The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  For a Thursday night, the strip club remained pretty empty, so it didn’t make sense why cops had been called. Aside from a small group seated alongside the stage, whose obnoxious laughter broadcasted that they seemed to be getting along just fine, the only other guys in the place were Jimmy and Sampson—two men who were probably approaching eighty.

  I ordered a whisky, taking in the women up on stage, pounding against the pole, to the beat of Adrenalize by In This Moment.

  Down in front, closest to the stage, a middle-aged man, amongst a bevy of drunken suits who must’ve met up unbeknownst to their wives, stood and thrusted his crotch in some kind of shitty cock dance the suburbanites were known for. Could always tell them apart from the Detroit folk. Like, once they crossed the borders, their dancing skills resembled that guy’s fucking embarrassing display.

  I’d hated when the dipshits came down to sow their wild oats at the bar where Lena had stripped. Always trying to touch her, or get her to meet them in the back. She never did. Not even when shit got bad and money was tight. She’d always said it was the one thing she could keep for me.

  For others, she danced in darkness, concealing what she didn’t want them to see. For me, she danced in the light.

  Suit and tie jumped on stage, and, as if by instinct, my muscles tensed with the urge to go after him. His body flew through the air, hauled by three hundred pounds of muscle, known as Big John, the bouncer, who dragged him by the nape of his jacket, and escorted the group out of the bar.

  I shook my head. Dipshits.

  From across the bar, Rev laughed, slapping the cop on the back, and after what seemed like a good half hour, the stranger got up and left. As he exited the club, Talia, a long-time bartender and waitress at Lion’s Den brought over another drink and set it on the table with a smile and a wink.

  I pounded the fourth shot I’d had in thirty minutes and signaled to Talia for another, but at a punch to my shoulder, spinning spun toward the familiar face taking a seat next to me. “Reverend Lewis.” I patted him on the back and faced the bar once more. “You come to make me confess my sins?”

  “Shit.” He shook his head. “I done heard enough mothafuckas sob stories for one night. Like I ain’t got enough bullshit goin on in my own damn life.”

  “You got shit, Rev?”

  He smirked. “You ain’t been round these parts in a while, my man. How you been?”

  “Livin’ the good life. How’s business?”

  He huffed, twisting in the direction of the dancers. “Some shit goin’ down on the streets. Had two girls gone missing last week.” He leaned in close. “I’m no fucking saint, but I try to take care of these girls best I can. Get their asses off the strip and give ‘em someplace safe. Some money. Word is, some gangs been picking ‘em up. Promising ‘em more than they make here. Ain’t nobody seen ‘em again.”

  For a while, drugs had been the big money makers, but selling sex had become the most lucrative source of steady income, without the same risks.

  “Good ole’ Culling, making the streets safe for e’erabody,” Rev added before tipping back his drink. “That’s the problem with folks coming up in here, trying to run this place. They still think this’s just another shithole they can tear down with expensive cranes and build up some fancy buildings. What’s inside remains. Detroit’s a mindset.” He tapped his temple. “And you can’t kill what’s in the mind. Nope. Burn it to the ground, and it comes right back. You can’t kill it. You can’t own it. All you can do, is make it believe.”

  Talia set down the shot, and I slammed it back, squinting as the burn slid down my throat.

  “Some hard shit you hittin’. Men who drink whiskey’s lookin’ to fight.” He belted a laugh, shoving a cigarillo into his mouth. “Or maybe that’s just cause and effect.”

  Brushing my thumb across my nose, I sniffed and shook off the aftertaste coating my tongue. “Just lookin’ for a good night sleep.” I nodded toward the door the cop’d exited through. “Thought you weren’t a fan of cops.”

  Rev sneered and nodded. “DeMarcus? DeMarcus Corley. Grew up with him. Probably the only straight shootin’ mothafucka on the police force. Should’ve been made chief.” He snorted then took a swig of his drink. “Got demoted for investigating some cases that pissed off the appointed police chief.”

  That piqued my interest. “Yeah?”

