Retribution

by Natasha Knight

  There was one person who deserved to die. For whom death would be too good.

  Time to make him pay.

  I rode the elevator down to the fifteenth floor. Getting to Elle’s apartment, I pounded my fist against the door.

  “Elle?”

  When she didn’t answer, I wiggled the handle, which she’d left unlocked. I shook my head. It was as though she sought out trouble. Well, fine. I could provide that.

  Guilt gnawed at me, some part of me fighting this, knowing the way I went about this wasn’t right, but I told that voice to shut the fuck up because this had to happen. This was how I’d planned to do it. This was the one thing that had given me the strength to survive the last fifteen years.

  Stalking through the dark living room, I headed for her bedroom. But when I found the bed empty, never having been slept in, I stopped short. I moved through the other rooms, but found nothing. She wasn’t here.

  “Fuck!” Turning, I passed the elevator and headed to the staircase, taking them fast down to the garage. There, I climbed on my bike and took off, knowing where to find her, knowing everything would change tonight.

  RAIN HAD BEGUN TO fall. The taxi splashed through puddles as we drove to my car. After Adam left, it had taken me a little while to get up, to think straight again. What he’d said about me, about my dad taking, it was strange, wrong. Adam Smith was hiding something.

  He spoke with a slight accent. That said, he certainly didn’t look like a Smith. I remembered when he’d said I didn’t know anything about him. What did I know?

  I’d remembered something then, something which had struck me as strange a few weeks ago, but not so much so I had dismissed it. Taking my laptop, I’d opened it to find my photos. They uploaded automatically from my camera, a good thing considering I’d almost lost my camera tonight. Adam still had it in the saddlebag of his bike. I’d go get it in a few minutes, but I wanted to look at one thing first.

  Scrolling down through the pictures, I went back two weeks. It had been right around then, if I remembered correctly. I clicked through the images until I found the one I wanted. A stupid shot, one to show a friend something on the camera. I would have deleted it, but something had caught my eye. The image was out of focus, but I studied it closely¸ sure my hunch was right. It was him. It was Adam, sitting at the café across from the one I sat in, and I knew, I just knew, he’d been watching me.

  He knew who I was. I never mentioned my father to anyone for so many reasons — some real, some I had to make myself believe because not believing would be too terrible to face. I always knew my father’s business was multi-faceted. There was the legitimate side and the other side. At one point, he’d even insisted I have a bodyguard 24/7. I’d put my foot down and refused. Now, seeing the photograph and hearing Adam’s words about him, I wondered if he hadn’t been right.

  But, Adam? He wouldn’t hurt me. Hell, he’d come to my rescue twice. First, when I’d cut myself and the second time, tonight. He was right. If he hadn’t turned up when he had, who knew what would have happened to me. I didn’t believe Lenny would have let me walk away. Why would he?

  I got up, slipped my shoes back on, and went out the door. I wanted to get my camera.

  It was well past midnight and the building eerily still. When the elevator doors opened into the garage, I did a quick peek around before stepping out. I went to Adam’s motorcycle, parked in its usual spot, and opened the saddlebag fully expecting to see my camera, but it was empty. Had someone stolen it? Or did Adam have it? I hadn’t remembered to ask him for it when we arrived.

  I needed to find out what was going on. Maybe, nothing. Maybe he’d taken it to his apartment when he’d left mine. Anxiety built in my stomach, a sense of dread, of something not quite right. I went out to the street to go for a walk, clear my head, but rain came down in sheets and I hailed a taxi instead. Giving him the address where I’d left my car, I lost myself in thought only to be startled when the driver announced we’d arrived.

  “Thanks,” I said. “How much do I owe you?” I realized then I hadn’t brought my purse, which contained my wallet.

  “Thirty-two dollars.”

  “Shoot. I forgot my purse.” The driver turned to me, his gaze telling me he’d heard this story before. “I may have some money in my car.” I climbed out. The driver followed, probably afraid I’d run off without paying.

