The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  I lifted the gun, keeping it level with my eyes, and aimed at the staircase. Any motherfucker on his way up would get a dose of lead.

  The sound of heavy footfalls on the lower level traipsed down my spine, spreading like ice crystals along my nerves. Closer, they advanced, and I backed into the shadows of Nick’s room, crouching low to stay out of sight.

  A bald head appeared in the foyer, twisting side to side. A gun swung ahead of the guy, and as his gaze flicked upward, toward where I hid, I crouched lower.

  Cox.

  I’d seen him on rare occasions that Michael opted for meetings in his office. Hadn’t known his name until one of the house staff identified him as the Chief of Police—corrupt bastard. No doubt, he’d come to collect me on Michael’s behalf. The two of them were tight.

  I lowered my pistol and aimed square at Cox’s cock, while he stood at the foot of the stairs. I’d never trusted the bastard from the moment I met him. He’d always come across as slimy and slick—one of those men you wouldn’t dare leave a small child with. Somehow, killing him felt like I’d be doing the world a favor.

  He ascended the stairs, one at a time, his gun leading the way. I had the upper hand. I could kill him right then. Or wound him. Staying within the shadows, I kept a steady hand on the trigger. Aim Shoot Kill. Aim Shoot Kill. The words repeated over and over in my mind.

  Aim Shoot Kill.

  I steadied my hand, fingers curling the grip. Dryness climbed my throat, but I swallowed it back.

  I scarcely took a breath as he advanced toward me. When he reached the top of the staircase, he flanked left, in the direction of my room.

  From Nick’s room, I tracked the sounds of his footsteps, the slide of drawers, what sounded like rifling through the mostly empty nightstand beside the bed, where I kept my art supplies. The whoosh and crinkle of paper told me he flipped through my sketchpad.

  Breathe in, breathe out. I’d never killed a man before.

  I didn’t like the link to Michael. Too close. Way too close. It told me that the bastard and his cronies had more information than perhaps even Nick had anticipated, because no way he’d have left me passed out if he knew that asshole had been lurking around. The queasiness filled my stomach with dread at the thought that Nick might have walked straight into an ambush, and perhaps he wouldn’t survive. Though, maybe that was what he’d planned all along.

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

  Last stolen breath? My stomach flipped on itself, as hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. He never planned to come back at all.

  That envelope probably contained answers to every question spinning through my head, including what the hell would’ve possessed him to go storming into certain death.

  I glanced back to where I’d stuffed the envelope behind the fire-back, but at the sound of Cox’s boots against the wood floors, my attention snapped back to my bedroom.

  “Where are you, bitch? I find you, this fucking nightmare ends.” His mutter could be heard in the quiet.

  I peeked around the corner, then propped my knee beneath my wrist to steady my aim.

  Aim Shoot Kill. Aim Shoot Kill.

  He came into view. I had a clear shot of him.

  I took it.

  “Motherfuck!” Cox fell into the door of the adjacent bedroom before crashing to the floor.

  Within seconds, shots pinged off the wall beside me, forcing me to duck out of the way.

  “I’ll kill you, cunt! You fuckin’ shot my leg!”

  “I’m warning you, Cox. Get the hell out of here, or I’ll kill you.”

  “I was ordered to bring you back alive, but I wasn’t told I had to bring you back unharmed.”

  My hands trembled harder, and I pushed my muscles, straining them to keep steady, while keeping my gaze on the man whose stiffened leg was raised into the air. “This is your last chance. Leave now!”

  “Fuck you!”

  More gunfire, in a rapid burst.

  I lay back on the floor and aimed my gun at his head. “One shot. One kill,” I whispered.

  He sneered, staring down at me, pistol aimed at my head in a standoff. “What are you, a fucking sniper now?”

  “Don’t do it. I’ll blow your fucking head off, Cox. I swear to God, I will.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I have a question. You’re all alone in this house. Why didn’t you run? Call for help?”

  At the lift of his lip, I shot his shoulder.