  “DeMarcus don’t take shit, and he sure as fuck don’t bow down to no threats. He’s a good man, that DeMarcus. You ever in trouble? Ask for him. He got a heart a gold. Always willin’ to help a brother out. Not like them corrupt mothafuckas always acting like they cool with you, then the second shit comes up, stab you in the back first chance they get. DeMarcus don’t play that game.”

  “He looks out for you, then.”

  “Yeah, he looks out for me, I look out for him. We got a system, see? That’s how it works. Cops and the people need to work together. We ain’t perfect, but all of us is on the same team. Some just don’t understand. Can’t let those shady ass law men come through here, shootin’ up the place like it’s some kinda warzone in the middle east, know what I’m sayin’?”

  I stared into the amber fluid, swirling my drink in the glass. “Yeah, I know.”

  Rev hiked an elbow up on the back of the chair and slouched in his seat. “Ain’t you got a woman yet? Fuck’s wrong with you, man? You got them bright blue eyes. Bitches love blue eyes.” His laughter bounced off the walls of the mostly empty bar.

  Burying my smile in the glass of liquor, I shook my head. “I’m not looking for a woman.”

  “You gay?”

  I kicked back the last of my whiskey and slammed the glass on the bartop. “Nope. Don’t have time for a woman.”

  “Man.” He waved a dismissal. “You always got time for a woman. Who else’s gonna keep the bed warm?” Rev tipped his head. “Thought you smoked cigars. Or am I gettin’ you mixed up with someone else?”

  Yeah. He frequently mistook me for Alec, who also came into the bar on occasion.

  “Nah, been known to smoke a blunt on occasion. No cigars, though.”

  “Ha!” He pointed and smiled. “Knew I liked you.”

  Rising up from the bar stool, he patted me on the back. “Good to see you. Take care, brother.”

  “Same to you, Rev.”

  I signaled another drink.

  “Impressive.”

  The voice arrived from behind, and I twisted to the blonde Big John had saved from being suit-fucked. Her tits popped from the skimpy shirt she wore. Thankfully, she looked older than most of the girls up in the place, otherwise I’d have felt like shit for the sudden rush to my dick.

  “I’ve had my eye on you since you walked up in here. Most of the assholes in this place would’ve been puking all over the bar by now.”

  “I heard holding your liquor is one of the seven virtues.”

  She laughed and swiveled on the stool, giving me a full view of both breasts, hardly hanging on inside her bra. “I wouldn’t know anything about bein’ virtuous.” Her gaze fell to my arm, and, curling her fingers around my bicep, she licked her lips. “You wanna meet me in the back? Tell me more about these virtues?”

  “Nah.” I lifted my hand, softening the rejection with a half-cocked smile. “I’m all set.”

  “Listen,” she whispered, leaning in. “You look like a nice guy.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I could use some extra cash tonight.” Her body moved in tight to mine, fingers massaging my arm as she spoke. “My mom’s sick and can’t work. I take care of her. S’all on me, ya know?”

  Don’t do it. Somewhere in my subconscious I heard Alec’s voice. A warning.

  It wasn’t that I had anything against strippers—hell I married one, and the ones looking for cash, most times, weren’t looking for relationships. The few times I’d been with a woman for casual sex in the last three years didn’t end well, though.

  I’ll be fine, I mentally battled back.


  Of course, Alec’d been there the times I was drugged out, trying to piece together fragments of memory from the night before. Two weeks earlier, I’d brought two girls back to the mansion. What started out as a peep show, watching the two of them eat each other out, had ended with both girls huddled naked at the end of my bed, handcuffed to the post, shivering and scared shitless. I’d no idea what’d happened. Had blacked out halfway through their play.

  “How much?”

  Her brow lifted. “For you? Twenty bucks.”

  “And if we fuck?”

  Her face lit with a smile. “Momma gets another week of medicine.” She jumped up out of her seat, tugging my arm. “C’mon, babe. I can get you off quick.”

