Hell Hath No Fury

by RC Boldt

  Perhaps I wore him down with my relentless appearance at his door day and night. Or maybe it was when I helped him repair his fence or tended to his garden. My steadfast refusal to take no for an answer eventually did the trick.

  On the last day—the day he released me from my training, telling me I was ready—was when he confessed what changed his mind.

  His heavily accented voice was slow and steady, and not because English wasn’t his primary language. It was because Kru Namsaknoi did everything with precision. Every single move was well-planned and carried out with intent.

  “Your eyes changed my mind.”

  We’d been eating dinner together after my final training, and I turned to him in surprise. Normally, he was silent during mealtime. He was a man of few words, but I respected it. I respected him. He’d become like another father to me.

  His dark gaze bore into mine as if he was peering into the depths of my soul. “Your eyes told me you needed me. That you needed to undo the damage deep within and allow yourself to heal what was broken. And you could not carry out this task without my help.”

  My throat suddenly grew tight, and I resisted the urge to shift in discomfort.

  That was one of my lessons. Never allow your emotions to become visible. You must appear like a blank slate.

  “Your time is done with me.” He rose from where we were seated. “I will see that you find your way to your next instructor.” He’d handed me the thick bundle of cash I’d initially given him as payment, and I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “But that’s my payment to you. For all your time. For teaching me.” I didn’t move my arms from my sides to accept the money.

  “I do not accept payment. And do not leave that for me when you go.” He’d dropped the money in my lap and turned away.

  Of course, I had left him with payment. My stubbornness demanded it. Technically, I’d heeded his demand and didn’t leave him the entire bundle of money.

  I’d left him all but one small bill I’d removed.

  In the morning, when I was preparing to leave, I know I caught him off guard when I hugged him tightly. He’d remained still, body stiff, with an impassive expression on his face, but his eyes gave him away. I’d come to know this man in the years I trained with him.

  He’d be alone again, back to tending his expansive garden and fishing off the shore. Practicing his training alone because that was how he preferred it.

  But he’d miss me. Just as I’d miss him.

  That was the end of my nearly four years of Muay Thai training where I also perfected my archery skills. Kru sent me to the city of Rishon LeTsiyon in Israel where, for the next few years, his close friend became my Krav Maga and weapons instructor.

  I never anticipated my saving grace would come in the form of two unlikely men in completely different parts of the world. But in both Thailand and Israel, I discovered I was made of tougher stuff. The training I underwent fueled my rage, my pain, and my mission.

  It enabled me to be reborn. When Caitlin Ashford ceased to exist.

  Each day, I grew stronger, learned more, and mastered skills I never imagined possible. But I wasn’t training for a little sparring match on cushy mats in some gym. I was training to go back to the world I left and rain down vengeance.

  In the years since I left the only home I’d ever known, I’d perfected my marksmanship and archery skills and learned hand-to-hand combat. But the knowledge—or lessons, if you will—that would truly come in handy were the ones I never would’ve expected.

  YouTube videos instructing viewers on makeup applications, in utilizing liquid latex to disguise imperfections, create ones, or assist in prosthetic applications, as well as the ins and outs of wearing wigs.

  I dug into the dark web, researching everything I needed to know about the Dixie Mafia while observing chatter regarding contract killings and such. It’s how I’d initially learned about The Hunter, but he had no dealings with the Dixie Mafia from what I could tell.

  Once I’d devised a plan for my return, with my new forged passports in tow, I’d boarded a flight back to the U.S., secured a place to stay, and began to stockpile my weapons, doing surveillance and determining who I would take out first.

  It’d taken me nearly seven years, but I was finally ready.

  45

  Hunter

  Voice barely above a whisper, Kate’s eyes lift, locking with mine. “After that first kill, I knew I wasn’t Caitlin Ashford anymore. I don’t think it’s possible for me to ever go back to being her.”