  “Fuckin hell!” The pistol fell from his grip, and he slapped his good hand to the wound and lunged toward me.

  Hands swiped out at me with no purchase, and I hammered a fist into his face, kicking his head to the side. I pushed myself to a stand, keeping him in my sights, and nabbed his cellphone clipped at his hip.

  Scrolling through the numbers, I found Michael. “Call him.”

  A part of me couldn’t believe I was about to do something so dangerous and stupid. Throw myself back into the asshole’s lap. I probably wouldn’t come out alive this time. I couldn’t let Nick get killed, though. Not after he’d saved my life, cared for me, and set me free. I loved him. And for that reason, walking away wasn’t an option.

  There was something to be said about the heart’s tenacity, it’s refusal to accept defeat and give up on what it desired most. Maybe it was my restored faith in love that drove me to fight for what I wanted, when I knew the battle was so much bigger than me.

  Or maybe I was just bat-shit crazy.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Goddamn it, Cox. Don’t make me shoot your other shoulder. It’s a pretty sure bet I’ll hit the mark from this distance.”

  His eye twitched, and he snatched the phone from my hand. “Your little boyfriend’s probably been skinned alive by now.”

  I ignored his words and the urge to pummel his face.

  “I want you to tell him you found me. And Achilleus X. Understood? Both of us.” As he lay beneath me, I pressed the barrel of the gun to the top of his head. “You fuck this up and you’ll be fishing for brains, fingers and toes across the floor.”

  49

  Nick

  Dark. Cold. I opened my eyes through the fog clouding my brain, to a room that shifted in and out of focus. Tugging my hands brought me to the realization that I’d been tied up.

  A sharp angle pressed into my back, and I blinked past the fog to see the drill above my head. Binds bit into my forehead when I attempted to look down. I’d been strapped.

  To an industrial-sized, vertical milling machine.

  Culling’s face came into view, and that fucking smile I hated stretched his lips. “The infamous Eye for an Eye killer.” He lifted the black ski mask, before tossing it over his shoulder. “Welcome! I’ve waited a very a long time for you. Tell me, how should I address you? E-for-E? Alec Vaughn? Which do you prefer?”

  “Nick. Nick Ryder.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Nick Ryder is dead, my friend. A very trusted source assures me he was shot in the head.”

  “Well, your trusted source is for shit. That, or you can see dead people.”

  His lips pursed for a moment. “Whether you are, or not, your name is inconsequential to me. My police chief informs me you’ve been wreaking havoc on the Seven Mile Crew.”

  “Man, fuck that crew.” The voice to the right of me told me there were more thugs in the room.

  “My concern isn’t the Crew,” Michael continued. “My concern is that you’ve stolen my wife!” His lip curled into a snarl. “And I want her back!”

  My mind made a mental rundown of any torture I’d been subjected to while I was out. No trouble breathing. Aside from a fading blur, I could see, so my eyes hadn’t been gouged. No nausea or numbness or tingling anywhere. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong man. See, I don’t plan to tell you shit.”

  His snarl popped to an evil grin—one that warned of pain. “You know … the jig borer is said to ha
ve accuracy up to ten thousandths of an inch. I could essentially perform a lobotomy on you right here.”

  “Brilliant. I’m sure I’ll have the wherewithal to remember where I stashed your wife after that.”

  Eyes clamped shut, Culling rolled his shoulders and his nostrils flared. “You know, my father was a machinist. In fact, he worked in this very factory when I was a child. A lowly blue collar worker.”

  “The hell kind of torture is this? Crucify me with a genealogical lesson on your goddamn family tree?”

  I caught a flash of white, before pain rocketed through my jaw.

