The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  “What exactly do you do with your clients?”

  “Art therapy. I used to have a class once a week.” She smiled again, standing beside me at the counter. “Before I was kidnapped. Really hope they’re not expecting a note to excuse my absence.”

  Her comment made me chuckle. “So, what does an art therapist do?”

  “Create. In loss or suffering, there can be joy in creating something that didn’t exist before. Creation and healing are born of the same thread. Bringing something to life can sometimes heal the soul, while still honoring what a person has lost.”

  I frowned. “You can’t replace what’s lost with inanimate objects.”

  “No. You can never replace what’s lost through art. In fact, a number of pieces I’ve created were made out of rage and frustration, for that very point you just made. I’d give anything to have my mother back.” Her head tipped back, and she smiled. “I remember she had the smoothest skin and the thickest hair. I could barely get my little fingers around it when she’d let me gather it into my hands. And her smell.” Her lids fluttered shut, nostrils flared as she sucked in a breath. “No painting could ever capture such a wonderful smell. Like home. But it wasn’t until I first painted her face that I was forced to remember all the things I loved about her.”

  Elbows rested on the countertop, Aubree balanced her chin on her palm, and as she talked, and I tried to recall what my home had smelled like. The laundry my wife insisted on hanging out on the line during summer. The dinners she cooked in the evenings, so rich they filled every room. Lena’s perfume. The soap in my son’s hair after she’d bathed him. If I concentrated, I could almost remember.

  “For so many years, I was haunted by the thoughts that I’d soon forget what she looked like. It’s the truly amazing things in life that we remember most vividly, in the most vibrant colors. Everything else is simply a white canvas.” She let out a huff. “And some are painted so black, you’ll never see the colors. With Michael, I always thought, if I could just get out, get away from him, I could paint this blackness into a world of vibrant colors again. As it once was.” She shook her head, her gaze directed beyond me, and her eyebrows lowered in an expression of hopelessness that made me want to lift her up into my arms. “Nothing can be painted over black, though. No matter how many layers of color you paint, the blackness beneath it will always bleed through.”

  She finally lifted herself from the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. That beautiful smile lit her face again as her gaze fell from mine. “Anyway, that’s my lesson for today. Please come back tomorrow for another riveting half hour of Aubree’s mostly incoherent ramblings.”

  I took another swig of whiskey, letting the burn coat my throat, staring at the incredibly complex woman I didn’t think I’d ever fully understand. “There’s sweetness to your poison, Aubree—as intoxicating and beautiful as it’s deadly. The more I know about you, the more I want to know.”

  Before she could respond, my phone buzzed from the holster at my hip. I lifted it, eyeing the familiar number across the screen, and stepped out of the kitchen into the foyer before answering. “Yeah.”

  Bojanski’s raspy Polish voice spoke low on the other end. “Cops were here.”

  “Only cops, or FBI, too?”

  “Police Chief, I guess. Didn’t think the bastard worked cases.”

  I wanted to laugh at that. “He has a personal interest.”

  “Gave ‘em the name, Alec Vaughn, just like you said, right?”

  Alec’s idea. A way to throw them off my trail. “Good. Was DeMarcus Corley there?”

  “Yep. Good thing, too. Almost had a dead fuckin’ Chief, and I’m sure the natives would’ve gone apeshit over that.” He’d coughed like his lungs might pop through the receiver at any moment, and I tugged the phone from my ear until he’d finished. “Anyway, the ball is in motion now. Good luck, my friend.”

  “Thanks. For everything.” My wife had grown up with the Bojanskis. Leon, and his brother Frank, had always looked out for Lena, like the big brothers she never had. And since police stayed away from the notorious brothers who were known for some of the most brutal murders in the city, they didn’t hesitate to help when I came to them.

  That was the thing about Detroit. Had to be careful who you fucked with, because everybody had connections.

  “Anytime. You make ‘em pay for what they did. You make ‘em pay big time, hear?”

  “I will. I promise you that.”