  A shadow passes over her features, and her gaze shifts, unseeing. “Before that night, I’d never broken any laws. I certainly never considered I’d ever be someone who ran from the police.” Voice growing fainter, she adds softly, “Never thought I’d end up like this.”

  Torment laces her features. “I knew I needed to put as much distance between me and this place, but I had no idea what I was in for.”

  I can’t help but stare at her in awe because she’s made herself into some sort of warrior princess, slaying human filth. With a goddamn bow and arrows, no less. Without realizing it, I find myself murmuring, “You’re fierce. Like Katniss.”

  Her surprised gaze centers on me. “Like in The Hunger Games?”

  I nod. “Yeah.” An unfamiliar tug of amusement has my lips curving. “She was a badass with archery, too.”

  Our stories share an undeniable similarity in the paths we chose.

  But one thing still lingers in the back of my mind, and I have to admit that I’d never have voiced it before I met her. I could never afford to have my emotions seep past my defenses. I’m compelled to ask her, even knowing what the seemingly simple question will reveal about me.

  “What really made you come looking for me that night?”

  Kate averts her gaze, staring down at where she clutches the comforter, mouth pinching tight before answering. “I wanted to see if…” A tiny sigh falls from her lips. “If you still made me feel the same way.”

  After a brief pause, I ask, “What way?”

  Her top teeth sink into her bottom lip as she visibly wrestles with how to respond. My hands clench instinctively against the urge to reach out and ease her lip away from her teeth’s hold.

  “Made me feel like I was wanted.”

  Gently prying her fingers open where she grips the comforter, I lace them with mine. The contact sends keen awareness hurtling through me and settles the part of me that’s continuously in turmoil.

  Kate’s eyes fill with turmoil, and it guts me when her voice cracks. “Even though I’d considered divorce, even though I wasn’t in love with him anymore, a small part of me wonders if I’ve betrayed Deacon somehow.” Her eyes pinch closed before she finishes in a whisper, “By wanting you. By being with you.”

  “You haven’t betrayed anyone. You didn’t set out for it to happen and neither did I.” I will her to look at me, and when her eyes meet mine, the bleak confusion in her expression urges every molecule in my body to wrap her in my arms. A deep, driving need I can’t explain has me speaking before I realize it.

  “You’re the first woman I’ve let my guard down with in years.” An edge of my lips tilts up. “And, yeah, my guard wasn’t completely down, but I still—”

  “Opened up to me,” she finishes softly. “Like I did with you.”

  Turning my attention to the hand I’m holding, I watch my thumb stroke along her delicate skin. “We both want to take down the Dixie Mafia. Our reasons may differ, but our endgame is the same.” Her fingers tighten their hold on mine, and my eyes lift to hers. “We can do this together.”

  She studies me in the quiet house, Kujo’s subtle snoring as he lies curled up on the bed the only sound in the room. “I won’t agree to anything before I have some answers of my own.”

  “What answers are you looking for?”

  “Who are you, really?” Her gaze flits over my features. “And what made you choose this life?” She tightens her hold on my hand, express
ion one of yearning. “You know all about me, but I don’t know much of anything about you.”

  “You already know who I am. That I’m called The Hunter. But what led me to this…” Gently, I graze my thumb along her hand, vulnerability attempting to edge its way in as I confess, “I used to be Andrew McNair.”

  My tone becomes detached, as though I’m narrating someone else’s story and not my own. “I grew up with a trust fund but never touched it growing up or even through my schooling—never wanted anything to do with it, with that kind of life.

  “I knew I wanted to work for the FBI from the start. It’d always been my goal.” I pause. “And with a family that was never close-knit by any stretch of the imagination”—the edges of my mouth uptick—“when I joined the bureau, I cemented my spot as the black sheep.

  “Once I became an agent, I got assigned to the organized crime division and tasked with investigating rumors surrounding the Dixie Mafia. Word had gotten around that they were aiming to spread their operations into South Carolina and settle there since they were under too much heat in the other locations they maintained.