  Culling flexed his fists and shook out his hand, as the dull ache throbbed in my teeth. “As I was saying … my father worked in a factory for years. When he came home, he drank until he could hardly keep himself on two feet. Every. Fucking. Night. And when he was drunk, he liked to seek out my mother, or me, if I happened to be in his way. Any reason he could find to beat the ever-loving shit out of the two of us, he would.” He paused for a moment, eyes narrowed. “On one occasion, I was given a gift. A ring from a young girl I’d befriended. Nothing particularly special, aside that I’d never received gifts. Never had a friend. Never understood the concept of friendship, until she came along. Even then, I struggled to see the benefit but found her … a curiosity.” Head bowed, he paced beside me. “My father, the bully that he was, found my ring and took it from me. When I fought to get it back, my mother stepped in. He murdered her in front of me. And for a week, he kept me tied to a machine in the shed, where he spent his drunken nights beating me. Torturing me. Doing whatever the fuck he wanted, because no one in that shithole neighborhood gave a fuck about another bastard child. They’re all white noise to the dysfunction that thrives in hellhole cities like Detroit.”

  Realization hit my gut like a sledgehammer. “You’re … the boy. That Aubree told me about.”

  His brows winged up, lips stretched into a weak smile. “Ah, you’ve had intimate conversations with my wife about me. I’m flattered.” He sniffed, licked his lips. “You know what the problem is with this city? It’s not the crime. It’s not lack of money. It’s really not even about blacks or whites.” Fingers curled into a fist, he stood beside me. “It’s lack of ambition. An entire class of lazy, ambitionless fucks, who have nothing better to do than go to the same miserable fucking job day after day, then come home and drink, and beat the shit out of their families.” With a sigh, he shook his head and went back to his pacing. “Eventually, I was found. After a week of hell, someone finally noticed I’d gone missing. I was taken away from my father and moved to the suburbs, raised by a stoic but successful man—a lawyer—and his wife. What a different life. I’d never dreamed of college before then. Never hoped to do more in life than become some fucking apprentice at a machine shop. And yet, look at me.” Hands brushing down his side, he tipped his head and smiled. “I run this fucking place now. I own this city. How ironic is that? The shop that owned my father, who owned me, is mine!” The smile on his face withered to a serious expression. “In all that time, I never forgot Aubree, though. Never forgot the little bitch who’d claimed to be my best friend, and yet, never said a word when I’d gone missing.” His stare, directed beyond me, told me he’d fallen into memories. “I came back for her. Found her. Stalked her night after night. Enrolled in one of her therapy classes. I decided to give back to her what I’d felt every night that my father came to mete out my punishment, while she’d lay cozy in her bed, sparing no thought to what happened to me at all.” The devious twist of his lips had me wishing I could break the binds and pummel his fucking face. “That hopeless feeling, when you wish someone would just fucking kill you already.”

  He must’ve somehow manipulated her into feeling sorry for him. Guilt-tripping her into marrying him. No other reason could explain what the hell would make a woman like Aubree, as strong and bull-headed as she could be, fall for a psychotic asshole like Culling.

  “The first job I took out of college was as an internist at my foster father’s law firm. With the money I earned, I paid a man in prison to murder my father. It was one less blue collar worker in the world. One less miserable, drunken asshole. And it occurred to me then, how brilliant a plan it was—to eliminate the middle class all together.” His finger pointed in the air, emphasizing his words. “Divide the city into rich and poor. And then have them kill themselves on the streets. Why have the good people pay to keep them locked up? Hand feed them in their prison cells. Survival of the fittest. Stop the breeding of complacency, and open the doors to prosperity and innovation.”

  “How very Hitler.”

  “Yes! Though I’ll admit his execution was poor … the idea was sheer brilliance!”

  “I thought I was crazy.” Much as I wanted to shake my head, I couldn’t. “You’re fucking insane.”

  “I am. That, I am.” His eyes narrowed. “I understand that your wife and son were murdered on this day three years ago.” He glanced back to one of his men. “What were their names, Tony?”

  “Lena and James.”

  “Ah, yes. Lena and James.” His nod morphed into a shake of his head. “Now, if there’s one thing a sadistic, rotten bastard like me understands, its vengeance. I have it in spades. I’m sorry for your loss, my friend, but with big ideas come small sacrifices.”

