My head hurt just thinking about it. About all the women and kids who were out there suffering. About the fact that no matter how hard I worked, I couldn't save them all.
I could, though, save some.
So Holden and I chose an operation as our target.
We spent weeks researching the players, finding locations.
And then we trained harder as we waited for me to be officially of age.
So that if I landed in a hospital, no one could call my parents. Or even if I got caught and locked up.
It was time.
Tonight was the night.
We were going in.
I had taken a life.
One life.
My grandmother's.
With a gun.
Holden wouldn't even let me hold one of his guns. He told me that since we wouldn't be able to use them on missions, there was no reason for me to 'play around with' them.
We trained with sharp and blunt instruments.
And he constantly drilled it into my head that taking a life with a bullet was a detached kill. And that taking a life with a blade was close and intimate. It would be different. I would be different.
Not having any experience, I couldn't contradict him. So I steeled myself. I reminded myself all the evil things they had did, how they had shown the women they captured no mercy. And that they deserved none from me.
I would be changed maybe.
But I had already changed so much.
The idea of more didn't scare me like it once might have.
If anything, I was ready to make the full transition.
From trainee to master.
Maybe normal people would think it was a fucked up thing to want to be a master in. But I wanted to be a master.
At taking lives.
At sending them back to hell where they belonged.
I ate plain toast to keep my stomach settled.
I took another makeshift bath.
I re-buzzed my head.
I put on a tank top then a long-sleeved tee, the jeans Holden had picked up for me in the men's department so they fit just the right kind of saggy.
The plan was to appear like a dude.
And to get in the doors with Holden doing the same.
And then taking over.
I shrugged on a leather jacket, checking out my reflection in the window, both relieved and a little bothered by the fact that I could pass for a guy. A pretty guy, but a guy nonetheless.
Hearing Holden's door close, I took a deep breath, moving out into the gym, waiting for him to open the door.
"What's this?" I asked when he handed me something wrapped in a brown bag from the supermarket.
"Birthday present, I guess you can call it," he said, shrugging it off. "Careful, it's sharp," he added when I eagerly went to reach inside.
It was.
Sharp.
So fucking sharp.
And beautiful in a lethal sort of way.
A double-bladed hunting karambit.
It had a slightly curved wooden handle in the center for your hand and then two fierce curved blades- one that went across the fronts of your knuckles, the other that curved around the back of your hand.
Making you deadly in both directions.
"Wow."
"Just a glide across the skin will cause major damage."
With that and nothing else, we climbed in his truck.
In utter, almost unbearable silence, we drove four hours to our destination, an old warehouse from some bygone era when it had helped employ local townspeople.
Lots of windows.
Lots of exits.
Lots of ways for things to go sideways really quickly.
We'd trained for this, I reminded myself.
I could do it.
I had to do it.
I didn't get much time to let my fears get to me. Because as soon as Holden cut the engine, he was climbing out and making his way down the street we had parked on for protection, making his way toward our destination.
"Women are in there getting raped as we speak," he mumbled to me as we got close, as I felt my body tensing, my stomach plummeting.
He knew I needed to hear it.
He knew how the mere mention of that reality made my vision go red with rage.
It burned through my system savagely, singeing everything in its wake.
We each made our way to the door, giving the code we'd agreed to online at separate times, looking like we didn't know each other.
And just like that, we were led inside.
"You can each pick a girl and then we will talk money. More for certain things, you know."
Oh, I knew.
More for virgins.
More for 'spirited' girls who would put up a fight.
More for younger.
More for tag-teaming.
More for certain kinks.
More to rough them up.
My fire didn't need more kindling.
But every slimy word out of his mouth made me burn hotter.
Until I simply got engulfed when he opened a door showing us a row of unclothed women. Some drugged. Some lost in their own minds. A few openly crying.
And that was it.
Any worries I had about my ability to get the job done disappeared as I reached into my pocket, slid my hand around my new double blade, pivoted, and swung my arm out.
He didn't even have time to gasp before the knife dug in, casting arterial spray across my chest and the side of Holden's shoulder.
Holden didn't move to act at first, to go back outside to handle the other men we'd crossed paths with.
He shushed the women with a finger to his lips.
They had no reason to trust us, but they seemed to understand without us saying anything that we were there to save them, to get them free.
The sound of the body slamming to the ground, breathless, dead, was what triggered others to rush inside.
There was no thinking, just action, just pure instinct that Holden had drilled into me for the past two years.
Four men were on the ground in the single room in the span of a few short moments. Three dead, one gasping for a few final breaths.
"Are there more?" Holden spoke, not the least winded while I gasped for some air. Not as badly as I once would have, but enough to annoy me, make me vow to take up some more cardio.
