The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  Hope, you delusional cunt.

  I should’ve been broken after all those years. Torn open on the inside, thinking of ways to get him to love me, because men as powerful as Michael Culling offered two options when it came to relationships: submit entirely or die—neither of which held any more appeal than the other. He’d told me a number of times, the only path out of his heart lay along the edge of a blade.

  The game was what kept the sadistic bastard going, though. The cat and mouse and the uncertainty that he’d conquered me.

  “If that’s what you want, Michael,” I said.

  I should’ve felt stuck. Helpless. As beaten as the bruises that marred my body. I’d known freedom once, and every day since I gave my vows, I’d fought for it, would do anything to have it once again—even pretend I could take his dick in my mouth without the urge to gag, or smile in front of the camera and act like I didn’t dream of blowing his head clean off his shoulders.

  Cage a bird born in captivity, and it’d happily die with clipped wings.

  Cage a bird that once felt the wind through its feathers and the world beneath its feet, and you’d find that insane glint of hope in its eyes that enticed it to escape every time the door swung open. Even if it could no longer fly, it’d never stop vying for its freedom, and neither would I.

  It was such stubborn hope that kept me alive.

  Michael’s head cut to the left, and he nabbed a pen from his desk. “Did I show you my new pen?” The black and gold object spun between his manicured fingers. Odd thing, the psychopath, how he could so easily weave something totally benign into an otherwise perfectly dysfunctional interaction. “Best pen in the world, if you ask me. A Montblanc Meisterstruck. The craftsmanship is … remarkable. Here, hold it.” He offered the pen, holding it out toward me, as if I had any other choice but to receive it. “You won’t believe how it feels in your hand.”

  Every instinct told me no. That was the cruelty of Michael. Whether I accepted the pen, or declined it, the end result would be the same.

  Pain.

  However, my father also once told me that to instill fear was power, so I lifted my hand, holding my steady palm out to him.

  “I have to say, the design is sleek for such an obnoxious price. But what I love most is …” His fingers curled around mine, tightening his grip, and my muscles tensed in alarm.

  As he hammered the tip of the pen toward my palm as if to stab it, but stopped short, even I was surprised when I didn’t flinch.

  For a moment, his jaw fell slack, before sliding into a wide grin. “You see?” He licked his lips and set the pen aside. “It’s like we’re … soul mates.” He released my hand and clutched my chin, peering deep into my eyes. “If you ever try to leave me, Aubree …” His words hushed to a whisper. “I will hunt you down and stab you a thousand times with that pen, until you bleed out of every hole I’ve punched in your body. And when you’re on the brink of death, I’ll dump you in some cold and abandoned shithole, where you’ll drown in your own blood before the rats can eat you to bone.” Like a lunatic, his mask flipped back to cordial, eyebrows winged up in a smile. “Understand?”

  He could have any woman he wanted. It just so happened, I’d have left in a heartbeat if I could’ve, which made him want to keep me. Not because of love. The asshole didn’t know a damn thing about love. It was control. The more I longed for escape, the happier he was to keep me chained.

  With my tongue caught between my back teeth, I swallowed the salty blood and nodded.

  “Good girl.” He hooked a finger beneath my chin, lifting my gaze to his, and brushed his thumb along my jaw. “Now, suck my dick.” Shoving his tight briefs down to his thighs sprung forth his pathetic cock—flaccid, as usual.

  Opening my mouth, I leaned forward and damn near puked at the sensation of his flimsy organ passing my lips—like one of those gel-filled snake toys. Disgusting. Taking his weak shaft in hand, I cupped his balls.

  He jerked, releasing a small gasp, while I took some pleasure in the discomfort of my ice-cold hands on his skin.

  A whack to the back of my head had my nose slamming into his groin and the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat. The gag reflex set in, and I tried to hold it back. I’d once made the mistake of throwing up on him, a meal he attempted to force me to consume twice, until he’d walked away with a nice fat split to his lip, and I a broken rib.

  “Next time, blow on your fucking hands before you touch me.”

