Retribution
Sloane Kennedy
Retribution is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Sloane Kennedy
Published in the United States by Sloane Kennedy
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Images: ©Honored_member, © Eskymaks
Cover Design: © Jay Aheer, Simply Defined Art
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Epilogue
Connect with Sloane Kennedy
Other books by Sloane Kennedy
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Iron Man
Captain America
Avengers
Spiderman
Cheerios
Ritz Carlton
The Hulk
Hawkeye
X-Men
Harley Davidson
Acknowledgements
Rita, thank you again for another great beta read! I am not sure what I would do without you. I’m glad Logan and Dom are still your favorites, but you have a lot of my guys running a close second! That means I must be doing something right.
Kylee and Claudia, thank you for being my soul sisters and for everything that position entails! It isn’t an easy job, I know. But you guys are the best at it and I’m still wondering what I did to get so lucky to stumble across you two.
Claudia, an extra special thank you for your contribution to this book – you know exactly which one I am talking about. Your beautiful words were absolutely perfect and I’m humbled that you let me borrow them.
I know I need to keep living
while I wait for you to come home
But I don't know how to tell my heart to stop hurting
since you're the reason it keeps beating on
My days are empty, my eyes full of tears
but the sound of your voice
and the promise of your smile
make it all disappear
You're the other half of my soul
the light that shows me the way
You're my yesterday and my tomorrow
The Angel that keeps me safe
--Claudia Polydoro
retribution
noun ret·ri·bu·tion ˌre-trə-ˈbyü-shən
Punishment inflicted on someone as vengeance
for a wrong or criminal act.
Prologue
Hawke
Excitement flooded all my nerve endings as I worked to pick the lock in front of me, but that wasn’t a good thing. I needed the familiar numbness back. I needed to not feel anything at all.
Excitement in my line of work accomplished one of two things. It either left you open to making a mistake that could end up getting you killed, or it meant you were so far gone that you’d become as soulless as the men you’d been sent to rid the earth of. In my case, it was still the former, but I often wondered if there would be a point where I’d actually look forward to taking a man’s life. Where I thought less about the life or lives I was saving in the long run and more about the satisfaction of finally having some of the power back that I’d lost so long ago…that had been stolen from me when they’d stolen her.
But unlike the countless lives I’d taken in the last decade for both the army and for the underground organization I now worked for, this kill would be about pleasure. I was going to enjoy watching the man’s frantic eyes pleading with me as he desperately promised to give me what I wanted. And I’d let him believe up until the very end that he had a chance of walking away without a bullet in his brain.
He wouldn’t. Nor would his partner. They would die the same way she had died. Slowly and painfully. And they would suffer the way she’d suffered. They’d beg the way she’d begged. And I’d finally be able to keep the promise that I’d whispered in her ear as her heartbeat had slowed, the pauses between beeps on the heart monitor she’d been hooked to growing longer and longer.
I’ll find them. I’ll end them and then we’ll be together again.
A sigh of relief went through me when I heard and felt the lock disengage. But as I reached for the knob, I heard the elevator open behind me and I yanked my tools out of the lock and hurried to the stairwell door that was just around the corner from the apartment I’d been about to enter. I didn’t hear voices, but I could tell that there were at least two people heading in my general direction. And when I saw two men stop right in front of the door I’d been about to open, I felt a rush of energy surge through me. I’d hoped and prayed I’d find both of my wife’s murderers at the same time, but it had been just that…hope. But my hopes were dashed when I realized one of the men wasn’t old enough.
“Um, thanks for the ride,” I heard the one guy say. His back was to me so all I saw was an average build and a head of thick, brown hair that had a little bit of curl to it. He was wearing a beat up leather jacket and a loose pair of jeans.
“My pleasure,” the man with him murmured. He was about the same age as the first guy who I guessed to be in his mid-twenties. But whereas the other guy looked very blue collar, the guy with him was white collar all the way. His suit looked custom made for his tall, muscular body and I had no doubt the thick watch on his wrist cost more than my car.
Even from where I stood, I could tell by the first guy’s body language that he was uncomfortable. But if the second guy noticed, he didn’t care because he pressed against the first guy until the man had nowhere left to go, since the door was at his back.
“I should get going,” the first guy said. “I’ve got an early morning.” Suit guy ignored the clear signals the other guy was sending and leaned down to kiss him. The brown haired guy turned his head away, but that didn’t stop suit guy from kissing the man’s exposed neck. I couldn’t say why the whole thing bothered me, but I didn’t dwell on it. Brown haired guy deserved whatever he got because he was clearly the one who lived in the apartment…he was the man I was interested in, but for a whole other reason.
