by Keri Lake
Ballistic
A Vigilantes Novel
Keri Lake
BALLISTIC
Keri Lake
Copyright © 2018
All Rights Reserved.
AUTHOR’S NOTE This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Cover Art © By Hang Le
Photo © Eric Battershell, Eric Battershell Photography
Model: Matthew Pappadia
Editing by Julie Belfield
This book is dedicated to you.
Thank you for sticking with me to the end of the series. These were just stories in my head, until you came along and made them an adventure.
You have to die a few times before you can really live.
Charles Bukowski
Contents
Dear Reader
Playlist
VIP Email List
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
FREE BOOK!
RICOCHET
BACKFIRE
About the Author
Other Books By Keri Lake
Dear Reader
This book marks the end of the Vigilantes series. When I first published Ricochet back in 2015, I had no idea it would blossom into these stories and characters that I’ve grown to love so much. I’m truly sad to see this one come to an end—kind of bittersweet as it’s been a fun ride the past three years. It’s not to say there won’t be some bonus scenes and maybe spinoff novellas, revisiting these couples in the future, but I won’t touch the HEA’s. These characters have gone through hell and deserve their happy endings.
Since you’ve made it this far into the series, you know my style. This story is a rollercoaster of darkness and light, with scenes of torture and abuse that some readers may find disturbing. Trigger warning for child abuse, drug abuse and attempted suicide.
Be sure to check out the playlist! Seems like each book I write has a few key artists who helped inspire many of the scenes and set the mood. My favorites for Dax and Nicoleta’s book were The Neighborhood, Arctic Monkeys and, of course, Jaymes Young’s Stoned On You.
I set out to end the series on a bang, and I hope you love this story as much as I do.
Thank you for reading my books.
Love,
Keri
Playlist
“Stoned on you”-Jaymes Young
“A Little Death”-The Neighborhood
“Straight Shooter”-Skylar Grey
“Feels Like We Only Go Backwards”-Tame Impala
“You Should See Me In A Crown”-Billie Eilish
“F**k Around (All Night)”-Pepper
“Piggy”-Nine Inch Nails
“I Saw You Close Your Eyes”-Local Natives
“Daddy Issues”-The Neighborhood
“Overdose”-grandson
“Getting Off”-Korn
“Blood In The Cut”-K. Flay
“Everybody Gets High”-MISSIO
“Love”-TeZATalks
“Deep End”-Ruelle
“The Heart Dies”-Lucy Camp
“The Perfect Drug”-Nine Inch Nails
“No. 1 Party Anthem”-Arctic Monkeys
“Underdressed”-Vérité
“Lovesick”-Banks
“Adderall”-Max Frost
“Big Bad Wolf”-In This Moment
“RU Mine”-Arctic Monkeys
“Not On Drugs”-Tove Lo
“Codeine”-Solv
“In My Head”-Peter Manos
“Mark My Words”-Mothica
Keep up with Keri Lake’s new releases, exclusive extras and more by signing up to her VIP Email List:
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Prologue
Death has a pretty unique scent.
First time you come across it, you never forget it. Although it’s not a physical thing, it tends to feel heavy on the air. Stagnant and still. Suffocating. It looms like a shadow. Watching. Waiting.
A soundless observer with no regard for time, or place.
Some see it coming. Their eyes go wide with fear, because anyone who says they’re not afraid to die is a fucking liar. Their faces turn white. Bodies feel cold all of a sudden. They shiver. A few even piss themselves.
They say sharks can detect death that way. They smell it on the water when one of their kind is slaughtered, like a chemical signature for tragedy, and just know to stay the hell away.
Others don’t see it coming, at all, though, until that cold steel barrel is pressed into the back of their heads with a steady hand.
Game over.
I stare down at Tesarik, who sits slumped over himself on the wooden floor. A pool of blood marks his own circle of death. His skin is ghost-white, eyes kinda glassy, like he’s got one foot on the other side already. He lifts his arm up into the air, and where his hand should be is nothing but a stump, through which bones have poked, the skin melted away into the mess around him.
“Perhaps now, we both regret … touching her.” The loud and obnoxious laugh that follows tells me he’s more than one step on the other side.
I’m surprised the loopy bastard even recognizes me behind that batshit expression on his face.
