The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  Cox directed his gaze toward Burke. “Someone order a latte? The fuck is the geek squad doing here? You call him, Burke?”

  “Nah, Chief.” Coffee in hand, Burke stood opposite Riley, staring into the open room. “I didn’t call him.”

  Riley swung around, a fake smile plastered to his face. “Ah, what an honor, Chief. Must’ve heard there were dicks flying in this case, eh, Cox?”

  Insolent little cocksucker.

  Supposedly, the murder scene was the worst the department had seen in a while, and in a city where killings happened every damn day, that was saying something. The girls had already been transported to the hospital. Good thing, too. If one of them had happened to recognize Cox, shit would’ve taken a bad turn.

  “Go fuck yourself, Riley. Why don’t you leave the real cop shit to the boys who’ve actually handled a gun. This is local shit. A murder.” Still winded as hell from his climb, Cox glanced around. “I don’t see a computer, do you?”

  “These sick sons of bitches have been running a copycat site in the deep ‘net, selling young girls for years. ‘Sides that, I was invited in an encrypted email.”

  Cox drew back. “Email?” What the fuck kind of killer sent an email?

  Riley sipped his coffee, his finger slipping across the screen of his iPad. Goddamn hipsters. A peek over Riley’s shoulder showed the mug shot of Julius Malone, who’d gone missing. “I have a feeling there’s a link between Achilleus X and the Eye for an Eye killer.”

  “Ain’t that some shit. You boys can’t find the bastard tearing up the deep net, so you decide to overlap the two so the agency don’t take away your Dungeons and Dragons membership.” A raspy laugh tore from Cox’s chest.

  Riley’s gaze lifted from the screen he’d been studying. “A denial of service hit the Detroit Police Department website for a full thirty minutes after the email was sent.” He huffed and sipped his coffee, tucking the iPad beneath his arm. “So, now we know why I’m here. Why are you here? Chief?”

  “I got a personal stake in keeping this city from going apeshit. Most murders here are gangs. Bad deals. Retribution kills. This shit’s got the suburb folks worked up that he might cross the line between Detroit and Fashionable Fuckin’ Ferndale.” Cox’s eyes narrowed on Riley. “Ain’t that where you’re from, Riley?”

  “Southfield, actually.”

  Cox stepped past the two men to just inside the room that bustled with investigators.

  “Chief,” Burke said, following behind him. “Might wanna nab a barf bag on your way in. This shit’s just ... goddamn. The killer sure as fuck has something against pedophiles.”

  15

  Aubree

  I squeezed the bobbypin I’d fished from my day-old updo, and lodged it into the keyhole, praying for purchase with the turn.

  Growing up poor in Detroit meant learning shit the suburbanites never had to think about, with their fancy security systems and fast-acting police. My father, the survivalist hunter that he was, taught me a number of cool tricks like that, in case I ended up in some whack-job’s basement. Bet he never dreamed I’d actually put that skill to work, or that I’d somehow manage to actually land myself in a psycho’s abandoned mansion.

  A click tightened my muscles, and I rose up from my knees to a standing position, slowly twisting the knob. Through the crack in the door, I could see the staircase ahead. To the left, another bedroom.

  What an idiot. Who the hell left a house with their captive free to roam?

  Although, I’d smelled the cigar smoke from earlier. Maybe I wasn’t alone, after all. I hadn’t heard any movement outside my door, though. Widening the crack, I tiptoed out into the hallway, making light steps against the aged wood that just itched to croak under my weight. At the railing, I paused and listened for movement, searching my surroundings for some form of human life, but it seemed vacant. Artwork adorned the walls of the staircase, my hand smoothing over the banister crafted from well-kempt wood, as I descended the long staircase, toward freedom.

  It always seemed in movies that, just when the chick was on the goddamn homestretch, leather face would come flying out with his chainsaw—so I took my time going down the stairs, testing out each step before committing my full weight.

  I must’ve been halfway to the front door, when the first growl climbed my spine, raising hairs on the back of my neck.

