The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  I stared down at the address lit up on my phone—a by-the-hour flophouse, where prostitution and drugs were known to be rampant, on the shit side of Cass Corridor. Sometimes, the rooms were rented out for months at a time.

  “Be there in twenty,” I said aloud as I texted back, then hopped into Shelby, my beloved ’67 fully-restored black Mustang, and took off in the direction of The Pantheon motel.

  The motherfuckers had no idea what kind of storm was about to hit.

  * * *

  I arrived within a half hour and parked my car in the small lot on the side of the building, wedged between two fire-gutted shitholes. From beside me, I lifted the files for Rick ‘Grim Reaper’ Harris, his brother, Jonathan ‘Pyro’ Harris, their shared girlfriend, Theresa Cruz, the recruiter for the trafficking ring, and Julius ‘Casanova’ Malone, whose brother ran the Seven Mile Crew. The texts I’d received had come from Rick, Jonathan’s older brother.

  As the Crew had become more renowned, operations had expanded, branched out into different avenues—prostitution, arms dealing, contract killing. For whatever reason, those four stooges had decided to stick together, which worked just fine for me. That’d be four more cocksuckers in the bag.

  A surge of adrenaline spiked my veins, the way it did before every kill. There’d be no mercy. The three men were responsible for not only the rape and sodomy of girls and boys as young as ten, but they also partook in the acts, filmed it, tortured and ultimately mutilated the ones who ended up diseased or pregnant. The resulting babies were sold on the black market, and a percent of profits fattened Michael Culling’s pockets, so long as he remained quiet and stayed out of their business.

  I fitted the mask over my head and tugged my hoodie over it, exited the car, and strolled up to the front of the three level motel. Graffiti coated the chipped brick, and some of the windows had been painted black. Gave off an ominous warning that some bad shit went down behind those windows—the kind of place that’d make a parent clutch a child’s hand just walking past. Three-three-five was at the top level and one of the bigger rooms in the joint—perhaps two rooms put together. I climbed the stairs to the top floor in less than a minute and knocked on the door.

  Only a few seconds passed before a skinny white male I recognized from the files as Jonathan ‘Pyro’ stood in the doorway. Pale and smoking weed, he looked me up and down, twitching my trigger finger. “Nash?”

  I’d given him a fake name. I’d also told him that I wanted complete anonymity, so the mask probably came as no surprise. Surely those places were no stranger to fucking weirdoes. The assholes who strolled up in gimp masks.

  I nodded in response to his question, and he jerked his head, inviting me inside.

  Like walking straight into the mouth of hell, I’d found the lowest depths of human depravity. Two cages lined the wall, inside of each was a young girl sat naked and hunched over her small bruised body. Neither of them could’ve been more than sixteen, seventeen, and my stomach coiled, a caustic knot of wrath burning inside of me.

  Fuck. Keep it together.

  I had to know how many of the pathetic cunts were in the place first. Third floor made for a tricky escape, and if there were others in the shithole who were in on the ring, I’d have at least two girls to get past whatever roadblocks might get in my way—making the body count potentially much higher than I’d anticipated.

  On the couch beside the cages, a brunette woman with dark eyes and light brown skin smoked a cigarette in front of TV, like nothing seemed remotely fucked up about any of the situation.

  “Sapphire’s just finishing up.” Jonathan nudged his head toward a closed door in the hallway behind him. “Got the cash?”

  I reached into my pocket, pulling out a wad of cash. When he flicked his hand, I caught sight of a tattoo that, with his hand curled in a fist, read ‘fist fuck’, and a memory drifted through my head, his voice echoing through the fog.

  “Your husband ever fist you, baby?” The little prick licks his fist then shudders a breath. “Oh it ain’t love if you haven’t taken a fist in the ass.”

  I shook my head, choking back the fury, but I could sense the blackness settling over me, that dark, erratic monster wanting to take control and kill every one of them.

  A tortured scream, followed by cries, broke my thoughts, and my head snapped up to the closed door.

  Sapphire.