The steel pushing into the back of my head presses harder, as Death’s cold breath hits the nape of my neck, feeling closer than before. “Do you?” it asks.
“No,” I answer, in a voice more resolute than I’d imagine, given the circumstances. Not even my own demise can make me regret one moment with her.
The scent of death grows stronger. Sweeter. Thicker on the air.
I close my eyes, imagining her face and those soft amber eyes that’ll haunt me in my fucking grave.
I wait for the bullet’s silence.
1
Dax
Only two types of people in the world made my skin crawl: pedophiles and shitty liars. And the shady son of a bitch sitting across from me happened to be throwing off both vibes.
“Ho
w’d you find me?” I leaned back against the booth, eyes glued on the slightly older man opposite me, whose black wool overcoat swallowed his lithe frame. Too fancy not to stick out in a hellhole bar like Sharky’s, which mostly catered to locals. The thick aroma of greasy burgers and frying fish clashed with whatever the hell aftershave settled over everything like smog since he’d walked in. “Try answering truthfully this time.”
Black gloves covered his hands, ones he hadn’t bothered to remove. Maybe a germophobe. Like those sick fucks who’d eat someone’s spleen straight from the body cavity, but lose their shit after touching a wet doorknob. “I already told you, Mr. Wolfe. Mutual friend.” His voice carried a thick Slavic accent, though I didn’t have a clue which language. Could’ve been Russian.
“Bullshit.” No friend of mine would’ve said a word to the asshole, unless he beat it out of ‘em. “I may look like some swinging dick to you, but half this joint’s been peeping you out since you walked through that door. Not a single one would give you the time, let alone my favorite fucking hang out.”
He casually scanned the room, no doubt taking note of all the stares, before his gaze fell on me again. “You’d be surprised how quickly money changes the game in a city like Detroit. Couple grand, and I know more than I care to about you.”
“Wanna tell me which chatty cocksucker I need to slap?”
“Your ex, ironically.”
Christ. I hadn’t officially dated in months, but the break up with my last girlfriend could’ve qualified as a cold war. Stripper, and feisty as hell. Wasn’t exactly quiet, either, considering she’d posted my mug on some ex-bashing website called The Hall of Shame, telling everyone what an absolute bastard I was. That’d been after she’d smashed the windows out of my car and set every piece of clothing I owned on fire. She’d have, undoubtedly, jumped at the chance to sic some decrepit mafia-looking son of a bitch on my ass. “No shit.”
“I’m here because it’s come to my attention that you’re looking for a young girl who was picked up at an auction a few months ago.”
I snorted, resting my elbow on the back of the booth. “Yeah? My ex tell you that, too?”
“No. Word travels fast, as I’m sure you’re aware. And as it relates to my daughter, I’ve made a point to listen for any clues that might lead to her whereabouts.”
“You’re her father.” It wasn’t a question. It was a smack upside my head.
“I am. And I’m quite invested in bringing her back home.” He leaned in, then glanced over his shoulder, before lowering his voice. “So much so, I’m willing to finance your efforts to find her.”
“Finance my efforts.” I shook my head and sighed. I’d already been given access to a large sum of money—for an all-expenses-paid trip to steal back Nicoleta and take out as many of Tesarik’s men as I could, courtesy of a well-known hactivist in the underground scene, whose reputation put asshole’s in front of me to shame. “Look, I’m all set. ‘Sides that, how do I know you’re not some twitchy prick out to steal her for yourself?”
“You trust no one. I like that. I appreciate it, in fact. But perhaps I’m the one who should be asking what your intentions are, Mister Wolfe.” His brows winged up, and he cleared his throat. “As far as I’m aware, you’ve no other connection with my daughter, outside of having witnessed Tesarik purchase her at auction.”
“I have my reasons for finding both of them.” I had no intentions of telling him that I’d been provided information on where to find Tesarik, and by week’s end, a nearly year-long chase would come to a screeching halt.
“As do I. Nicoleta and I have not had the best relationship, as any father of a teenager will admit, but she is all I have. I’m at a bit of a handicap, though, since this isn’t my territory.” He glanced around again and rolled his shoulders back. “And as you so candidly pointed out, no one would give me the time of day here. My efforts at tracking down Tesarik, thus far, have failed miserably.”