“I could use you again tomorrow night,” suit guy said as he took a whiff of the other guy.
“Yeah, sure,” brown haired guy said, but he didn’t move at all. He clearly wasn’t enjoying the other man’s attentions, but seemed reluctant to stand up to him.
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Suit guy placed a kiss on the other man’s cheek and then pushed back and strode away. I heard the elevator ding but my target didn’t
move right away. At some point, he’d closed his eyes and leaned his dejected frame against the door. He looked…done.
Rage went through me at the momentary pang of pity and that had me striding out of the stairwell as the guy turned to go into his apartment. I reached the door just as he was closing it. His startled eyes lifted to mine just before I used my booted foot to kick the door open, knocking him on his ass. I pulled my gun from my waistband as I strode into the apartment and slammed the door behind me.
“Please-” the man whispered, but his words dropped off when I pointed my gun at him.
“Where is he?” I snarled.
The man put both his hands up. “Wh…Who?” he stammered.
I leaned down and grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back until he cried out in pain. “Don’t fuck with me,” I ground out.
“Please…please,” he bit out as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
I released my hold on him and pressed my gun against his forehead. He let out a choked sob, but I didn’t care. I wanted so badly just to pull the trigger. But I couldn’t. Because I didn’t want to spend another day knowing that even one of the two men who’d raped my wife and left her for dead was still breathing.
“You want to play it that way?” I asked calmly as I finally felt the familiar emptiness creep back into my veins.
I hauled the man up so that he was on his knees and then pressed the gun back against his head. “If the next words out of your mouth aren’t his location” – I removed the gun from his head and pressed it against his groin – “this is where the first bullet goes.”
The man was crying silent tears, but he didn’t say anything. He was shaking uncontrollably, but despite his fear, he remained quiet and I noticed that even though he was crying, his eyes looked blank, like he was somewhere else. I ground my jaw in frustration and began searching for anything I could use as a gag. I didn’t have a silencer, but I could come up with creative ways to make the guy talk that didn’t require a gun.
Before I could decide what to do next, I heard a knock on the door behind me.
I slammed my hand down over the man’s mouth and yanked him to his feet. The move seemed to finally snap him out of his daze. “One word…” I warned quietly as I jammed the gun against his temple.
“Mr. Travers,” came a woman’s voice on the other side of the door. She began knocking harder. “Mr. Travers, I know you’re in there. I saw you pull up out front a few minutes ago!” she shouted in irritation.
The man was frozen in place so I shoved him towards the door. I moved to the other side of the door jamb so that the person on the other side wouldn’t see me when he opened it. But I kept my gun pointed at his head.
“Answer it,” I ordered.
He shook his head violently.
“Do it!” I snapped.
“No!” he said in a harsh whisper.
The woman continued knocking. “Mr. Travers, we agreed to nine o’clock, no exceptions!”
“Answer it or I’ll kill her,” I threatened. “Get rid of her or you both die.”
The man finally reached for the door and opened it a crack. “Ms. Parks, I’m sorry-”
I nearly pulled the trigger when the door suddenly opened wider, but it wasn’t the woman who entered. A little boy no more than five or six years old squeezed through the narrow crack in the door. My instincts kicked in and I grabbed him and dragged him to me, covering his mouth with my hand before he could scream. The man at the door gasped, but the woman he was talking to didn’t seem to notice that his attention was no longer on her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Travers. We had a deal. You want me to watch him longer, you have to pay me for longer!”
I heard footsteps hurry off, but the man staring at me in horror didn’t move or even shut the door. “Please don’t,” he whispered as his eyes fell on the kid who was squirming in my grasp. And that was when I knew I had him.
I kicked the door shut and stepped forward. The man automatically stepped back.
“Where is he?”
“I swear to God, I don’t know who you’re talking about!”
“Your father!” I shouted.
The man was so caught off guard that he lowered his hands. “My…my father?” he stuttered.
The kid was furiously trying to escape me and it was a struggle to maintain my hold on him without hurting him. I also didn’t know what the fuck to do with him – he hadn’t been part of my plan. I hadn’t even once considered the possibility that the younger of my wife’s murderers might be a father. And no way in hell was I hurting a kid…I’d use him to get what I wanted, but I wasn’t so far gone in my hatred that I’d actually follow through with my threats.