"One," the tallest and oldest of the women declared, desperately trying to cover her nude body. There was nothing in the room, no modesty I could give them. There would be time to comfort them later, though. We needed to finish the job we came to do.
"You lead," Holden demanded, jerking his chin toward the door. "You all stay here until we say it is safe," he added to the women, getting a firm nod from the tall woman.
Holden pulled the door closed behind us, shockingly loud in the quiet space.
There was a TV on somewhere further down the hall.
I followed it to find a cracked door and a man sitting on a chair, a woman on her knees before him.
Bile rose up as I took a steadying breath, willing my footsteps to be silent as I moved forward, thankful for the loud cheering of the football game, allowing me to move directly behind the chair.
The movement caught the girl's attention, making her stop the act she was being forced to perform, eyes bulging, gasp sucking inward.
Her surprise worked in my favor.
The man turned to try to look.
The tension made the blade slide into his neck like butter.
"It's okay," I murmured to the girl as she scrambled backward across the dirty floor, hands grabbing for her own throat, worried I would turn my blade on her. "It's alright. We were only here for the men. We are going to get you girls home," I added, watching as the words landed, as they sank in.
I could tell the moment they did because her entire body started quaking, a hysterical hitch catching in her throat.
"Got some shirts," Holden mumbled, digging through a backpack
near the door.
"Here, put this on," I told her, holding out a tee that would at least offer a small bit of modesty.
While she shrugged into the tee, my gaze went to the man, his brilliant blood covering his neck and chest.
I wasn't sure where the urge came from, but my gloved finger moved out, sinking into the plasma, then moving toward the wall.
F was X.
It was a sort of vanity to want to mark your job like that. And I knew it was always smarter to stay as anonymous as possible. But I couldn't seem to help myself.
"We got to go before more clients show up," Holden reminded me as we led the girl back to the other room where we handed out shirts and blankets.
"Take this phone," he said, speaking to the tall woman once more, now much more comfortable wearing an old white tee that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. "Call the police after ten minutes, okay? Can you give us ten minutes?"
"We need to get away," I added, willing her to understand how important this is. "So we can keep taking out monsters like these."
"Ten minutes," she agreed while one of the other girls lowered to the floor, cradling her knees to her chest, rocking as she sobbed.
I wanted to believe they all had loved ones at home, people who could help them recover, love them through their path to healing.
I knew it was naive.
I knew that some of them would likely be on their own, would have to fight their demons alone.
But anything, I was sure, absolutely anything was better than being stuck here until they were no longer useful.
"Let's go," Holden demanded.
When we hit the front door, we took off at a dead run.
Holden was stronger, but I was leaner, able to keep up as we made our way back to the car.
I grabbed the black bag he'd placed under the wiper blade, slipping our gloves into it, my jacket, my outer shirt.
Holden had the foresight to wear black, hiding the bloodstains he sported.
My heart was in my throat the entire ride back to his place, sure we were going to be found out, positive cops would pull up behind us, lights and sirens spelling out our doom.
It was almost hard to accept that we'd gotten away with it when we finally pulled up to the garage.
"I have to clean the clothes. Detail the car. You get some rest," he told me, dismissing me. "Hey, kid," he called when I was about to slam the door.
"Yeah?" I asked, feeling a little buzzy, a little foreign in my own skin.
"You did good. You got what it takes," he added. "Get some sleep."
With that, he pulled away, door slamming on its own as he went.
It took a long time for the shock to slip away, for my mind to seem to be able to grasp what had happened on a rational level.
I couldn't bring myself to move inside, feeling a layer of filth coating me from head to toe.
I took myself to the hose, finding the bar of soap I hid in a plastic container beside it, stripping out of my clothes, and scrubbing every single inch of me.
Two times.
Three.
Ten.
Fifteen.
I lost count.
But I knew I had to stop when my skin felt raw and sensitive.
I walked like that, stark freaking naked, back to the garage, going inside, locking myself into my room, and lying alone on my floor mattress, still feeling the grime all over me.
It was many hours later that I realized it would never go away.
It was a part of me now.
I would have to learn to get used to it.
And that was how I spent my eighteenth birthday.
Six
Vance - Present Day
She was different.
Maybe I should have expected that.
I mean, of course she was different.
She'd been gone for almost nine years.
I guess, to an extent, she had been preserved in my mind as the sixteen-year-old who was never short on topic for conversations, never shy with her strong opinions. Confident. Interesting. Deep.
She still seemed confident and deep.
But she didn't speak much.
She just sat there with those deep eyes that I used to read so easily. There were still sparks there at times, but for the most part, they were blank, seeing but showing nothing.
And while, years before, she had been passionate and even a bit heated, she hadn't been angry.