  When I returned to the kitchen, Aubree sat on the countertop, beer bottle set between her splayed thighs, and my throat went dry. She raised a fork with eggs and bacon piled on it from the plate beside her.

  With a much bigger appetite than her proffered food, I strode across the room, setting my hands flat on either side of her, and opened my mouth to take the bite.

  Her hand jerked back. “Wait. I have a question.” The sweep of her tongue across her lips seized my attention. “So, we never got to you. You told me you were a video game designer. What kind of games?” She smiled. “Kidnapping unwitting damsels in distress?”

  I grinned, and she shoveled the food into my mouth, the smoky bacon coating my tongue as I chewed before swallowing. “Not quite. A mafia crime game called Ladder of the Gods. Players take out major figures on behalf of the notorious Gabrielli crime family to climb the ranks. The ultimate goal is to take out the Capo of the Gabrielli family. It’s a game of revenge.”

  “Ah. And who is the hero of the game?”

  “Someone I spent years creating. Long before I designed the game. He’s the ultimate hero.”

  “And why does he want revenge?” Her brow winged up.

  “I never really fully developed that part of the game. He had a backstory, but … I just sort of kept it obscure. It made him something of a mysterious madman. An anti-hero, of sorts. He had a pretty brutal means of delivering punishment, and throughout the game, players battle their conscience. All they’re given is snapshots of memory. They create their own backstory to justify the cruelty, as they play.”

  “That sounds like it’d be a hit.” She stuffed another piece of bacon into her mouth, chomping as she talked. “No pun intended. I’m not much of a gamer. Was it pretty popular?”

  “Never made it to production. I had a meeting with the publisher the night—” I cleared my throat, choking back the guilty confession that’d always stung the back of my thoughts. “Just didn’t happen.”

  “Nick? I don’t want to pry, but … that night … how did you survive?”

  It was a question I’d asked myself over and over. I didn’t know how I’d survived. Physically or mentally. “I somehow got to my feet, ready to go after those bastards. Somewhere along the way, I collapsed. No idea where. But a young girl found me. Girl from the streets.” My cheek twitched with an urge to smile, as I thought of Lauren so young. “She called an ambulance. Took my dog while I was in the hospital. I owe her my life.”

  “You have such an amazing sense of loyalty, Nick. It must be a wonderful feeling for a young girl to have earned your respect like that.”

  I sipped the last of my whiskey and set it atop the counter. “Lauren’s not so young anymore. Nineteen.”

  “She’s something of a daughter to you, then.”

  A dull ache throbbed in my heart at the thought of cutting ties with her. “Was. She’s pretty much grown up now. Has her own place. Goes to school.”

  “You’ve cut yourself out of her life, then?”

  “We have a rule, Lauren and me. No ties.”

  “Ties make you vulnerable.” Her gaze fell from mine. “So, tell me … what will you do after you’ve won your vengeance?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far.”

  “Because you don’t know what’s on the other side?” She kept her eyes cast downward. “Are you afraid you won’t have a purpose once you kill him? Is that why you avoid making ties?” When she finally looked up, my muscles tensed at the knowing look in her eyes, the way they seemed to
look right down into my soul. “They keep you connected to the world? To life?”

  “I can’t lie to you, Aubree. I’m not the man you think I am.” I battled her gaze, keeping my stare locked on hers, but goddamn she could crumble a man’s defenses. “I know you’ve had some fucked up shit in your life. But it doesn’t get any more fucked up than me. I want to be the white knight who chases away all of your nightmares.” Finally breaking our stare down, I hung my head. “I used to be. Now, there’s so much darkness inside of me, and I’m afraid ...” Hell, I couldn’t even say the words that’d tormented me the last couple of days.

  “You’re not afraid of anything, Nick.”

  “I’m afraid of causing you pain.” I nodded, resigning myself to confessing what would ultimately be less heartache for her in the end. “You’re right. There is nothing left for me after this.”

  In my periphery, I could see her arms cross over one another. “So this … this is about you biding your time. One last hurrah before you ride off into the blazing gun show, right?”