“I…I haven’t seen my father in years,” the guy said desperately. His eyes shifted back to the little boy. “It’s okay, Matty. Daddy’s here. Just be real quiet for a few minutes, okay,” he said gently, his voice surprisingly even.
The boy quieted in my hold.
“No loyalty among murderers, huh?” I said.
“Murder?” the man whispered.
My fury was so intense that I released my grip on the boy and he ran to his father. “Get him here now!” I ordered.
“Jesus,” the man cried as he grabbed his son and put him behind him. “You’re looking for Denny!” he said.
“What?”
“I’m Tate. You’re looking for my father and Denny, my brother.”
Chapter One
Hawke
“You’re lying,” I snapped even though in my gut, I knew he wasn’t. I couldn’t explain how I knew, I just did. And I’d learned long ago to trust my instincts, even when my head was telling me not to. But I kept my gun pointed at the man – Tate – because I also knew he was my only link to the men I was looking for.
“I swear, I’m not,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Daddy,” the little boy whispered with a tug on his father’s shirt.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Tate murmured as he reached behind himself to put his hand on his son’s shoulder. But his eyes never left mine. “Please,” he begged.
But I didn’t just hear his plea. I heard hers too. How many times had the same word fallen from her frightened lips as she was being brutalized? And it just hadn’t been her life she’d been begging for…
“Sir…”
I hadn’t realized I’d dropped my eyes to the little boy until Tate’s shaky voice got my attention. I knew without question that the kid was the linchpin…even a subtle threat against him would get me what I wanted.
“What’s your name?” I asked the terrified little boy.
“Sir-” Tate said again, but a hard glance in his direction had him falling silent.
“Matthew,” the kid said, his voice soft and uneven. “But Daddy calls me Matty.”
Matty had stuck his head around his father’s body to answer me, but even before he finished his last statement, Tate was gently pushing the kid back behind him.
“Please sir, I’m begging you…”
I finally lowered the gun and settled my eyes on Tate. “Where are they?”
A slight shudder went through Tate’s body. “I…can I put Matty to bed? It’s…it’s really late.”
I studied the younger man for a long moment. I was pretty sure I was right about him being in his mid-twenties and though he wasn’t quite as tall as me, he appeared more muscular than I’d first guessed. His brown hair was just a little too long and I found a sudden and very disturbing urge to push back a few of the strands that kept falling over his forehead. I shoved the errant thought away and took in the rest of him. He had a rangy look to him but more than anything, I noticed the strain that made him appear to have lived every single one of his young years and then some. His body said he was in his twenties but his eyes said he was much older…that he’d seen much more than most.
“Give me your phone,” I said.
“I…I don’t have one.”
He must have seen the
irritation in my face because his eyes fell to my gun and he said, “I’m telling you the truth. I had one of those disposable ones where you buy the minutes, but I couldn’t afford to reload it so they turned it off a couple days ago.” Tate swallowed hard when I rubbed my finger over the trigger on the gun. It was a habit on my part more than anything else, but I didn’t mind if he thought the move meant something else.
“The phone is in that drawer,” he said as he pointed to a small single drawer table by the door. I kept my eyes on him as I checked the drawer and pulled out an older model flip phone. I had to turn it on and sure enough, when I tried to dial, I got a message saying the phone had been deactivated.
“What about a landline?” I asked.
Tate shook his head, but didn’t say anything. I wondered how the hell someone managed to go this day and age without any kind of phone, but didn’t give voice to my thought. I tossed the cell phone back in the drawer and went back to stand in front of Tate and his son who was peeking around his father’s leg to watch me with curiosity.
“Where’s his room?” I asked.
“Back there,” Tate said, motioning behind him with his head.
I nodded and Tate quickly turned around and picked his son up. He stripped the backpack the kid had been wearing off and dropped it to the floor and then cast me several glances over his shoulder as he went to a small room on one side of the cramped apartment…although apartment was a generous term for the confined space. From what I could tell, the kid’s room was the only actual room besides the bathroom. The rest of the space was open and there was a tiny kitchen with a small table jammed against the dingy window. The living room had one couch which was covered with a sheet and on one end was a single pillow and a folded blanket. There was a small, old fashioned TV on a TV dinner tray table in the corner.
As shitty as the apartment was, the kid’s room was a whole other story. It was painted bright blue and there were all sorts of posters covering the walls, most of them depicting some kind of superhero. There was a laundry basket full of toys in the corner and the bed had several stuffed animals sitting on top of the Iron Man comforter. Next to the bed was an old milk crate stacked high with books.
Retribution (The Protectors, Book 3) Page 1
