the wet slap of his skin hardly carrying over the gagging and choking.

  “Ohh, that’s right. Cough. Cough it up, girl.” He gripped her chin, angling her head back into the spray, as she shook against him, fighting it. “I’m going to cum inside you as I watch you drown.”

  A spasm of pain shot to my skull as I stared down at the man’s fingers, recalling them cuffed tight around her throat. My eyes misted with tears that I blinked away. Grinding my teeth, I willed those images out of my head.

  “P-p-please! I don’t know … who you are. But I can get you whatever you want. Just speak to me! Please! Just speak to me!”

  Turning away from him brought me facing the broken window, through which I’d already fed the hose from outside. Without a word, I tugged it farther through the vented window, dragging it behind me, and depressed the rusted trigger of the gun at the end of it. A sharp stream of water splashed against the concrete in a spattering that hit my legs. From my back pocket, I tugged the hand towel and tossed it onto the floor, soaking it with the water.

  After swiping it off the floor, I strode back across the room and crouched beside Jasper, the dripping towel slung over my palm.

  His head kicked to the side, shifting back and forth in a blind search. “I’m begging you … please.”

  “Please! Please!” Eden’s screams droned on inside my head.

  Lip curled, I gripped his throat and tilted his head back, setting the sopping towel over his face. Holding his throat with one hand, I snapped the setting of the sprayer to soak and let it pour over his face, saturating the towel. A depression formed at the mouth, where he attempted to draw in breath, and he sputtered with a cough. His head frantically whipped back and forth, trying to avoid the water.

  Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I watched him struggle in my grip. The power rushing through me in intoxicating waves.

  With a sudden burst of willpower, I stopped and let go of the sprayer. A wheeze deepened the concave dip of the towel at his mouth, and I pulled it from his face, letting him cough and gag it up.

  “What do you want from me? What did I do?” His bellow bounced off the walls, mimicking the same question Eden had asked him years before.

  I wanted to answer him. I wanted to gift him the understanding of why such cruelty was necessary, but that’d be giving him far more than he’d given her. Up until the moment he’d tossed her body, tied to a steel anchor, into the river, he’d never once offered her reason.

  Instead, I smoothed the cloth back over his mouth and soaked it with water. Each time, his voice grew hoarser, every suck of air turned more and more desperate, drawing the towel deeper into the concavity.

  I withdrew the towel again.

  On a table set off from us, I spotted twine, tape, and corrugated boxes stacked flat on the floor beneath it. A number of shipping supplies that’d been left, including a rusted pair of scissors. The cardboard had molded a bit, but it didn’t matter. They could be burned.

  A drawer creaked as I opened it, and I smiled down at the box cutter inside.

  Supplies in hand, I padded across the room, along with a pair of gloves I’d hunted down from a shelf beside them. Blood could be traced, as Dmitry had always told me, so I often avoided spilling it. Unless I could keep it confined on a medium that could easily be disposed.

  I smacked Jasper’s leg, jamming the thick trodden cardboard beneath his bottom, and he hoisted up his hips just enough to slide it under him.

  “I … I don’t know who you are … but I’ll give you anything. Whatever you want,” he sobbed as I positioned the flat surface beneath his leg.

  Nothing I wanted more than to see him suffer the same way he’d made Eden suffer, but I tilted my head at the question.

  “Why drown her?” The cold robotic tone of my voice didn’t allow for emotion, in spite of the tears welling in my eyes.

  The question happened to be one I’d pondered for years after. Of all the ways to kill her, why water? Had he known she’d naturally feared the thought? That she’d often woken to nightmares of being unable to breathe?

  Did he know she’d never learned how to swim in her life?

  “Who … are you?”

  Instead of answering, I slid out the box cutter blade from its sheath and jabbed it into his crotch, watching as his blood soaked the cloth of his white underwear.

  Jasper screamed, a tortured, throaty sound that rippled down my spine, almost as if it searched for that one note of humanity inside of me. For a split second, my nerve faltered, and I thought about him as a boy, a young boy who was likely abused to make him turn out so sadistic and cruel to other girls. And yes, there were others. I’d learn of their vicious attacks through police reports and confessions, but only one of whom he’d attempted to dispose. And she happened to be everything to me.

  So, fuck him.

  I slapped the towel over his face again, gripping his jaw to hold it tight to his mouth, and saturated it with the hose. Jasper’s legs seized and twitched beneath me, the blood spilling onto the cardboard in pink dilutions, until I threw the hose away and removed the towel from his mouth.

  His head swayed in what I surmised as exhaustion, likely due to terror and shock. The same terror and shock he’d subjected Eden to.

  Nerves flaring, I lifted the box cutter and clicked the blade in and out in
with the nervous energy coursing through me.

  “Why drown her?” I asked a second time, leaving the blade unsheathed, just in case.

  “I don’t know.” His weak and beaten-down whimper tickled my stomach with repulsion. “Just seemed … easiest. Only takes a second. One breath. Wouldn’t suffer as much.”

  Easiest. All the years of teasing out the psychology in play, the sadistic nature of the crime, to find it was merely the easiest means of disposal.

  I snickered and slapped the back of my wrist to my mouth, capping the laughter itching to burst free. My chest tickled with a mishmash of amusement, anger, adrenaline, and whatever emotional cocktail I didn’t have the mental capacity to sort out right then.

  “I didn’t want to kill her. You gotta believe me. But Kenny …”

  Squeezing the towel onto his crotch, where the cold water dripped over his wounds, capped his excuse, and his thigh trembled beneath me.

  Kenny—or Pigman, rather—would be next. I didn’t need to hear anything more.

  For the next hour, I alternated between the waterboarding and small cuts, making sure to keep as much of the mess onto the thick corrugated cardboard as I could. He eventually grew weak, until he could no longer keep his head up on his own, so oxygen-starved, his body had grown flaccid. I unhooked the cuffs and dragged him atop of the cardboard across the room, toward a roll-up door that let out to a dock. A rusted chain held an equally rusted padlock, weathered by the dampness. I grabbed a hammer I’d seen on a shelf and, with a few heavy hits, busted the lock. Rolling up the door exposed the half-moon set over the Detroit River, and the distant lights of a cargo ship, too far away for them to see the small shack that housed my crime. Every bit of strength went into hauling Jasper’s body onto the dock, where I left him for a moment.

  With the flashlight, I searched for something significantly heavy. I found it in an old steel toolbox, filled to the brim with wrenches and screwdrivers, a timeworn sledgehammer, and other items that made it weighted enough that I had to drag it on the canvas tarp upon which it sat. I tied a rope to Jasper’s ankles as he lay moaning, his head rolling against the wooden dock planks.