Jutting my chin toward him, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Prove it.”
“Prove … what?”
“That you’re her father. He’s supposed to be some bigwig rival to Tesarik, right?” I waved over the owner of the bar—Stoli, we called him, after his favorite vodka. He had ties with just about every criminal in the city. The moment he strolled up next to the table, I nodded toward the stranger. “You recognize this guy, Stol’?”
“Nah. You from around here?”
Entwining his creepy gloved fingers, the stranger lifted his gaze to Stoli. “No.”
“If anyone would’ve recognized you, it’d be Stoli, here.” I kicked back the shot glass that’d been in front of me since the guy first sat his bold ass down at my booth. “You remember that girl, Nicoleta, right, Stoli? Her dad’s some big time criminal, ain’t he?”
“Yeah, never met him, but his reputation is something else. Dmitry’s his name. Supposed to have ties to the Vory, from what I hear, and they run in packs, last I checked.”
The man entwined his fingers and sat forward. “I prove to you what I am, and we’ll stop wasting time here?”
“Sure.”
“Very well.” He lifted his arm and snapped his fingers.
Previously concealed in the crowd, two men emerged from the corners of the bar, each wearing suits. Big guys, about my height, but who looked like they lifted more cheeseburgers than weights.
“We do tend to run in packs, as you say, but in the matter of my daughter, I don’t wish to draw attention.”
“Well, ain’t that a kick in the nuts.” Stoli patted my shoulder, then pointed at the stranger. “No trouble here. I don’t care who you are, how many assholes you brought with you, or where you come from. Dax is family, and we take care of family.”
“I’m not here to cause trouble. I want my daughter back. That’s all.”
“What are you asking from me? Seems like you’ve got the men and the finances to find her yourself.” Any asshole could grab two goons off the street, so I still wasn’t convinced the guy was some infamous criminal based on that alone.
“I can get people to talk. But it’s messy, and it involves a lot of casualties I don’t think you want in your backyard.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a crisp white card containing only an embossed phone number, which he tossed it onto the table as he rose up from his seat. “Should you find her, I’ll ask that you contact me so I can have her properly placed out of harm’s way.”
Locking my gaze on the guy, I hiked an elbow onto the back of the booth. “Doesn’t seem like you did a very good job of that the first time.”
“Perhaps you’re right. But I didn’t get where I am based on repeating my mistakes.” His leather clad fingertips tapped the card still sitting on the table.
“And if I don’t bother to call you?”
“Then, you become my enemy in a game of let’s see how many people you actually care about. Considering I found your ex with ease, I don’t imagine you want to explore how quickly I could track down others close to you.”
Having grown up on the streets most of my life, I didn’t have many I cared about, but the few I did would be shipped off to Siberia before I’d let the prick lay so much as a finger on them. “That would be unfortunate. For you.”
“I appreciate your tenacity. I’m sure your loved ones would appreciate it, as well.” He turned as if to leave, but spun back around to face me. “There’s one more thing, Mister Wolfe. If, and when, you find him, I want Tesarik brought to me. Alive.”
I shook my head. No way I’d hand Tesarik over on a silver platter after months of tracking him down for myself. “Can’t guarantee that. Accidents sometimes happen.”
“Indeed. They do.”
2
Nicoleta
I got lost.
How deep into the void could one escape? Before the mind splintered and the spirit withered into desolation. The depth at which no one could pull us out, and we’d begin to crack under all that pressure and isolation
.
Sub-surface level? Or, perhaps, down to the very bottom, where the light would never reach.
I’d never understood how, or why, some people robbed others of such invisible things, as mind and spirit, like reapers gathering a morbid collection of someone’s happiness. Leaving behind empty husks too broken to fix.
In some ways, I considered myself lucky, because unlike some girls, who started out delicate and soft, I’d been forged in poverty, with sharp wit and stony flesh that cut before I could be touched by anyone. Because the world had taken from me so many times, my body had no choice but to strengthen its guard. It refused to let one more hand reach in and scrape what little remained, to take the last bits of what made me delicate and soft.
Even so, I couldn’t help but ponder the moment when I’d finally have had enough, when the empty shell that housed nothing but cold and stagnant memories would finally crack in half, letting them poke their greedy fingers into all my most vulnerable places.