  The bit about her mom was a lie. Most of them conjured manipulative stories like that—ones that shadowed the fact that they probably had a drug addiction. Sex with the woman would be emotionless, though, guiltless. Nothing more than a transaction. Getting needs met. Having a woman strapped to the bed back home could very well incite some urges that I’d rather gouge my fucking eyeballs than act on. Might’ve been a good idea to fuck them right out of my system.

  She led me to the back, where shelves stood stacked with boxes, cleaning supplies sat on the floor off to the side, and the lone dim light was about one flicker from shorting out. A storage room, from the looks of it.

  “Rev lets me use the back.” The equivalent of a rotating door for limp dicks falling for the same sorry sob story. She turned to face me, pushing herself against my body and stroking her hands along my shoulders. “So strong,” she whispered. “You must look good enough to eat without all these clothes on.” When she stroked my face, I flinched away, catching a twitch of her eye. She reached for my hand, pinching the tip of my finger as if to remove my glove.

  I curled my hand into a fist to stop her. “They stay on.”

  “Am I so dirty?”

  In truth, I hadn’t touched a woman in three years. It was my penance. The price I’d opted to pay for feeding my craving. I wished I hadn’t thought about sex as often as I had, that I didn’t crave tangling my fist in the woman’s hair, having her ride me with reckless abandon. I wished women with curves and big tits like hers didn’t incite some primal urge inside of me.

  I stroked a gloved finger down her cheek. She was a pretty girl, probably could’ve gotten into something slightly less dangerous, like modeling or television. With her porcelain skin and ruby lips, she reminded me of Scarlett Johannsen, or something; one of those classic beauties that belonged in some kind of noir film. “I wouldn’t know. Are you a dirty girl?”

  The flirtation put a smile back on her face. “You have no idea.” Pushing up, she closed her eyes and gripped my nape, drawing me to her lips.

  I turned my head to the side, resisting the pull.

  I didn’t kiss, either.

  “Not one for much affection. I get it.” Her jaw shifted, as she lowered herself from my face, and her hand slipped down the front of me, tugging with some haste as she unbuttoned my jeans. “You’re about the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my whole life.”

  She reached down inside my briefs and her eyes widened when she grabbed my already-stiffened dick. After a couple of strokes that had my muscles tightening, she yanked down my pants and fell to her knees in front of me, like a sinner looking for forgiveness.

  “Sweet Jesus, you’ve got a beautiful cock.” One long lick up my shaft had my face pinching with the urge to slam myself into the back of her throat. She spat on her hand and grabbed hold, like a fucking pro, twisting up and down as she pumped me while her tongue swirled over the head.

  My knees damn near buckled, and I braced a hand on the wall.

  Two of her fingers dipped into her mouth before slipping between her thighs, where she shamelessly fingered her pussy, while jacking me off.

  That was how it had to be for me to come. A dirty storage room that stank of mold and garbage, in the dim lights, with an eager hooker. Couldn’t get hard any other way.

  “I can’t wait to have you inside of me. And just so there’s no confusion, I love taking it in the ass.”

  Her words punched my skull, and I stiffened.

  “You love this dick in your asshole, don’t you, dirty little cunt?”

  Lena screams into the mattress, while the masked man fucks her from behind.

  “Richie, get my gun. Let’s see if this bitch likes it from both ends.”

  Pain exploded inside my skull, swarming my mind with an inky blackness that I couldn’t see past. Red splotches dripped into the black, like blood in water, and the cramping of my muscles subsided as the scene slowly sharpened into view through the oily red.

  I had the blonde pinned by her throat against the wall. Mascara had smeared down her cheeks as if she’d been crying. Her body trembled in my grasp, and I released her, eyes scanning her for any blood or signs of attack.

  She sniffled, rubbing her neck.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  I looked down to see my pants pulled up and fastened. The painful hard-on that’d bulged inside my briefs only moments before had gone slack.

  I’d no idea what the fuck just happened.

  Pulling my wallet, I removed three hundred dollars and placed them into the palm of her hand. “I’m … sorry.”