  Wrenching my head away from him, he stepped out of his pants, grabbed a drink and his cell phone, then sprawled himself out on the leather couch at the opposite side of the room. He jerked his head for me to follow, and I did. Hell, if I could justify a good enough reason, but I did. While scrolling through his phone, he casually took a sip of his scotch. “Get me off. And be sure to lick every drop of cum.”

  I took a seat in the small space he’d given me between his splayed legs and lowered my face to his groin, acid gurgling in my stomach as I clamped my lips around his shaft.

  “Bet you’d do anything for a gun, wouldn’t you?” He exhaled a hiccup of laughter. “Pretend my dick’s a pistol and blow me away.” The wet gulp, as he sipped his drink while stroking me, grated on my spine. “Ah, good girl. You’re such a good girl.” Fingers threaded through the back of my head, gripping tight to my crown, and he pushed with each bob.

  For years, I’d dreamed of biting down and tearing the flesh clean off of him. Fantasized the spray of blood in my face and the victory of watching his features twist in pain.

  Doing so would mean death, slow and painful, but I knew the opportunity would come. I held out for it every day. Patience, I reminded myself, as his fingers dug into my skull.

  “I didn’t tell you …” A quiver to his voice reminded me of a high school kid getting his first blowjob. “You were lovely today. Daddy’s good kitten. If you play nice tonight, I’ll reward you.”

  Michael’s phone rang over the sounds of his grunts and moans. He ignored it, slamming his hips upward as he fucked my throat.

  It rang again.

  “Motherfucking cocksucker!” He lifted his cell to his ear. “How can I help you, Chief Cox?” After a minute’s pause, his body planked beneath me, rigid as stone, while he tucked the phone against his shoulder and patted the floor.

  Chattering voices erupted across the room, and I sat back onto my ass.

  “What the fuck am I looking for?” The irritation bled through his voice as he flipped through the internet channels of the Smart TV and landed on his email.

  The chill of leather brushing against the back of my thighs hardly registered, as my gaze remained fixed on the wall-mounted TV screen behind Michael’s desk. Because there was only one thing the corrupt son of a bitch, Cox, would dare interrupt Michael’s beloved office time to report.

  Another video had leaked.

  Achilleus X.

  A tingle climbed my spine at the chime of his name inside my head.

  Dramatic music, like something out of a horror movie, accompanied the vertical movement of numbers zipping over a three-dimensional skull overlay that appeared to be talking. Blackness crawled over the white bone, engulfing the numbers, morphing into a ski mask with red stitching across the mouth, before the screen faded to black.

  The same intro to all of Achilleus’s videos.

  He was what was known as a hacktivist. A cyber terrorist who’d somehow managed to evade the FBI. Due to being an indirect target in each video, Michael preferred that the feds not find him first, anyway, lest they’d be knocking at his door—a thought I’d fantasized about many times.

  Achilleus had grown a large following on the deep web and amongst the many anti-government groups out there. Each time a video leaked, it spread across the net like flames, and Michael was forced to stamp out the blaze before it got out of control.

  Onscreen, lights flipped on in a boxy room, revealing a black ski mask like the one from the intro, the mouth of which had been stitche
d with red thread. As usual, his head remained cloaked by the hoodie he wore, leaving two black holes for his eyes. I stared at the screen, waiting for some slip when those eyes might’ve become apparent, allowing a small glimpse of how intense they must be. Achilleus was careful, though. Too careful.

  Behind him, a poster that read, Never Be Silenced, glowed in the darkness. Already my adrenaline pumped in time to the fast beat of my heart. I knew what was coming.

  A computer-generated voice said, “Good evening, citizens of Detroit. I am Achilleus X.” With controlled movements, his head bobbed and his gloved hand gestured with his words. “In October two thousand and fourteen, a party took place at the home of councilman Leonard James.” Images flashed on the screen, of a group of boys clustered around a girl who appeared to be passed out. “The names you see across the screen below are the men who took part in the kidnapping, rape and murder of a seventeen year old girl. One of the young men was James’s son, Eli. This video serves as proof for the masses, as the city of Detroit has been very thorough in keeping this case quiet.”

