The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  Chief Cox

  Cox rounded the perimeter of the old Ironworks building, checking out all of the possible hiding places where a savvy assassin might hide, pausing when his phone rang and Burke’s number flashed across the screen.

  Rolling his eyes, Cox answered the call.

  “Chief, where are you?” The frantic tone of Burke’s voice put Cox on edge.

  “Out of the fuckin’ office. Why?”

  “Internal Affairs is here. Someone reported you for something.” He lowered his voice. “They want to speak with you. What do you want me to tell ‘em??”

  Riley. The rat bastard. Probably turned him in for threatening the little cocksucker. Should’ve killed the motherfucker when he’d had the chance. “Just … keep ‘em out of my office. I don’t give a shit what you have to tell them, but don’t let the bastards in there, got it?”

  “They’re asking about the E-for-E case.”

  Irritation battled the panic in his gut. “E-for-E? What the fuck is that?”

  “Eye for an Eye. It’s the hashtag everyone’s calling him on social media.”

  Fuckin social media. “We’re investigating. We don’t have shit on this guy. That’s what you tell them.”

  “We did get a tip on Aubree Culling. Don’t know if it’s legit. Some kid, must’ve been thirteen, fourteen years old, said he was scrappin’ with some guys he knows from the streets. Said he found her in the woods near an abandoned mansion on Brush Park.”

  “Brush Park?”

  “Yeah. He was lookin’ for the reward. Told him to come back when you were in.”

  “Fuck that kid. He comes back, tell him to get his ass in school. In the meantime, I’m going to check out this lead. See if it’s legit.”

  47

  Nick

  The SD card that held the gut-wrenching video of Lauren also carried the vital geolocation data that allowed me to trace where it’d been recorded.

  Exactly as the sender hoped, I was sure.

  The old Ironworks building had long been the most recognized machine shop, before it’d closed its doors in the early nineties. Located on Atwater, along the Detroit River, it was considered an eyesore, with its boarded up windows, broken glass and graffiti-colored walls, amid the businesses moving in there. Construction equipment stood rusted in the adjacent field, as if someone at some time had planned to do something with the shithole but then opted out. Perfect place to house a bunch of kidnapped girls to entertain the city’s most notorious crime lords.

  I crouched across the street, along the river, concealed by the trees and brush, aware that every minute ticking by meant one less breath for Lauren. I’d already staked two eastside thugs using the ramp entrance, but no saying how many might’ve been inside. No sign of Culling, either.

  They’d all be expecting me, though. I’d had to have my gun re-barreled for the custom silencer I attached to it, in the hope of keeping my arrival as undiscovered as possible.

  Keeping to the shadows, I slipped along Atwater, toward the side of the building where a copse of bushes concealed a broken out window. Peeking inside revealed two men, dressed in black, smoking cigarettes as the AK’s in their hands dangled casually. They appeared to be alone in the small room off the larger machining area.

  Through the scope of my M-24, I lined up my sights and shot twice. One bullet for each head. The men fell to the ground in a heap, and I climbed inside the building and lifted my gun, ready to shoot anything that moved.

  As I passed the dropped men, I strapped one of their AK’s to my back and kept on to the next room.

  A wall of steel separated my position from the open floor of the machining section of the building. Rounding the corner brought me to a large block of equipment, set along a wall that met a staircase to the second floor.

  At a table in the center of the open room, a dozen men played cards, smoking and drinking, like a fucking friendly gathering of the city’s scum under one roof.

  Pausing at the mouth of the stairs, cloaked behind the machines propped against the wall, I took a deep breath and swung the M-24 forward.

  The first shot set the ball in motion. Like penetrating a mound of fire ants, the bastards would come scampering out of their hiding places, so as I ascended the stairs, I aimed for the men packing guns first—four casually standing about; three behind the men playing cards.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Boom. Down.

  And the game was on.

  Bullets whizzed past my head like they’d just caught up with the program. I ducked behind the steel banister, scrambling up a few more stairs, before I stopped and shot again, taking out one more gunman.