  I couldn’t look at her, let alone answer the question.

  “I’m not the woman you think I am, either. I’m not looking for a white knight, Nick. I gave up on white knights a long time ago.” At my persistent silence, she huffed. “Why keep me? Why not let me go, or better yet, why don’t you kill me?”

  Smirking, I shook my head at what had grown to be a ridiculous thought. Strange, how the mind could change from one state to another. “I might be fucked up, Aubree. But I couldn’t kill you if I tried. Not now.”

  “Then, why keep me here? Why not set me free?”

  “I can’t yet.”

  “Why? Dammit, tell me why!” Her fist pounded against the countertop, and my gaze shot up. No doubt, she probably felt the same state of limbo that had me suspended, drifting along in a plan that didn’t make sense to me either. “I’m tired of hearing you can’t. I want to know why you can’t! I saw …” She cleared her throat. “In your room. You had pictures of me. From as far back as a year.”

  I frowned at the intrusion, wondering how much of my life she’d gleaned while rifling. “You went through my things?”

  “I need answers. I need to know what part I play in this, Nick.”

  “Alec wants to keep you.” I want to keep you. I felt like a selfish bastard, crueler than any of the men I’d killed over the last two weeks. Before me, I had a beautiful, wounded creature, trapped in my small, dark cage, begging me for freedom. Freedom that I refused to grant because I selfishly craved something more. More than her.

  “For what? Do you even know? I’m worthless to Michael. If you think you’re going to snag some deal of a lifetime by offering me up as a trade, you’re wrong! He doesn’t give a shit if you kill me. The only regret he’ll feel is from not having done it himself! And if he does come to you for vengeance, it’s only because you beat him to it.” She lifted my phone from the countertop and banged it against my chest. “You call Alec. You ask him what he wants with me.”

  “You don’t understand, Aubree.”

  “Call him.”

  “I can’t—”

  Her chin inclined in the defiant pose that I’d somehow come to enjoy from her. With those golden eyes full of fire, hell if I didn’t feel a rush move through my body. A burn that snaked beneath my skin, and left me one delicate wire from detonating into a raging bomb of lust. “Try to stop me from leaving, then.” She spun around, long locks of hair dancing around her shoulders, and ran straight for the doorway out of the kitchen.

  I charged forward, knocking her back against wall, dick pressed into her core until she could feel my need for her. Cupping her jaw with my right hand, I seethed when her mouth clamped shut. Goddamn the little pistol could work me right into a massive explosion.

  I slanted my lips over hers and stole whatever fiery canon of bullshit she was about to spew.

  Her palms slammed into my chest in an effort to break the kiss. Futile.

  Grinding against her in slow, imagined thrusts quieted the muffled debate vibrating against my lips. Gripping her crown made sure she couldn’t slip out of my grasp, and she surrendered, arching her body into mine.

  “The truth?” I asked. “Yeah, the plan was to kill you alongside Culling, if he didn’t negotiate. I’m not going to kill you though, and I won’t send you back to your piece of shit husband. But I can’t … let you go yet.” Gritting my teeth, I tightened my fist around a handful of her hair. “Do you understand? I can’t.”

  The plea in my eyes must’ve shown through, loud and clear.

  Behind a watery shield of tears, her eyes softened to defeat. “Yeah. I understand. And that probably makes me as fucked up as you are.”

  39

  Chief Cox

  Cox pulled into the circle drive of Brandon Malone’s newly renovated mansion. It chapped his ass, the way drug lords lived better than the goddamn Chief of Police. He hobbled up the stairs to the front door, cringing at the guttural growls that seeped through as a warning. Malone owned three Great Danes, and Cox had wanted to shoot the horny fucking leg-bangers the first time he met them.

  The doorbell chimed, exciting the dogs into a frenzy of barking, until the butler came to the door, holding one of the devils by the collar while it lurched and bared its teeth.

  “Here to see Brandon.”