  Phone still propped at his ear, Michael sat beside me. A growl rumbled in his chest, as the names flashed across the bottom of the screen, including his own.

  “This young girl was taken from her home during The Culling on Devil’s Night, then drugged and raped, and did not wake from her comatose state. Pathology reports show she died from the drugs she was given. This bastardization of laws designed to protect you, the citizens of Detroit, is unacceptable. Mayor Culling …” He shook his head and tsk’d, waving his finger in disapproval. “… has once again failed you. As you watch this video, the personal information, including addresses, cell phone numbers and social security numbers of all the young men listed, as well as their parents and anyone involved in covering up this crime, is being compiled. This information will be released, unless you come forward and acknowledge your crime. You have forty-eight hours to confess. As for Mayor Michael Culling, I’d advise you to watch your back—or, more importantly, what you find most valuable in the world. Speramus meliora resurget cineribus. Operation Culling … engaged.”

  Trance music punctuated a non-distinct robotic voice announcing a call to action.

  A threat. A promise to steal what Michael loved most.

  Michael sat up, lip peeled back like he might snap at any minute, and the anger plastered to his face had me stifling a smile. The targets in each video could be linked to Michael. Members he’d personally appointed to his staff. It’d only be a matter of time before the mysterious vigilante uncovered the truth behind the fake façade of Michael’s smile. The deals, the bribes, the exorbitant amount of money to which I would never be privy.

  As mayor, Michael had connections to powerful politicians, but also some of the most brutal leaders of organized crime. Yet, only one man got him flustered. One man had him waking in the middle of the night with cold sweats. The only man who had the smarts to expose him, ruin his career, and only because Michael had no idea who the hell he was or what he wanted.

  Achilleus X.

  In truth, I had no idea whether Achilleus was a man or a woman. I’d become obsessed with him just the same. Behind that mask was a mastermind of the most notorious computer hacks the city had ever known. His bold threats, his willingness to take on my psychopathic husband, had turned him into my own personal fantasy. I dreamed of the day Achilleus X would drop some major revelation about Michael’s illegal deals and send my shitty half straight to hell. Every video sent pulses of excitement through my body, clenching my stomach, and drenching my panties. I’d fallen in lust with a complete stranger, strictly on the basis that he happened to scare the shit out of my husband.

  The men he’d called out would come forward because they had no choice. They always came forward after Achilleus’s threats, because he never bluffed. The FBI had nothing on Achilleus.

  The hacker community had dubbed him a mysterious hero.

  I’d dubbed him a beacon of hope. My freedom.

  “Why the fuck hasn’t he been brought down yet?” Michael’s voice barely hid the ire that’d undoubtedly spread like a volcano deep inside of him. His will to keep calm must’ve been spinning like a hamster wheel. “This isn’t good for any of us, Cox. Any of us.” He spared me only a quick glance before turning his attention back toward the TV.

  Following a brief pause, a flashing ‘Call to Action’ banner danced across the screen over the blaring din of an air raid. Something inside of me thrilled at the sound—a warning, loud and clear, to my corrupt fuck of a husband that justice would be served.

  “I know what the fuck dark net is, I don’t need a goddamn lesson! You find him, Cox. You find out who this motherfucker is, and you bring him down, hear? Bring him down to the depths of hell and then cut his fucking balls off. Better yet, bring him to me.” He shot up from his seat, paced a few steps, and collapsed back onto the leather couch again. “He is going to ruin us. Do not fail me. You do not want to fail me, Cox.”

  Michael threw the phone across the room, where it slammed into the opposite wall before crumbling into pieces of plastic. He let out an angry bellow, and goddamn it, I had to choke back a laugh. It was rare for him to be pushed beyond the calculated and controlled psychopath I’d come to know.

  Like Achilleus, though, Michael made threats he was only too happy to deliver. It was why no one crossed him. Why I hadn’t gone screaming to the FBI myself. Even if Michael died at my hands, he’d have three hitmen lined up to take my ass to the grave alongside him.