  Unlocking my car, I reached into the glove compartment, grateful to find my emergency fifty-dollar bill there.

  When I climbed back out, the driver and I were not alone. There, with his arms folded across his chest, Adam, leaned against the wall, watching me, his gaze unreadable.

  “Everything okay?” the driver asked. He must have become concerned after seeing Adam there, at least after he realized I did, indeed, have the money to pay for the ride.

  “Yes, everything’s fine,” I said, handing him the bill and taking my change, my gaze locked on Adam.

  “Good night, miss,” the driver said before climbing back into his taxi and driving off, leaving Adam and I alone.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, on the one hand knowing I should be afraid of this man, but, on the other, wanting to know what lay behind the darkness I glimpsed more and more often in his eyes.

  “Your camera. I realized I’d forgotten to give it back to you, but when I went to get it out of my bike, it wasn’t there. I came to your apartment to tell you but found your door unlocked and you gone. Figured you were headed this way to get your car. This isn’t a great neighborhood for a woman to be alone in in the middle of the night, as you know from earlier.”

  He spoke so quietly, so calmly, showing me a controlled Adam. But there was another side to him. One on the edge of exploding.

  “Adam, what’s going on?” I shuddered as I asked, my eyes moist, knowing whatever he’d say, it wasn’t going to be good.

  He watched me carefully, coming away from the wall, taking a deep breath as he ran his hand over the scruff on his face. “So very much,” he said, and, without giving me a moment to react, he took hold of me and marched me toward the building. We walked around the fencing, and he unlocked the gate then pushed me through, not releasing me, not even once he’d locked it again.

  “Adam?” Alarm sent a surge of adrenaline through me. Blood pumped fast through my veins, drumming against my ears as he shifted his gaze to mine, the duality of the struggle within him terrifying. He fought his own demons. Was I one of them? One of the monsters he battled? As soon as the thought formulated, I knew it held truth in some warped form.

  “Adam?” I said again, that alarm turning to panic as I struggled against his hold.

  “Quiet,” he said through clenched teeth, turning me, walking me fast toward the entrance of the building, his fingers bruising where they held me.

  “Please! Tell me what’s going on!” I screamed, the sound drowned out by a car horn blaring. Trying to free myself was pointless, but instinct made me fight. But he was so much bigger than me, I was like a kitten in his powerful, angry hands. He held me without effort, dragging me inside, the smell of a building unfinished surrounding us as he bypassed the empty elevator shaft and led me to the concrete stairs, taking me up, up, up, catching me when I stumbled, never letting up in speed or in his grip. I followed like a ragdoll, pulling back again when we reached one of the upper floors, one from which I could see over the tops of houses, into neighborhoods I’d observed from the security of my car, into darkened windows. When he finally released me, I stepped away, rubbing my arm as he watched me intently.

  I looked around, the only light from streetlamps. Construction materials littered the floor, empty soda cans, cigarette butts, dirt. Windows hadn’t yet been added, and I shivered in the cold.

  “Why are we here?”

  There was something frightening about him tonight. Something off. His words came back to me, the thing about my father, and I shuddered. I glanced at the stairs, wondering if I should make a run for it, knowing he c
ould catch me easily if he wanted.

  “Don’t do it,” he said without moving, as if he’d read my mind.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Am I?”

  I shuddered at what I saw behind his eyes. So much darkness came and went. So much my heart wanted to touch, to soothe, to understand, to banish.

  “I lied earlier,” he said, stepping closer.

  “About what?” I couldn’t ask if it was about my father. If he’d been following me for weeks. I couldn’t risk he’d say yes.

  “The camera. I broke it. After I left your apartment, I remembered it. But I took it upstairs to look at the photographs.”

  “Oh.” Why had he lied a moment ago? “I have backups of all the photos on my laptop. It’s okay if you broke it. Accidents happ—”

  “I smashed it against the wall, Elle.”

  This, me being here, him…here, it was wrong. Bad. Violence lurked beneath the thin veil of civility he kept up. I’d felt its presence all along, hadn’t I?