  Before he could reach for his own, I pulled my Glock from inside my coat and propped it under his chin, aimed toward the top of his skull. Had I sneezed, the fucker’s brains would’ve hit the ceiling. I slipped his own gun from the front of his pants, and, as the bitch on the couch slowly rose in my periphery, I used it to blow her feet out from under her. She screamed and fell to the floor, cradling her mutilated ankles.

  I’d deal with her soon.

  Thumps against the wall and the floor from the other rooms told me the gunshots had roused some alarm.

  “How many of you fucks are here?”

  Before Jonathan could answer, another male, Julius exited from the bathroom. I shot him in the thigh, screams of agony filling the hallway, as he collapsed to the floor. The objective was to wound them so I could draw out each death in the same agonizing measure that they’d brought to countless victims. Easier said than done, when all I could taste was the copper tang at the back of my throat and the voice inside my head telling me to fill every one of them with lead.

  I moved one of the guns to Jonathan’s nutsack. “How many?”

  “Two. In the bedroom.”

  Two? Jesus fucking Christ.

  The sound of a screaming child had me tapping the trigger of my gun, while rage taunted me to open fire.

  Kill them slow, the voice chimed. Painfully slow.

  I nudged him toward the door, using him as a human shield and kicked it open.

  The sight that met my eyes damn near made me drop to my knees.

  Black ink spread inside my narrowing field of vision and the voice chimed again.

  Kill them all.

  * * *

  I opened my eyes to Julius Malone screaming. His tipped back head had been strapped to a chair, and my palm squeezed his neck. A downward glance showed a bloody strip of flesh dangling from the gut hook of my knife.

  The metallic scent of blood mixed with piss hit the back of my throat, and I lifted my gaze, catching sight of the macabre that filled the room. A gruesome display of dead bodies sat propped and posed like horrific sculptures. My attention landed on Jonathan, though, zeroing in on the glistening flesh where his other ear had been sliced away.

  Had I done that? I didn’t know. Had no idea how much time had passed.

  Blacked out again.

  Echoes of laughter rang inside my head as voices from the past and the memory of that night resurfaced.

  Jonathan holds my son, who screams and kicks trying to get away from him. I spot a fallen knife on the floor in front of me. As I slice off Jonathan’s ear, he drops Jay to the floor, and I revel in the sound of the bastard’s screams –until the shot of gunfire steels my muscles.

  I released Julius’s throat, stuffed his mouth with a nearby rag, and walked out of the room, leaving him to sob. In the living room I’d first arrived through, all three young girls sat huddled and shivering in a corner by the cages. Probably scared shitless of me. Aside from the fact that they didn’t have clothes, why hadn’t they run? Why did they stay? I’d set up the perfect opportunity for escape, and yet, there they sat, trembling in the corner, perhaps waiting to see who won the fight and who would be their new slaver. Had I commanded them to stay there?

  I searched the motel room and found a duffel bag filled with women’s clothes—bras, panties, jeans, a couple of T-shirts. In another bag were men’s clothes and I nabbed three of the sweatshirts packed inside.

  Approaching carefully, I watched the young girls hide their faces in each other, and, keeping my distance, I crouched in front of them with the clothes I’d gathered for them held out, and cleare
d my throat. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I nudged my head toward the bedroom door. “They’re not going to hurt you, either. Ever.”

  A wave of sobbing filled the air, and the one called Sapphire finally pulled her face from the others.

  I lifted my ski mask to my forehead, revealing my face, and offered her a sweatshirt to cover her naked, wounded body. I didn’t want to look at her, but some of the injuries she’d suffered needed medical attention. I didn’t have to be a fucking doctor to see that.

  She carefully crawled toward me and slipped the garment over her head, her emaciated body swimming in the threads. Each of the other girls took sweatshirts I’d offered and slipped them on as well.

  “My name’s Nick. I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” I directed my gaze toward Sapphire. “You’re going to need to get checked out. You need a doctor.”