  “Around that time, I met Kayla and…she was everything I could’ve asked for. Understanding about my schedule and how passionate I was about my work. I asked her to marry me, and about six months later, she found out she was pregnant.”

  I reach back to grip the tight muscles in the back of my neck. “I found out later she’d been planted in my life by the Dixie Mafia.”

  Kate’s lips part in horror, eyes widening. But I press on, averting my gaze to stare sightlessly at the wall. “An informant agreed to come forward. She was one of the maids who worked in the Boyd home—the Dixie Mafia leader—in Charleston.

  “Hayden Carter was her name. She’d been meeting with me, offering as much information as she could without putting herself in too much jeopardy. She was scared for her life, and it was understandable, considering the situation she was in.

  “One night, I got a call from Hayden and she’d sounded terrified. Said she found something big but was too afraid to talk on the phone. She asked me to come meet her right away at a warehouse down by the waterfront, but to come alone.”

  Disgust rushes through my veins at the memory. “Her voice even wavered as though she’d been on the verge of breaking down.” I shake my head. “I had that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I’d ignored it because no way in hell did I want to endanger an informant by leaving them hanging. Especially if they had crucial information.”

  Kate’s fingers tighten their grip on mine as if she senses the turmoil inside me.

  “When I got there, I was completely caught off guard by her appearance. Hayden had always been painfully shy, hair pulled back in a tight bun, and wore plain, cheap clothing. Instead, her hair looked like she’d come from a salon. Growing up with a mother who loved high-end fashion, I recognized her pantsuit to be an expensive designer one.

  “She had my fiancée cuffed to a chair and a gun pressed against her head. I may have been a newbie and never been in that kind of situation, but I don’t regret giving up my weapons. I’d have taken a bullet for Kayla all over again, even knowing what I do.”

  Frowning, I continue. “I wasn’t trained like I am now. I was so goddamn naïve and idealistic, thinking I could change the fucking world, just like that.” I snap my fingers before falling silent. “She double-crossed me. Somehow, Boyd managed to hide the fact that he had a daughter. All our intel indicated was that he had a son. One son. That’s it.

  “So, I’m there, completely at a loss and trying to keep my cool when Hayden tells me I should’ve stopped snooping around. That Kayla was supposed to distract me from my job and failed. She was supposed to get me on board with them.

  “Hayden shot me in the stomach and then gave me such a goddamn evil smile that I knew. I just knew what she would do next. So did Kayla because the last thing she called out was I’m sorry! I love you!

  “Hayden pulled the trigger a second later.” I wince at the memory of Kayla’s body slumping in that chair. “Then she put a bullet in Kayla’s stomach, as if the one in her head wasn’t enough.” I clench and unclench my jaw. “She’d been three months pregnant.”

  Kate’s voice is filled with sorrow. “Oh, Hunter.”

  “‘That’s what you get for fucking with us,’ she’d said. I remember not understanding and she just laughed. Then she told me, ‘That’s right. Us. The Dixie Mafia you’re so intent on taking down.’ She traded the gun for a thin metal pipe and nailed me so hard across the jaw with it that I nearly passed out from the pain from both that and the bullet wound.

  “‘How does it feel?’ she asked, hitting me so many times I lost count. ‘Trying to be a hero? But now, everyone will believe you murdered your fiancée and unborn child. That you couldn’t handle it, so you killed yourself in the end.’

  “She was pissy about her father deciding to hand the reins over to her brother. Guess he didn’t trust his princess to lead the crime organization like he wanted. So, she planned to use me to prove herself with her father.

  “She thought she could get me on board, that I’d invest in their operations, and she could use my last name as leverage.” I pause, mulling over how conflicted I’d felt back then. “I’d been wrestling with a gut feeling about her. None of my colleagues or my boss listened, but something felt off, and I was about to go digging a little deeper when I got her call.”

  “And she knew she was out of time. That she couldn’t fool you anymore,” Kate interjects.

  “Yeah. She couldn’t have her father knowing about this failure of hers, so she needed me out of the picture.” With a sigh, I scrub a hand down my face, weariness settling in at reliving this. “Finally, she tossed aside the pipe and shot me again in the shoulder.