  The sound of gunshots bounced off the walls, as the dozen or so men below bolted out of their chairs and swarmed the open floor. I tugged the AK and bump-fired in rapid succession, blanketing the room from my vantage point, before they even had a chance.

  At a flash of movement in my periphery, I aimed the gun toward the top of the staircase and took out two more men, keeping my pace as I went along, always moving. Had to keep moving.

  Bullets pinged at my boots, bouncing off the steel. I targeted a male from the first floor, bleeding out his wounds as he crawled over gunned down bodies and tried to take me out. With one shot from the rifle, he fell back, a bullet in his head.

  I kicked open a door, gun at the ready. On a dirty mattress butted against a concrete wall, a girl covered herself with a sheet. “Get dressed and get out. You’re free to go.”

  At the next door, I kicked the wood open.

  The whizz of a bullet grazed my ear, knocked me to the side. I leapt backward, striking two shots in the gunman’s chest on the way. Sucking in a deep fucking breath, I sent up a silent hallelujah and signaled for the girl to leave.

  Next room stood empty. Rounding the corner, I touched my ear, bringing back a small splotch of blood.

  Fucker.

  Another door separated me from whatever hell lay on the other side. I clutched the AK and kicked it in, jumping to the side as gunfire sprayed bullets through the entrance. At its pause, I crouched low, kept tight against the adjacent wall and peeked around the corner. Four men stood with guns aimed at the door. I showered the interior of the room with return fire and slipped just inside.

  Two men lay dead. Two more ducked behind rusted metal benches.

  I slid behind a large steel cabinet, directed the gun at the men through the scope of my twenty-four, and capped them.

  Sticking to my hiding spot, I waited. Three more men, toting rifles, padded into the room from the adjoining hallway.

  One. Two. Three. Boom. Down.

  I kept on through the maze of empty, abandoned rooms that looked to be empty offices. It was on the first floor of the west side of the building that I heard Lauren’s screams.

  Muscles tense, I prepared myself for more fire, but before I could draw my gun, a fist collided with my cheek, knocking my head to the side.

  I shook it off and slid the guns from my shoulder to the ground. Stretching my jaw, which damn near felt unhinged, I dodged the next punch, coming back with a shoulder pop, followed by a counterpunch that knocked the asshole’s head back.

  On wavering feet, the brutish redhead with a beard to match, maybe six feet tall, stood with his fists up. Dodging two missed punches, I gripped the back of his head and took him to the ground with an upward elbow strike that left his head lolling.

  I spat blood on him and continued on toward the sounds I’d heard.

  Down a hall, through another door, Christ, did the fucking place ever end? I reached a much wider opening and, slowing my steps, stalked toward the entrance. Inside a break room, with empty vending machines lined against the wall, four males stood around a steel table.

  Amid them, a further two took a girl who looked no older than eighteen.

  Through the scope, I steadied my hand and systematically took each one of them out before any of them could do more than spin to me
in surprise.

  Lauren’s screams reached my ears once again, kicking up my adrenaline. The girl the men had been on whimpered as she scrambled for scattered clothes on the floor, and passing her, I headed for a stairwell across the room.

  Through another door, the loading dock of the building sat below, where they stored most of the machinery. A balcony connected the two walls of the vast staging area, with a short staircase at either end.

  In the center of the room, a large man in an oversized white T-shirt and sagging jeans, stood with his back to me, blocking my view of what lay on the other side of him. Only black curls dangling over the edge of a long wooden workbench, and the familiar sound of her voice, gave any clue that I’d found Lauren.

  My lip curled, and I shot a bullet in his ear. One more in his throat for good measure. I made my way down the staircase, and as he dropped, Lauren’s bloodied body came into view.

  Gunfire erupted from my right, and I slid the AK forward, taking out the man below the staircase. I leapt the remaining half dozen stairs and tugged the AK across my chest, capping two approaching men in leather vests with biker patches, the pair of them toting guns.