  “Are …. a-a-are you g-g-going to call the p-p-police? P-p-please don’t call them.” Her chest quaked with a sob.

  I didn’t trust the police, and apparently, neither did she. But what else could I do? A thought popped in my head—a conversation I’d had with Rev.

  He’s a good man, that DeMarcus. You ever in trouble? Ask for him.

  “I’m gonna call a good guy, okay? A friend.” Christ, I hoped he was a good guy, otherwise I’d have to kill one of Rev’s old friends. “And I promise he won’t touch you.”

  Her face spasmed, as if a war against whether to trust me raged on inside her head. “You’ll s-s-stay with us?”

  “I’ll be watching. But I can’t be here when they come, okay? I hurt those men, really bad, and they’ll be after me.” I lurched forward at the panic in her wide eyes and set my palm on the floor for balance. “But I won’t leave you alone until you’re safe. You hear? I’ll be watching.”

  She looked past me toward the door, maybe gauging her chances if she took off, and gave a shaky nod.

  Setting my hand on my knee, I braced to push myself up, but the girl’s body collided with my chest, almost knocking me back. She clutched me tight, shivering against me, and I wrapped my arms around her. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  She broke down crying. A small, trembling little girl who’d suffered more hell than most girls her age, had built a measure of trust and felt safe with me. I wanted to hold her and tell her to hang in there, and not let the shit pull her under, but I knew better. I knew the days that’d follow would be filled with nightmares. I knew her hell had only just begun, and I wished I could take that from her, draw her pain into me and use it to punish them the way she herself couldn’t.

  “I want my mom.” Her muffled voice vibrated against my chest, as she buried her face in my jacket.

  The simple request reminded me how young and innocent she was, like a lamb ravaged by wolves. Flames roared inside my blood at the same time a metallic taste coated my tongue, where I’d bitten the inside of my cheek.

  I nodded, gripping her tight. “You’re going home. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get back to your mom.”

  She sat up from me, wiping tears from her sunken eyes. “I’m Danielle.”

  “Danielle.” I looked her straight in the eye. “After what I did, those men will never hurt you again. I promise you that. They will never hurt you.”

  More tears slipped down her cheek, and I gripped her shoulders, bringing her to her feet.

  “Do me a favor. I don’t want you to go into that room. I want you to stay with your friends over there, okay? All of you stay together.” I pointed behind me. “I won’t let anyone come through this door unless it’s my friend. Got it?” I didn’t want to leave them there. Felt like I’d dropped them inside a shark cage after being attacked and abandoned ship. I couldn’t risk being seen, though. Too much rested on staying anonymous.

  Giving a sharp nod, Danielle backed herself beside the other girls, taking the hand of the blonde to her right.

  With quick strides, I made my way to the back bedroom and yanked the bedspread from the bed, gathering it up and tucking it under my arm. Theresa Cruz, the ring’s recruiter, had been killed separately from the others, and from her bloody pocket, I nabbed the cellphone tucked inside, dialed the police station, and asked for officer DeMarcus Corley.

  “This is Corley.” His humorless voice carried through the line.

  “I need an ambulance at The Pantheon Motel. Room three-three-five. Bring a coroner.”

  “Who is thi—”

  I hung up the phone and tossed it onto Theresa’s mangled body.

  Returning to the living room, I draped the bedspread across the girls’ bare legs where they’d settled in the corner. “You’re going home,” I assured them.

  The sounds of Julius’s suffering bled through the bedroom door. His pain had only just begun. After all, he was the one who’d shot my son in the back, having already taken his turn with my wife.

  Slipping my mask back into place, I headed back to the bedroom where he and Jonathan had tortured Sapphire.

  Julius lay bleeding out of small cuts all over his body, chunks of flesh I must’ve removed with the hunting knife I’d been holding when I came to. In all honesty, I couldn’t recall, but his widened eyes and the way he kicked back in some pathetic effort to get away from me told me all I needed to know.

  I crouched in front of him and the bastard probably would’ve gnawed his own arm to get away from me. “So, I thought I’d take you somewhere nice and intimate, where we can continue our play. It’ll be quiet. No one around for—well, miles, to hear you scream. How does that sound?”