  “Why?” I asked, my voice quiet.

  “Because your photos…” He stepped even closer, taking my arms in his hands, rubbing them. “I saw what you said.”

  I waited for him to continue. He was trying to say something, to warn me perhaps, or to make me afraid? Or was it a confession?

  “And it was too much.”

  I could smell liquor on his breath, but he wasn’t drunk. His arms wrapped around me, hands snaking up to the back of my head, twining into my hair, hurting a little as he drew my head backward and brought his mouth to mine. With a moan, I reached to hold him, the need coming off him paralyzing in its intensity, bringing us both to our knees within moments, the kiss coming deeper, harder.

  “I need to fuck you.” He barely pulled away to say it, his hands already tugging my coat apart, popping the first button of my blouse, the second, third. I unbuttoned his shirt as he stripped me, baring his chest, pressing the flat of my hand against the muscle there, the power, the heat.

  He’d unbuttoned my jeans and slipped his hand inside, cupping my sex, watching my face as he did before kissing me again, raw passion burning my mouth. Undoing his jeans, I gripped his cock, feeling it swell in my palm, smearing the moistness around the head.

  “Let me —”

  He knew what I wanted. With one hand at the back of my head, he pushed me down over his cock and I took it into my mouth, licking then sucking, tasting him, salty and thick in my mouth. He moaned, his grip on my hair tightening as he moved me over his cock, rising to stand, lifting me to kneel up as he did.

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  I turned my gaze upward, my mouth full of him, and he watched me while tugging my head forward, making me choke, tears wetting the corners of my eyes. He did it again, thrusting into my mouth, my throat, too much too soon. I shoved against his thighs, but he wouldn’t release me. His grip only tightened, in fact, and when he thrust again, I cried out around his cock.

  “I told you yesterday,” he said, pulling me almost all the way off before preparing to jam his cock down my throat again, while I waited, powerless, my pussy leaking, afraid of what would come, yet wanting him desperately. “I want to hurt you, Elle.” He thrust. I wept. “I’m going to hurt you. You need to get away from me before I do.”

  One more thrust, and he ground himself inside me, closing his eyes for a moment before hauling me to my feet. Yanking the blouse off my back and tearing my bra open, he reached down to suck one breast hard, biting the nipple so I cried out, the pain intensifying the pleasure. He shoved my jeans down, tearing them from me, kissing me again before lifting me up, pressing my back against a support, the uneven wall scratching skin. Gripping my ass, he pulled my cheeks apart and, while watching me, he thrust inside me hard once, twice, and when I looked away, he gripped my hair with one hand and forced my focus back on him.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked, thrusting again. “I’m going to hurt you.”

  I shuddered, my mouth opening, sucking in breath as I neared orgasm.

  “I don’t care.” I ground my clit against him, and he pulled my hair tight when I tried to close my eyes. He carried me toward a counter, set me down, turned me, bent me over it, forcing me to look at him with one hand tearing the hair from my scalp.

  “Then you’re stupid,” he said, fucking me harder, his cock thicker. “Don’t fucking look away.” I tried to shake my head no, that I wouldn’t, and he released his grip, taking hold of my ass instead, pulling me apart, watching himself fuck me. “You’re so tight, Elle. Tight and hot.”

  I reached between my legs to find my clit, arching my back to him as I did, feeling him spread my ass cheeks wider, liking it, liking him watching me, wanting me like this. “I’m going to come,” I said.

  He shifted his gaze to my eyes then, his filled with hungry, savage need. “Come.”

  As if I’d waited for the command, I came, my clit hard, my pussy throbbing around his too-big, too-thick cock. I felt him swell inside me then pull out, gripping his cock, streams of cum covering my ass and back, dripping down over my pussy and my thighs, and all I could do was watch this beautiful, frightening man as, for one moment, he stood in ecstasy, his eyes bright, shining, free.

  “WHY DO YOU KEEP saying you’re going to hurt me?”

  How did I answer that question?