  Swinging left then right, gun cocked and ready to fire, I backed myself toward the workbench, kicking the fucker who lay beside it, oozing blood from his ear and throat.

  Seconds passed. No one else arrived.

  I spun around and lifted my mask. Lauren’s beautiful model-worthy face had been cut to shit, left bruised, swollen and seeping pus. I choked back tears.

  “Nick.” A sob thumped her chest as she lifted a trembling hand to my face. “Th-th-ey asked … me.”

  “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I came here for you. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

  “I’m … sorry.” The breath she sucked rattled behind her ribs. “I know … you said don’t come ‘round … I just … wanted to tell you … I got my letter.” Her lip downturned and tears pooled beneath her head. “I got … accepted … full ride.”

  Fuck! Panic twisted in my gut. I couldn’t let her die. Not there. Not like that. Her whole fucking life slipped behind my eyes, and I could see her one day in her graduation gown, accepting honors, because Lauren wouldn’t allow herself to become anything less than the best. “I’m gonna get you out of here. Just hang on.”

  “I … I … I have to tell … you something. P-P-Please.”

  I could barely see past the tears welling in my eyes, as thoughts of Culling burned holes in my head while my gaze roved Lauren’s mutilated body. The cuts and gaping wounds told me she might not make the ride to the hospital. Seconds ticked inside my head, not knowing what to do. Let her talk, because I might not otherwise hear her last spoken words, or face the possibility that I wouldn’t get far with her in the backseat of my car.

  Steeling my muscles, I steadied my trembling hands and blinked away the tears. “You have to hurry, sweetheart. We don’t have time.” My gaze scanned downward and my blood froze. Her abuser had cut her abdomen open, spilling blood onto the floor. “Oh, fuck, Lauren. We have to go now!”

  “Nick … I didn’t tell you something. I should’ve … a long time … ago. That night … of the fire. I was with … my brother and his crew.” She spoke through sobs that had my heart hanging on her words, anxious to get her away from that place, the hell she must’ve suffered. “Bunch of … drug dealers. They set fire … to some abandoned houses. Just havin’ fun. And these men … came from out of nowhere. They shot up … all of them. Tried to … rape me … and kill me, too. I got away. I was screaming … for help. Nobody answered. Whole damn ‘hood shut me out … like some criminal. Your wife … let me inside. I hid in … the basement, like … she told me.”

  Numbness spread beneath my skin as the one missing puzzle piece finally came together, fitting perfectly into what I’d wondered for years. Why did they choose us? Why had they been there?

  “She let me hide.” Tears slipped down her cheek. “From them.”

  “It doesn’t matter now, Lauren. None of that matters, you hear? Now, shut the fuck up. We’re getting out of here.”

  “It was … my fault. I’m so … sorry Nick. I was stupid … a kid on the streets. Had nothin’. You changed … my life. I’m sorry … for what I did. I … love you … Nick.” Words flew from her mouth, as much as they could between each desperate bid for breath.

  “Don’t you fucking die on me, Lauren. You just hold on. I’m going to hoist you over my shoulder, okay? Just hang in there.”

  “Nick … they did … so many bad things.” Tears streamed down her cheek, gathering in a small puddle beneath her head that mingled with the blood spilling from her wounds. “I’m so scared.”

  “I’m … I’m lifting you up. Just … I don’t want to hurt you, but I gotta get you out of here.”

  Her weak clutch of my arm made me pause, and I stared down at her swollen, beaten eyes, flickering with the light’s reflection in a stark contrast to her pallid complexion. “Who guards … the flock?”

  The sudden ease in her voice filled me with dread. I slumped my shoulders and bowed my head at the realization that I wouldn’t be carrying her out of that place alive. “The shepherd,” I whispered back.

  “Who is … the shepherd?”

  “Your brother.”

  “My … brother.” Her eyes fluttered, before her muscles softened against my grip and she went limp in my arms.

  I buried my face in her hair, muscles taut as a bow, and my curses bounced off the walls.