  His lip quivered and a whimper escaped him, right before he broke into a gut-wrenching scream that probably would’ve touched some part of my black heart if he hadn’t been a piece of shit child rapist.

  “What? You don’t want to play?” I tipped my head, smiling at his pathetic sniveling. “Is it because I’m not a helpless little girl?” I snarled and leaned in to his ear. “Is it because I can inflict more pain on you than you could ever imagine?”

  I grabbed a roll of duct tape from the floor beside me—the same tape that held the other three in their somewhat artistic contortions.

  His eyes widened, panicked. “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  Before he could spew his bullshit, I slapped a square of tape over his lips. Took everything inside of me not to pistol-whip the motherfucker right there. “I know you’re sorry, Julius. And maybe, when you’ve lost more blood than you should and your organs are spilling out of the holes I slice in your body, maybe I’ll feel sorry then, too. In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy this.”

  He wriggled like a pathetic worm on a hook, as I bent down and hoisted him over my shoulder. Glock in hand in case of trouble, I carried him out, past the girls, and down the stairs to the car. With a pop of the trunk, I tossed him inside, smiling at his saucer eyes and useless, muffled screams as I slammed the lid in his face.

  After exiting the parking lot, I drove two buildings down, taking an obscure spot on the side of a fire-gutted bar across the street, from where I could see the lit hallway and the door to the room. With the barrel of my M-24 hanging out of the window, I aimed my scope, finger on the trigger. Should anyone besides an ambulance or DeMarcus Corley come to the door, their spinal column would be blown to shards all over the stairwell.

  Nearly thirty minutes passed—no doubt, the girls up there must’ve been getting antsy—and then an ambulance and two police cars skidded to a stop in front of the motel. Through the scope, DeMarcus’s face emerged from the first patrol car, and he jogged, gun pulled, to the top floor. After a few seconds’ pause with his ear to the door, he signaled two officers who’d followed behind him and entered the room.

  Two minutes passed. Five minutes. Ten minutes. I kept my sights set the entire time. Waiting. In truth, I didn’t trust any of the bastards in the Detroit Police Department, but when Corley stepped out clutching his skull and shaking his head, I had a good idea the girls were in as good hands as they could’ve been.

 
A stretcher rolled out with two medics at each end, and Danielle lay strapped, head swiveling as though looking for something, or someone, while a female and male officer assisted the other girls down the stairs to the awaiting ambulance. Pulling a phone from his pocket, DeMarcus waved them on once they were loaded, and the siren signaled the ambulance’s exit.

  I puffed out my cheeks, exhaled a sharp breath, and slid the gun back inside the vehicle. Julius’s muffled cries accompanied the pounding of his fists against the trunk, and a new wave of rage beat through my body.

  I trailed the ambulance to Detroit Receiving, just to make sure I’d followed through on my promise. All three girls were rushed to the sliding doors, met by a doctor who stood bent over Danielle, as though asking her questions.

  I hated the cold exit, wished I could’ve said something reassuring to the girls before I’d left. Killing those men was only the beginning of my war, though. There’d be more bloodshed. More pain. More retribution.

  I couldn’t risk the exposure before then. Particularly when I had one of the raping bastards in my trunk.

  14

  Chief Cox

  Against the desperate pull of air tugging at his lungs, Cox climbed the staircase to the third floor of the Pantheon Motel. He eyed a tall, slim blond, computer tablet in hand, standing just outside the room that spilled over with forensics and investigators.

  Jim Riley represented the cybercrime unit at the FBI—one of those middle-aged hippie types who undoubtedly tucked a bowl under his pillow at night so he could light up first thing in the morning like a true fucking pothead. Unlike the stereotypical FBI agents, who wore suits and ties on TV, Riley wore a North Face coat, with his badges dangling from a lanyard around his neck, like the bastard was about to hit the slopes. What the hell he was doing at a murder investigation was beyond Cox.