  My body froze. Paralyzed. I rotated toward the top of the stairs, where the most enormous, muscular beast I’d ever seen stood, baring its teeth.

  Oh, my fucking God.

  Swallowing a gulp, I licked my suddenly parched lips and carefully skated my attention toward the front door. I was about equidistance to freedom, as the dog was to me. If the front door happened to be locked, the seconds could cost me.

  To my left, I noticed another opened door, a half bathroom, where a toilet and sink took up most of the room. If I didn’t make it beyond the front entrance, that’d be my escape route.

  I glanced back toward the dog and swallowed a gasp. The bastard stood two steps closer than I was to the door, and I hadn’t even heard him move.

  “Okay, Aubree,” I whispered to myself. “On the count of three. One.” I stepped down and the dog’s growl intensified. “Hey … hey … boy.” Hell, if I knew anything about dogs. I happened to think Michael would’ve flayed any animal we’d have owned. “Two.”

  The dog took another step, forcing me down one more. His lip curled up over teeth that looked more like tusks. I scanned my limited knowledge bank on dogs, trying to figure out what the hell kind of dog possessed tusks. A pitbull? He had to be a pitbull, maybe? I’d heard the breed were all muscle, and the dog in front of me could’ve won Mister Universe, hands down.

  “Three.” Spinning on the ball of my foot, I darted down the remaining half dozen stairs and grabbed hold of the knob on the front door.

  Locked. Goddamn it! No time to piss and moan about that.

  Barks and growls trailed my steps, as I high tailed it toward the bathroom, whirling around in time to slam the door on the dog’s agape teeth.

  A battle of strength ensued. I pressed into the door, against what felt like over one hundred pounds of muscle on the other side. The last meal I’d eaten rose from the pit of my stomach at the thought of being torn apart by a vicious beast that clearly hadn’t eaten as recently as I had, judging by the way he snarled and tore away at the door.

  Oh, what fun that’d be for my captor. He’d probably promised the bastard a T-bone if he happened to make me shit myself first.

  Out of nowhere, the dog fell into a spasm of insanity, barking, shoving through the door.

  I jumped to the left, in a pathetic attempt to get past the hulking dog leaping toward me, and exhaled the breath from my lungs as the floor smashed into my spine.

  Those tusks closed in on me, and a stabbing pinch brought my hands to my throat. I dug my nails into its muzzle in an effort to dislodge the dog’s teeth from my wind pipe. Futile. He wouldn’t budge, and I screamed past the hoarseness in my throat, to which the dog responded by growling and jerking slightly. I flinched at the sting of my flesh, waiting for his teeth to sink in and rip out my esophagus, so he could wriggle it around like a prize—like that scene in Predator when the alien thing tore the spine from his victims.

  It never came, though.

  The dog never bit any harder than enough to keep me still, in spite of the incredible strength I could sense in his jaws as my artery pulsed against his teeth, pumping in the same tempo as my panicked breaths.

  I wanted to cry, but didn’t know the psychology of dogs enough to determine if he’d consider that a trait of weak prey and finish me off right there on the floor. Had he been trained for such shit?

  Fear paralyzed my body, chaos pounded inside my head, and the room widened to a blur, then shrank into a small circle, until it disappeared to blackness.

  After what seemed like only a few minutes, I opened my eyes.

  My captor’s impassive face stared down at
me. “How long’s he had you pinned like that?”

  I forced a swallow past the pressure against my neck. “Time … just sort of … seems irrelevant … when you’re … caught in the jaws … of a … fucking pitbull.”

  “Cane Corso.” A half smile curved his lips before he whistled, and just like that, the dog released me.

  I rolled over to my side, gasping for breath and coughing. Only a small streak of blood mixed with a whole lot of dog slobber returned on my fingers as I held them in front of me. “What did … you say?”

  “He’s a Cane Corso.”

  With the hope that laser beams might miraculously shoot out of my eyeballs, I glared up at my captor. “Cool trick. You teach him that?”