  Fury ignited in my veins and burned inside my muscles. Had to get loose. Needed to hear him howl with pain, watch his face twist with agony. Pain I yearned to inflict. I flexed against the binds holding me in place, the urgency to tear into the motherfucker dominating my senses, telling me to ignore the fire ripping through my wrists with every pull. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”

  His punch-worthy grin toyed with my last thread of sanity, and I yanked the rope, desperate to get loose—even if I’d have one less hand in the process.

  “I’d like to make you a deal. I’d have loved to have a man with your talents and knack for evasion, but loyalty drives the engine and trust guides the ship.” Slapping his hands together, he steepled his fingers. “I’m afraid I’d have neither with you. So, how about this? You tell me where to find my wife? I’ll end your life with a bullet to the head. Quick. Painless. An act of mercy on my part, for all you’ve suffered.”

  “I’ve already been there, fuck-face. And, I can tell you, it’s neither quick nor painless. So, why don’t you take your act of mercy, shove it up your ass, and fuck yourself with it.”

  Another blow popped my lip, and the chasing burn told me he’d split it open.

  “My, you have quite a tolerance for pain. Not so much as a grunt each time I’ve hit you.”

  “If you were hoping to hear someone scream, you should’ve strapped one of these pussies to the bench.” I nudged my head against the stiff binds, toward whoever stood to the left of me. One of the men growled.

  “It’s not my nature to be kind, and I must say … you make it fucking impossible.” Culling signaled one of the men beyond my periphery, and a cart was pulled alongside the machine to which I was strapped. On it, sat a small grinder with a wire wheel on one side, an abrasive grinding wheel on the other. “You’re lucky the lathe is completely out of order. I understand you have quite a sharp trigger finger.”

  My hand loosened from the straps, and I drove a fist into the side of the fat fuck who tried to hold me down. Grappling with the second thug, I swung two more times through the air, before my hand was pressed into the metal platform of the cart, the weight of both men crushing against my bones. I struggled in their grip, using all the strength in my arm, but with the rest of my body confined, I failed to move them.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time. Nicely.” Culling’s fake, plastered smile taunted my fists, and had they not been strapped, I’d have knocked those perfect fucking teeth right out of his mouth. “Where is my wife?”

  “Okay, okay.” I took deep breaths. “If I had to guess … right now, your wife is … basking in the glow of ecstasy after my giving her what your small co
ck never could.”

  The grinder flipped on.

  Fire and ice tore through my hand, the sharp bite of electricity stiffening my muscles before they turned cold with creeping numbness. My curses were drowned by the hum of the machine, and the smell of burning flesh stung my nose.

  “Ah! One moment. Please.” With a finger in the air, Culling lifted his cellphone to his ear.

  The machine cut out, and the numbness crawled up into my wrists, my elbows, my chest, crushing each breath.

  “Cox, how wonderful to hear from you. Where the fuck have you been?” Culling paused. “Aubree? Interesting. Bring her to me.” He pulled the phone away from his face then placed it back, his smug grin turning to a frown. “Loading dock. The Ironworks building. Atwater.” Tucking the phone into his jacket, his smile returned. “Well, that’s out of the way. I’d hoped to torture you a bit, into telling me the whereabouts of Achilleus X, but it seems Cox has discovered that as well as found my wife, and they’re on their way here. So, I’m afraid I’ve no use for you, my friend.” He rounded the machine and put his mouth to my ear. “I do intend to punish Aubree for fucking you. I’d hoped she was nothing more than a victim, but I should’ve known better. Once a whore, always a whore.”

  I spat in his face. “This isn’t over. I’m coming for you, asshole.”

  “I believe the only one coming tonight will be me. Having fucked you.” He kissed my forehead. “You put some excitement in my life, Nick. I’m truly going to miss you.” He glanced down at his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my wife should be here any minute.”

  He straightened and gestured toward the men still holding my hand captive. “I want you to take it slow with this one. And when you use the drill, take a video, so Aubree and I can fuck to it later.” His gaze swung back to me. “Between her screams and your screams, I’m sure to get off.”

  Culling spun around, two men from beyond my periphery at his heels, and the grinder flipped on again.