  “Certainly, Chief Cox. Right this way.” The butler barked a command at the dogs, and all three of them retreated to the wall of the foyer, where they sat stiff and statuesque.

  Once inside, Cox followed the butler toward the back of the mansion, admiring crystal chandeliers, expensive paintings, imported tapestries, marble staircases, all the shit Cox couldn’t afford on his salary. The scenery morphed into framed Pistons jerseys, signed Tigers baseballs and Red Wings pucks, held in glass curio cabinets—a variety of sports paraphernalia that made up Brandon’s game room.

  Brandon sat amongst a bevy of black males around a sectional couch—some drinking, some smoking, some snorting—and Cox took a seat beside them. Football played on the theater-sized television screen, and women, clad in clothes so tight he could see their nipples through the fabric, lounged around and between them.

  “Chief Cox. I hope you have something to share about my brother,” Brandon said, taking a hit of his cigarillo.

  With a stoic expression, Cox responded, “Your brother was found this morning at the old train station. He’d been cut multiple times and left to bleed out. Rats consumed most of his entrails.”

  Brandon shot forward in his seat, knocking the woman draped across his lap onto the floor. His nostrils flared as he brought both fists to his temples, pounding there. “Who is this mothafucka?” His voice bellowed, drowning out the commentator on screen. “He just messed with the wrong fucking family!”

  While Brandon sat rocking, damn near sucking his thumb, in a tantrum, Cox leaned forward in his chair. He’d have to choose his words carefully. Though Brandon answered to Cox, and was paid through Cox, losing his brother could’ve sent him on a tailspin into madness. Enough to do something stupid like shoot the messenger. “We got a tip we’re following. In the meantime, I need to know something. Three years ago, your crew at the time broke into a house on Theodore Street. Burned it down. You remember that?”

  Frowning, Brandon threw his hands out to the side. “Yeah, so fucking what?”

  “The man who lived in that house. Nick Ryder. Did you kill him?”

  “Shot the mothafucka in the skull. Yeah, we killed him. He burned with that house.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I’m certain.” He straightened, throwing his arms out again. “’The fuck does this have to do with my brother?”

  “Because I think your brother was killed in retaliation for what you did that night, by someone who knew this Nick.”

  “Who is it? I want his name.”

  “I don’t have a name yet,” Cox lied, pushing off the couch. “But I will tell you this. If you’re lying to me, if
he’s not dead , I will take you down, and what happened to your brother will be a mercy kill for what is done to you.”

  Springing to his feet, Brandon drew a pistol from his hip. “You think you can talk to me like that? I’ll smoke your fuckin white ass right here!”

  “Whoa!” One of his cronies laughed, their eyes rolling back, obviously high, to the point Cox was surprised the fucker had even caught what was going on.

  “And you’ll be taking it up the ass in your prison cell for the rest of your life, you fucking thug piece of shit.” Cox pointed, despite the gun still cocked in Brandon’s grip. “Don’t forget who signs your fuckin’ paycheck.”

  Brandon sniffed, his jaw shifting as he swiped the back of his hand across his nose and lowered the gun.

  “You ever pull a gun on me again, and the last thing you’ll see will be the tip of my bullet before your skull is split in half.” Bending, Cox grabbed a rolled up bill sitting on the glass coffee table and snorted the line of coke one of the assholes beside him had set before heading for the door. “You cocksuckers have yourself a nice day.”

  40

  Aubree

  Lying on a bed of pillows alongside where flames crackled in the old brick fireplace of Nick’s bedroom, my eyelids grew heavy as his naked body pressed into mine. “So, this place … have you lived here long?”

  “Only a couple months.”

  “Did it always have heat, water and electrical, or did you rig that yourself?”

  He kissed the sensitive skin behind my ear, and I twitched at the tickle of his scruff. “Rigged it myself.”

  “You went through all this trouble just to kidnap me? I’m flattered.”

  “Nothing but the best for you.” With his lips dragging along the edge of my neck, he cast an exhilarating prickle against the tautness of my skin, while his palm smoothed over the curve of my hip.