  For what? I didn’t even know. I didn’t even want to know, because then the encounter would turn into the one thing I’d wanted to avoid—guilt. It couldn’t have happened for long, and she didn’t have any marks that indicated I’d put her through physical pain, aside from pinning her. Those tears, though. Tears told a story, and hers told me I’d said or done something despicable enough to smear her once-flawless face.

  That was me. Mister fucking despicable.

  Her lip quivered, and she looked away, nodding her head. “I promise … to do as you said. I won’t come back here.”

  Seriously, what the fuck did I say?

  With some effort, I tried not to give away the barrelful of loose puzzle pieces swimming inside my head right then. I rushed toward the exit that opened up to the alley beside the bar. It was better that way, anyway. Shit seemed to get crazy the moment I whipped out my dick, like unleashing the goddamn Kraken every time I unzipped my pants.

  Only one thing could wipe the last twenty minutes—more liquor and a bullet.

  9

  Aubree

  I clamped my eyes shut, for fear that opening them would have me seeing what I couldn’t possibly fathom. The possibility that I’d gone from one shitty situation to another, just like that. Red bubbles floated behind my lids, and I cracked my eye open to a blurry darkness. A horrible taste flooded my mouth, metallic, reminding me of gasoline, and I swallowed it down to keep from tripping the vomit gates.

  My throat was dry, my mouth like it’d been stuffed with cotton. I couldn’t work enough saliva to coat the burn, and my voice wouldn’t push past the dryness. I tried to remember anything from the evening, and the last visual I had was of putting on lipstick before the world faded to black.

  The room expanded and shrank before my eyes. I could hardly take in what the hell I was looking at, and a steady thump beat inside my ears and sinuses, interrupting every observation. A window, covered in black drapes. Thump. A door that must’ve been a closet. Thump. Walls that crawled with peeling paint and branching cracks. Thump.

  I closed and opened my eyes until the room sharpened, though only slightly, the edges shrinking back into a wide but clearer view. Could’ve been five minutes or hours later.

  I had no concept of time.

  Resistance fought against my wrists when I attempted to move my limbs. I glanced up at the leather restraints binding my arms, and the chain that tethered them to the bed.

  What the ...

  Pressure pulled at my chest, and I realized I hadn’t taken a breath. In and out, I slowly sucked in the stagnant air, trying to make sense of what’d happened. Why was I there? Where was there? Who
had taken me?

  Images danced in and out of my head. The party. Masks. Michael’s stern grip on my thigh. Lipstick. Blackness.

  Panic shot through my veins, horror swimming in my blood, as realization settled over me, and my arms quaked, rattling my restraints, while tingles diffused beneath my skin.

  I’d been taken. Kidnapped. By whom, I didn’t know. And from the looks of my surroundings, it was someone who was all too content with ditching me in the middle of nowhere.

  Michael’s words surfaced.

  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.

  Oh, God. Was I dead already? I lifted my head off the bed, frantically searching for signs of torture, abuse. Perhaps I’d gone numb. Maybe the drug hadn’t worn off and I was seeing myself through a dream or hallucination. Maybe the killer stood beside me, while I lay there comatose and numb from shock, mutilating my body.

  Maybe he’d been hired by Michael to carry out the job of killing me. For what, though? My husband had made a few attempts to kill me over the years but never seemed to have the balls to carry through. Perhaps he’d found someone willing to do the job for him.

  Or worse. Michael had made so many enemies over the years, perhaps I’d unwittingly fallen into the lap of one of them.

  Warmth bloomed in my veins at the thought, a sensation that had no place where I was concerned. “Not now. Please not now.” I wanted to stay in a state of terror, because that kept me sharp, alert. Kept me from doing something stupid. But hope. Goddamn hope. It spread through my body like a beam of sunlight at a Goth party. Unwelcome, but undeniably pleasant, just the same.

  Whether my circumstances had gotten better or worse was yet to be seen, but maybe I’d won. Michael swore I’d never escape him, unless I was being carried out in a body bag, and there I was, chained and possibly facing a whole new slew of torture, but free from my sadistic husband.