  “How very precious.” The voice arrived from behind.

  I tugged my mask over my face and turned, with the AK pointed at Culling.

  A dozen thugs stood behind him, some with their own AK’s, all guns pointed at me.

  Didn’t matter how quick I was, they’d execute me like a fucking firing squad.

  48

  Aubree

  I opened my eyes to a blur, like looking too closely through a magnifying glass. I could make out details—the bathroom door, a light, the adjacent wall. Everything else remained too wide for my eyeballs, and I squinted, trying to blink it away. A dull ache throbbed in my head as I sat up from the bed. The bed. Nick’s bed. Why couldn’t I recall how I’d gotten there?

  I remembered holding a gun at Nick. Why? Had he hurt me? I didn’t feel pain, aside from a slight headache. Had he threatened me?

  I wracked my brain, trying to recall the last few minutes. Screams bounced inside my skull, forcing me to slap both hands on either side of my head.

  The video.

  Pieces came together, retelling the story, just moments before I’d blacked out. A girl. Torture. Nick went after her.

  Oh, God. He went after her!

  He went after Michael.

  I slammed the heel of my palm against my temples. “C’mon! Remember!” I’d caught him watching the video inside … inside … his closet!

  Jumping up from the bed had me falling back down on the mattress. Wooziness overpowered my urgency to remember what the hell had happened. I stood up, catching my balance for a moment, before rushing toward the closet.

  Hangers, perfectly spaced apart, carried two leather jackets, along with hoodies, white wife beaters, and a number of jeans and T-shirts, varying in shades. A shoe rack held four pairs of heavy black boots.

  On the right side, at least a dozen suits—pressed and pristine—hanging from wooden hangers. Crocodile shoes filled a second rack, and fedoras lined the top shelf.

  As if two different men shared the same space.

  A desk had been set up at the back wall of the closet. I stepped inside and toward a laptop left opened. As I twisted, my sights caught on something, and I turned back toward the door, closing it just enough to catch the object hanging on the inside. A black poster with white lettering: ‘Never Be Silenced.’

  Achilleus X.

  I pressed a key on the laptop, which brought up a password request.

  The sound of breaking glass froze my limbs, and I rushed out of the closet.


  On the nightstand, my gun lay atop of a large, sealed envelope with ‘Aubree’ written across the front.

  For one brief moment, I forgot where I was, like time stood still, as my eyes focused on the cursive scrawled across the package. I traced it with my fingertips before tearing one end. Inside, was a key, a letter, a series of numbers jotted down on notepaper, and a black flash drive with ‘If you want to know the truth’ written in silver across it.

  Truth?

  The first part of the letter detailed instructions, something about a bank account, a house. I couldn’t do more than scan the words, as nothing so emotionless could possibly stick inside my head right then. I searched for Nick’s words, his heartfelt words. I found those on the second page.

  The door of opportunity has opened, Aubree. You hold the key, and I’ll break your chains.

  You were exactly what I needed, but I’m selfish. I wanted more for both of us. More retribution. You gave me a glimpse of what life could’ve been, but this suffering is my curse.

  He can’t win, or we both lose. I have to finish this.

  The ultimate revenge isn’t the murder of my enemy. It’s the whisper of truth on my last stolen breath.

  I love you, Pistol Lips. Never miss another sunset again.

  Nick

  A thump from below popped my attention back to the present and the breaking glass that’d brought me back to the bedroom to begin.

  My muscles juddered, hands trembling as I shoved the letter back into the envelope. Searching for a place it wouldn’t easily be found, I crossed the room to the old fireplace, slid it against the crumbling brick behind an old copper engraved fire-back, and buried it in the ash

  Grabbing up the gun en route, I softly made my way toward the door that over looked the foyer.

  Nothing.

  No movement. Scrappers again? Maybe. There was that kid that’d gotten away. The one who’d screamed, alerting the men when I’d tried to steal their truck. Had he come back? Decided to seek revenge? He’d looked so young, though. Not much of a threat.