Angry was very much something she appeared to be now, though. And quick to it.
I'd never been one for anger either.
There was no denying that I'd snapped at her, though. Not that she maybe didn't have it coming. But it was still unlike me.
I'd made good points.
But maybe it wasn't my place to make them.
Maybe she was right and I had no reason to be so resentful about her attitude.
I had no idea what she had been through.
I think that was why I had written so much about it. I think I had been trying to understand what she'd been through, what could have prompted her to not only flee, but to stay away for so long.
I guess I never did come to any conclusions.
And any theories I had at one point flew out the window because, clearly, everything she had been through had been much, much worse than I had imagined if they had changed her so entirely.
"The fuck put you in such a shit mood?" West asked, making me realize I'd been slamming around the kitchen making something to eat. "Did you and Daddy Reign's girl have a nice reunion?" he pressed.
"Let's hope that a couple days in my old place gives her time to remember who she is."
"People change, man," West said, shrugging. "I imagine girls who spend time starving in basements then run away to do fuck-knows what tend to change more than usual."
"Maybe," I agreed.
"Gotta wonder why you are so bent about it."
"No, actually, you don't need to wonder about that."
"Still," he said, sighing, barely holding back a grin, "I find myself wondering."
"Well, don't."
"It seems it is not in my control."
"Try harder," I grumbled, pretending to ignore the shit-eating grin on his face.
If there was one thing West liked, it was when he got a rise out of someone. He chose opposite sides in an argument just to fuck with you even if he personally agreed with your stance. He pulled pranks on the girls. He taunted the shit out of the guys when they got lovesick over some chick they were getting serious with.
I had made the mistake of letting him know that Ferryn could be used to get a rise out of me. I was in for a lot of shit when no one else was around.
He'd keep the secret.
Until Reign got back.
Then, well, who the fuck knew what he was capable of saying or implying.
Not that there was anything to imply, of course.
There wasn't—and had never been—anything between Ferryn and me. We'd been sort of friends. As much as a nineteen-year-old guy can be friends with his little sister's sixteen-year-old friend.
That was it.
Sure, I mean, yeah, she had wanted it to be more. I wasn't stupid or blind and she had never been all that subtle.
I liked her mind.
And, well, that was all I could like.
That was all you could like when someone was too young for you. And it was sick to even harbor thoughts like 'in two years she will be eighteen.'
My mind didn't go there.
But there is no way to tell that should she and Iggy have stayed friends, and she therefore continued to be a part of my circle, that once she turned eighteen, something might not have progressed.
It's impossible to say.
I had been a different person then as well. A little too full of myself. A little careless with hearts. I hadn't been a relationship sort of guy. I liked fun and casual, and I hung around girls who liked fun and casual.
So who knows. Maybe she'd have turned eightee
n, decided she didn't have any interest in just being one in the line of other girls, and found some other more serious guy to shine all her attention on.
But a part of me still believed that had she stayed, had my life continued on the same path it was on back then, we might have started something up at some point.
We just always clicked. We liked the same things. We always enjoyed each other's company. And Iggy had always made it clear she would love it if she could have Ferryn as an actual sister one day.
But even though there was no history in more than a platonic sense, she was absolutely a trigger for me now, something West could use to torment me endlessly with.
"Inquiring minds have to know," West said, and I didn't trust the smirk on his lips. "Did you diddle the president's daughter?"
I'd never had a short fuse.
Or so I thought.
This night was teaching me some things about myself that I maybe never wanted to know.
Like how easily I could snap.
Because one second, he was across the room from me.
The next, I had him pinned to the wall by his throat.
"Watch it," my voice hissed out of me.
A reaction was slow to cross West's face. For someone who often did flit around his emotions quickly, it was strange to see the brow arch ever-so-slowly.
"We're friends, brothers, and I thought this went without saying," he started, choosing his words carefully, something vaguely threatening in his tone, showing me a side of him that I didn't often get to see, "but you don't want to fuck with me, man. You throw hands at me again, and this is going to get ugly fast."
I didn't doubt him.
West was let into the club for legitimate reasons. Reign didn't owe him a marker like he did with me. West didn't have an in like Colson did since Virgin shacked up with Freddie.
He was patched in because he had things to offer.
And, from what I heard, those things included violence.
"Fuck," I hissed, remembering myself, releasing his neck. "Shit, West. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me," I admitted, raking a hand through my hair. Every ounce of me felt off-kilter. My mind was racing from one thing to another so fast it was giving me mental whiplash.
"Really?" he asked, cracking his neck. "Because I've seen these signs a few too many times."
"What signs?"
"Oh, the pacing, the crazy eyes, the fits of violence. Always have one thing in common. A woman."
The Rise of Ferryn Page 8