  Achilleus X could’ve brought an end to my husband’s regime. Exposed Michael’s darkest secrets—ones not even I’d had the pleasure of knowing. For five years, I’d worked my way into my husband’s trust, to let him think he’d broken me. All in the name of finding one hole that could secure a ticket out.

  “Come here.” My heart sank at Michael’s words, particularly because of his mood at being shown up again.

  With some hesitation, I slid along the couch, closer to where he sat, and piercing pain stabbed the back of my neck where he dug his nails into my nape.

  “You want to fuck him, huh? Like all these other bitches? Does he get you hot?” His game. He looked for any sign, any flicker or flinch that might suggest I’d been even remotely enthralled by Achilleus’s threat. His way of justifying the pain he wanted to inflict right then.

  If there was one thing I’d learned after five years with the asshole, it was not to give any reason to piss him off—so I remained silent. There were days when that approach worked, and like night and day, he’d snap back to being relatively gentle. The twitch of his eye and the rubbing of his thumb along my nape told me something inside of him was building, though.

  “Did I tell you, darling …” He placed lips to my ear, and my heart kicked up. “The last time we were together, I recorded it. Every humiliating moment was caught on video.” His chuckle had my hand flexing beside me. “I can’t help but think, by the look on your face, that you enjoyed every minute of it.”

  “Fuck. You.” A twinge of rebellion lit my blood and I resisted the push of his hands clamped to the back of my head, toward his flaccid cock. Getting him hard again would mean pain and punishment for me, because that was the only thing that got Michael off. Control.

  His nails dug harder, and he gripped the crown of my head, twisting my hair in his fingers. My muscles buckled under the pressure, and his groin slammed into my face. He finally released my nape, held his dick, and smashed my mouth over it, cramming my head to the base of him while his erection grew, hitting the back of my throat and tripping my gag reflex. “You’re nothing but a whore, Aubree. A dick-gobbling whore.”

  Bracing my hands against the leather couch, I pushed against his hold, trying to keep dinner from spilling out, as he ground himself into my mouth. My muscles trembled with the effort, until, at last, he released my head. Falling backward, away from him, I muttered, “Asshole,” and wiped my mouth of his pre-cum.

  One sharp blow to my sh
oulder sent me sprawling to the floor, and I kicked at his stomach when he advanced up my body.

  Gritting his teeth in a wicked smile, he gathered my legs between his, locking them together, while I clocked him in the jaw, but my stomach twisted when he paused, the glint of insanity dilating his pupils, telling me pain would follow. Daubing the blood from his lip onto his finger, he shook his head. “This. This is why I chose you, Aubree. This is why you’ll always be mine.” He gave one hard slap to my thigh and flipped me over onto my stomach.

  I pushed against the floor to slide from beneath him, but his full weight crushed down onto my back.

  “You constantly give me reason to punish you. And you know how much I love to punish you.” Stuffing both of my arms beneath my body, he vised my arms with his thighs, pinning them between me and the floor.

  I squirmed and screamed in defeat, but no one would come. Not even the security guard manning the door. For the staff who might’ve passed by outside, hearing me scream was nothing new.

  “Do you wish to attend your class tomorrow?”

  His words had my muscles sagging, and I panted with frustration. He knew I’d want to go. Knew I lived for the moments when I could escape my fucking prison for a few hours and feel like a human being.

  “Answer the question.”

  “Yes,” I gritted out, and bile rose up my throat as his stiffened cock slid between my ass cheeks.

  “Shhhhh.” He licked the shell of my ear. “It’s been some time since we played, Pet. I’ve been so busy lately. I can hardly see the bruises on your flesh anymore. I think it’s time we bring out the toy box.”

  Dread consumed me, and at his thrust, a scream tore from my throat.

  3

  Nick

  Long stretches of bright lights zip above me, like cars passing in the night. I want to shield my eyes, but can’t seem to move my limbs. The world is slipping by in my periphery, too fast to latch onto some comprehension of where I am.