  Elle tugged her jeans then her coat on. Her blouse was ruined, the buttons missing, a piece torn.

  “Adam?”

  She faced me, her eyes no longer fearful. Honestly, I felt divided over everything. I’d decided the best course of action to reach my goal was through Elle — before I saw her as a person. A human being with a mind, a heart. One who felt, who was frightened, who needed rescuing. My focus for so long had been revenge. The end goal: Manuel Vega on his knees, waiting for me to deliver the final blow. It wasn’t Elle. Not like this.

  “Are you ready to go?” I asked, ignoring her question.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered in response.

  “No, I’m not. I want answers. I want to know what this is between us, why we fuck angry, why you talk in fragments. I want to know why you rescue me one moment only to scare me the next. I want to know why you lie to me then confess the truth. What did what you saw on that camera make you feel?” She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself to say the next part. “I want to know if us running into each other, you moving in, if it wasn’t an accident or coincidence. You said something about my father. I heard it, and I saw your face when you said it. It’s the same expression you get when you tell me you’re going to hurt me, when you warn me to run away.”

  Christ. Too fucking intuitive for her own good.

  My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out, needing the diversion. I turned my back to Elle to read the text from Clay, my old boss. When I went on my first covert mission as a SEAL, he’d been there with me, he’d led us. Six of us had gone in, but only four had walked back out. On the enemy’s side, the casualties were far greater, but it still hadn’t been enough. Intel hadn’t been right on this one. The man we wanted wasn’t on the ground when we got there. He’d left his soldiers behind, knowing they would die.

  I’d been injured saving one of the others in our group. If I hadn’t taken that bullet, we would have lost at least one more life, and what I’d done had allowed Clay to do what he’d done: kill the bastards before they could kill us.

  He’d become a sort of mentor to me then. He’d known and understood my sense of failure at the mission. He’d seen the burning inside me for justice. He hadn’t known then about Alessandra. Or maybe he had but had the courtesy not to mention it. In fact, he must have known. Navy vetted us through, they knew everything about us. He’d requested I join his team permanently after that mission, and we’d gone on many since. I’d told him about Alessandra, myself, after a while. Told him Vega had been the reason I’d joined in the first place. We’d almost had him, too, but when he got off on a technicality again,
I left. I turned my back on doing things the right way because I realized good didn’t always win. It didn’t always beat out evil. Sometimes, you had to turn evil to beat it.

  “What is it, Adam?” Elle brought me back to the present, and I read the text.

  No go on evidence against Vega brothers. Witness turned up dead. I’m sorry, Adam. We won’t stop. We’ll get the bastards.

  “Damn it, Adam, don’t turn your back. I have a right to answers.”

  My heart hardened, missing a beat when her hand landed on my shoulder. I turned. She backed away instantly upon seeing the change in me.

  The bastard always slipped away. Like a snake, he slithered out just when you thought you finally had him cornered. She was the only way to punish him.

  “You want answers?” I took a step toward her.

  “You said you didn’t want to scare me.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I took her wrist and yanked her close. “I warned you to run. Now it’s too late.”

  She stared up at me, fear immobilizing her.

  “Let’s go get you some of those answers you want.” I turned, dragging a struggling Elle behind me, her cries background noise, my head too full to hear.

  Walking her back down the stairs we’d climbed, I bypassed what would one day become the lobby and went into the bowels of the building, to the only completed floor. The farther down we got, the more she struggled, but it didn’t matter. She was weak; her efforts made no difference. She would go where I took her.

  Sharp nails clawed at me by the time we reached our destination. Darkness consumed us, but I knew every inch of this particular space. Picking up a flashlight with my free hand, I switched it on and watched her eyes grow wide, saw her chest heave with short breaths when she saw the heavy steel door as she twisted to get free.

  “Stay,” I told her.

  “What?” Terror stole her voice, and I took hold of both her arms, the flashlight digging into one. Her eyes shone with collecting tears, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at me. Did mine give me away for what I was? For what I would become once we set foot beyond that door?