  He held out a hand toward me, but I batted him away and pushed myself to a stand. The dog sat at attention beside him, like a good soldier, and I couldn’t help but snarl at the sight. As if what’d happened before had disappeared into some compartment of denial locked inside the dog’s head.

  “I have a feeling we’re a lot alike, dog.”

  “His name’s Blue.”

  “Blue?” For some reason, all I could summon was the adorable face of the dog from Blue’s Clues, and the bastard dog was the Incredible Hulk version of it.

  “Yeah. Blue.” My captor jerked his head, and I followed him back up the stairs.

  Though the front door was tempting as I passed it, I didn’t dare anything stupid with the dog trailing my steps—though, I was pretty sure that was what the whole psychotic lesson had been about in the first place.

  Back in the room, I finally stopped rubbing my neck and turned around, realizing for the first time that my captor’s hoodie was peeled back. Along the top of his left ear, a long white scar stretched up into his hairline, as if his skull had split open there at one time. Much as I wanted to ask him about it, I didn’t want to be tied to the bed and shut out.

  “Any chance you could answer one question?”

  “What?” Exhaustion bled into his voice.

  “Your name? I keep calling you my kidnapper in my head.”

  His jaw shifted with his blank stare, and goddamn, I had no idea what that meant. The man had more thoughtful expressions than a gaggle of nuns admiring the Statue of David. “My name is Nick.”

  “Nick,” I echoed.

  “Blue will be outside your door. I don’t suggest you try to sneak out again.”

  16

  Chief Cox

  Cox stared up at the wall-mounted screen across from Culling, on which Martha Baumgartner’s head bobbed beside a small screen showing the Pantheon Motel behind anchorman, Will Thomas.

  “We want to caution, the story we’re about to report contains both graphic and disturbing material that some viewers may find difficult to watch.

  “Detroit investigators are searching for a man believed to be responsible for taking down an entire sex trafficking ring, right here in Detroit. Our own Will Thomas is live on Cass Corridor, where police are on site at The Pantheon Motel. Will?”

  “Yes, Martha, I’m standing in front of The Pantheon Motel. Once a landmark of the city, it’s now falling in disrepair and rented by the hour for illegal activity, including prostitution and drug deals. It’s here that witnesses say they heard gunshots and screaming, sometime around early evening, when a masked man entered the room on the top floor, allegedly posing as a customer, and open fired. It’s not known what went down in the two hours that followed, but police have stated this is the worst crime scene they’ve ever investigated.”

  “I understand three young girls, whose identities will remain anonymous, were rescued and brought to Detroit Receiving, is that correct?”

  “That is correct, Martha. The girls described him as a soft-spoken man, likely in his late twenties, and an angel, as one of them referred to him. The girls were treated for severe cuts believed to have been made by knives, burns and bruises, and the youngest of the three is suffering from some pretty, uh, horrible injuries, which it appears she sustained prior to being rescued. Police will be conducting an investigation, but all three girls are expected to be reunited with their families, once they’ve been released.”

  “You said he was wearing a mask?”

  “Yes, one witness in the motel described a black mask with red stitching across the lips.”

  “Red stitching, Will?”

  “That’s right Martha. Police Chief Cox is reluctant to call this man a hero, and says he may be armed and dangerous. Possibly associated with a terrorist group, known as Achilleus X, who is being sought by both federal and state authorities.”

  “I’d hardly call this an act of terrorism. He saved three girls who’d been reported missing from their suburban homes weeks ago.”

  “The labelling is due to the nature of the murders, which is, uh, quite similar to a recent murder that took place off of Grand River downtown. Police, of course, declined comment on the details of the murder at this time, but did say that very sadistic methods were employed, including the torture of these men and the one female, while the girls were in the other room.”

  “In the case of the murder that took place downtown, wasn’t that following the infiltration of a drug house?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. The murderer apparently stormed the drug house, taking out a number of the drug dealers inside, before kidnapping the head dealer, Marquise Carter.”