  “I’d been practically choking on my own blood at this point, so when she told me she’d wired the place with explosives and planned to detonate them once she was gone, I wasn’t sure I had the will to try to get out of there.”

  My eyes lose focus as I recall the fear and helplessness. The agonizing pain. “She left me there to die. Shot and bleeding, beaten to hell and back after watching her murder my fiancée.”

  I mash my lips together against the ache of emotion leeching in. “Lucky for me, she wasn’t as skilled in dealing with explosives as her father and his crew. I don’t know how I did it, but somehow, I managed to use my legs to push myself to the door and over the threshold just as one of the detonators went off.

  “Thankfully, that first one didn’t trigger correctly, and I’d crawled as far away from the warehouse as I could, still cuffed to the folding metal chair.

  “A lot of it’s hazy, but I was able to get my cell. Pretty surprised it still worked since I’d bled all over it, but I called my buddy Warren, who worked at the bureau with me. He’d been the only one who hadn’t thought I was crazy when I said I was getting a weird vibe about her. He told me I should look into it some more.”

  She stares at me in surprise. “Detective Warren?”

  “Yeah. If it hadn’t been for him hauling ass and getting to me when he did, I’d have died. He’d already gotten a call on his way, alerting him to be on the lookout. Evidently, the bureau had been tipped off that I’d lost my shit, apparently unable to handle the stress from my job, and I’d killed Kayla before offing myself. They didn’t have a location just yet, though.”

  In an attempt to stifle my rising emotions, I clear my throat. “I knew it looked bad. That I looked guilty as hell, but I swore to him I didn’t do it. Told him as much as I could about what happened and who Hayden really was.

  “Since a few of my teeth were knocked out when she’d beaten me with that pipe, Warren figured it might be enough evidence to have it look like I died. He somehow managed to drag me to his truck and helped me get into his truck bed so I wouldn’t leave blood stains on his seats. He got us away from that place before the last few explosives detonated, and we were damn lucky since those rocked t
hat place.

  “Warren cashed in a huge favor some guy owed him. An old informant who’d been one of the on-call docs for some mafia bigshots. He did emergency surgery and patched me up.” I press a hand over the old wound on my stomach, long since healed.

  “Warren helped me get out of the area and transfer my trust fund where it couldn’t be easily traced. Then I used that money to take on a new identity. Had cosmetic surgery done to make a few changes so I wouldn’t be as easily recognizable and started wearing dark-colored contacts.”

  I mash my lips thin at the memory. “That’s how Andrew McNair died and was dishonorably removed from the FBI.” My jaw tics and fury floods my veins. “They framed me for the murder of my fiancée and unborn child, and no one vouched for me. Except for Warren, and in the blink of an eye, the bureau cited some bullshit about budgetary cuts and booted him out of there.

  “I kept loose tabs on Warren, and when I saw that he’d been putting in for some jobs at various police precincts, I did a little”—a humorless smile tugs at the corners of my lips—“housekeeping, if you will.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “You tweaked something on his application at the precincts he submitted it to?”

  “No. I tweaked some of the other applications. Made them appear like less desirable potential hires compared to him.” I shrug. “It was the least I could do.”

  I trace my thumb along the thick fabric of the comforter covering her feet. “Once I was healed, I was hell-bent on coming back to prove my innocence. But when I saw the people I worked for—and with—give up their integrity and morals because of greed and turn a blind eye to everything the Dixie Mafia did, I changed my plans.

  “I knew in order to beat them at their own game, I had to become one of them. To become someone feared amongst even the most terrifying monsters out there. I knew it would eventually lead me to them once I had enough of a resumé.

  “So, I’ve been taking contracts, eliminating some of the scum of this world on behalf of some good guys, some questionable, and some really fucking bad ones. But every step has led me closer to them. Every successful kill connected me with more people knowledgeable about the Dixie Mafia.