  “Hmmm. It seems this masked vigilante is something of a mystery. All right, thank you, Will.

  “Yep, Will Thomas, reporting live from Cass Corridor in Detroit.”

  The small screen disappeared and the camera zoomed in on Martha. “We’re receiving a flood of comments about this case, which is still under investigation at this time.”

  Cox entwined his fingers, sinking into the leather chair across from Culling in the mayor’s home office. “Asshole brings new meaning to getting fucked. Ole Richie was found with his brother’s severed dick in his mouth and tied to a fucking machine, with a gun up his ass. Now Julius seems to have gone missing. His brother’s gonna go balls out to find him, I’m sure.” He scratched his chin. “Discovered another number on Jonathan. We got one and zero so far. Not sure yet what it means.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about some masked crusader saving the world. I want you. To find. My. Wife.” Culling’s round, black eyes could’ve spun a hole right through Cox’s head, the way they drilled into him.

  “We might have a serial killer on our hands here. Could be related to Achilleus X. These men … they’re part of the Crew, ya know.”

  “That’s … wonderful. Great. I’m glad you’ve wasted ten fucking minutes of my life, talking to me about two worthless bastards in the world.” The crack of Culling’s fist slamming into his desktop had Cox’s muscles flinching. “Find my wife! Find my fucking wife, you fat piece of shit! Do you understand me? Find my fucking wife!” Nostrils flared, he adjusted his collar, straightened his tie, and smoothed his hair. “Not a single fucking camera in that shithole hospital caught one goddamn glimpse of this cocksucker. Not one!” Rubbing his temples, he closed his eyes and, in a moment of awkwardness, took deep, yoga-style breaths. “She has information. Information that, if found, could destroy our plans. Could destroy us.”

  “Yeah. Yes, sir.”

  “Whoever has her … I don’t want you to kill them.” Elbow propped on the desk, Culling’s hand balled into a tight fist. “I want them brought back to me. Alive. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Good. As for these three, good riddance.” Culling waved in dismissal toward the TV. “They were erratic. Sloppy. It was only a matter of time before somebody took them down, and I’m just glad it wasn’t some nosy fucking FBI agent with a hard-on for some deeper investigation.”

  “The FBI are going to be involved, sir.” Clearing his throat, Cox straightened in his seat, preparing for another round of fire from the mayor. He’d long threatened that if the FBI got involved, he’d send Cox fishing for air at the bottom of the
river. “There seems to be a link between this guy and Achilleus X.”

  “I personally appointed you to keep the FBI off my ass, Cox. Do your fucking job.”

  Not easy when the murderer seemed to make a goddamn spectacle out of every kill. The butcher clearly had it in for the Crew, but finding each of the bastards in the city before they got snuffed was damn near impossible. “Yes, sir.”

  “In the meantime, not a word about Aubree’s disappearance.” Arm still propped, he flexed his fingers. “As far as the media’s concerned, she took some time to get away. A vacation. I don’t want to draw attention to this, do you understand?”

  A fucking vacation. As if the asshole ever let the poor bitch out of his sight. “Yes.”

  “Get the fuck out of my office. And don’t come back until you have something good to report.”

  17

  Nick

  I fell back onto my bed, cupping my face in my hands. Shit got to me tonight. It was one thing to see those kids propped in ads on the internet, done in a way that’d make some sick fucking pig think they wanted it. It was another to see it in person, to hear their screams. A barbed wrecking ball crashing into my head, ripping through every other thought.

  That dark shit ruined a bastard.

  I’d never get Danielle’s scream out of my head. It would continue to haunt me—a reminder that there were kids out there, scared, feeling hopeless and no one would ever hear their screams.

  I heard them. And I hoped, for her sake, she felt free tonight.

  No doubt, she’d have a long road ahead of her, but maybe she’d be okay at the end. Kids were resilient. Maybe she’d let that shit roll off of her in time, and feel a sense of power, knowing she’d brought down an entire trafficking ring through a man who wanted to bring pain and suffering to everyone of them on her behalf.