The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  Using her hips, she knocked him backwards, giving me a moment’s worth of pleasure in his awkward stumbling. Righting himself he drew a fist back and elbowed her in the back, and just as smoothly, anger and madness battled inside my gut

  With a cry of pain, Lucy collapsed to the table and Conall lifted her back up, gripping tight to her.

  “Motherfucker!” I squeezed my fists so tight, what must've been blood trickled from my gouged palms across my knuckles. Wrath lashed my muscles with the urge to pummel him. My hands trembled, forced against the binds to break them.

  Grabbing a handful of hair, he positioned the knife at the center of Lucy's back, and must’ve poked her skin with the tip, as her eyes flinched. “Keep fighting, bitch. I love a good match.” From the adjacent wall, he yanked down a cat-o-nines whip, made from nine skinny plaited cords. He slid it through his hand, then drifted the cords across Lucy’s body. “I’m not going to lie, darlin’. This is going to hurt you more than it'll hurt me.”

  “Conall.” In spite of the disgust, the rage tightening my throat, I kept my voice level, calm. “I have a large sum of money. I’ll give you whatever you want. It’s yours. The video. The cash. Names. Whatever the fuck you want.”

  With a shake of his head, his lips stretched to a smile. “Money doesn’t get me off. Neither will some shit video I couldn't care less about. But giving pain? Now that makes me hard as fuck.”

  He brought down the whip across Lucy’s ass, and her scream hit my spine like a knife scraping across my bones. Another strike, and she cried out, followed by a series of blows that left her head bowed, sobbing into her arm.

  “Fuck yes.” Conall grabbed the front of himself and, squeezing there, licked his lips. “That shit is music to my ears.” He struck her again. “Come on, bitch, beg me to stop.”

  Tight knots of pain twisted in my stomach, threatening to snap, and my face burned with the heated blood rushing through my veins “Lucy … Lucy, look at me.” My voice arrived hoarse, strangled by the tightness in my neck and the rigid clench of my jaw.

  Another crack of the whip arched her back, inciting a high-pitched shriek from her, the sight and sound of her casting hot pulses of ire through my muscles.

  Sprays of blood dotted the concrete tabletop as the whip came down again, and an inhuman howl of pain ripped through my chest, bouncing off the walls.

  I slammed my eyes shut, to flashes of jagged light behind my lids, as every part of me tensed into a tight coil, desperate to strike out and rain hell.

  Violence and madness battled inside my stomach, stretching my muscles with the effort to tear away the chains and smash Conall’s head against the concrete. I wanted to watch his blood spray up into my face, to taste the salty tang on my tongue as I crushed his fucking skull.

  I ground my teeth. The chains rattled, as I writhed in the chair, and my body convulsed into spasms, pulling me from the urge to slip into blackness. I needed to see her face. Needed to know she was still there, still inside the shell that bruised with every lash of the whip.

  Lifting my lids, I dipped my head to catch her eyes. “Look at me, Lucy.”

  When she locked gazes with mine, I damn near broke. In the weeks I’d spent with her, I’d never seen fear in her eyes. Had never seen pain so deep as that which stared back at me.

  “Oh, God, make it stop! Jase, please!” The plea in her voice teetered along the fine line between destroying me and sending me straight into insanity, and as her chasing outcry slid down my spine, a part of me wanted to disappear.

  Instead, I compelled calm, pushing away the panic that threatened to clamp down on my lungs and suffocate me. “Eyes on me,” I said, forcing my voice level. “No matter what, don’t take your eyes off of me, Lucy. I’m right here.” My voice threatened to break, as it turned hoarse with the strain.

  For minutes that seemed to pass as hours, he whipped her with the cat-o-nines. Every scream that ripped from her throat, every sob in between blows, every time she collapsed and the bastard propped her up again, incited rage, so pure and raw, I’d begun to turn primal. Animalistic. Like the mangled dog I’d seen back in Del Ray, just waiting for the opportunity to break free. Fingers curled into fists behind my back, I shook, the pressure building in my skull.

  Blood had begun to pool on the table beneath her, as her skin tore with each new strike.

  “Fucking stop! Stop! Fuck!” Spittle flew from my mouth as I shouted past clenched teeth.

  He did. Setting down the cat-o-nines, the cocksucker breathed heavy and turned toward the shelf behind him, nabbing a cigar from a box.

  After lighting the end, Conall puffed the cigar and twisted it around, his eyes narrowed on the glowing ember. “I love the smell of burning flesh. Has a … pungent, meaty flavor.” His laughter over the sounds of Lucy’s pleas raked my nerves. “You’ve got a pretty nasty wound back here, sweetheart. Thought I’d solder it shut for you.”

  “No, no, no,” she said on a sob. “Please, no more.”

  Sickness churned inside my stomach, while a quivering string of tension vibrated through my body, so taut I could damn near snap in half. “Conall. Let me take her place. You can do whatever the fuck you want to me. Let her go. Please. Fucking let her go.”

  “Take her place? Now, why would I do that, when I know damn well this hurts you more than any pain I could inflict on you?” He brought the hot tip down to her skin, and a crackle hit the air, followed by Lucy’s scream, a sound that incited little pings of lunacy down my spine.

  I was useless to her. A rotten bastard, unable to help her and protect her. If I could've broke the chains, Conall would be nothing more than body parts scattered across the floor. “It’s me that you want! Fucking kill me! Whatever the fuck you want! Leave her alone. Fucking leave her alone!”

  The psychopathic bastard didn’t spare me a glance, but kept his eyes on Lucy’s body, gripping tight to her hair as he pushed the end of the cigar into the back of her thigh.

  A dog-like growl grazed my throat at the hissed cry she gave.

  I needed to get free. Even if I had to blow my own fucking hands off, I had to get to her.

  Wrists still bound, I stretched my fingers over the lip at the back of the seat and patted beneath the chair. When my fingertips danced over cold metal cylinders and pipes, I lifted my elbow just enough to follow a series of wires that disappeared into another box, and with a feather-light sweep across the surface, my fingers swiped over rubbery mound. Buttons. A cellphone.

  If it had to be set off, the explosives might not have been TATP at all. In fact, if I’d thought about it, it made sense that Conall wouldn’t stick around with a bomb that could be set off from sneezing too hard.

  Still, I didn’t want to take a chance. If I blew up, Lucy would die alone.

  The crackle and hiss of her skin hardly carried over Lucy’s scream—a sound that reverberated in relentless agony against my skull.

  “Lucy! Lucy, look at me!” I needed to keep her with me. Needed to cast some measure of comfort that I was there with her. That she wasn’t suffering alone.

  She didn’t look up. Like doll's eyes, her gaze had fixated somewhere beyond me. Another place, too far away to be reached.

  “Lucy! I’m right here. You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

  Still propped up, she didn’t raise her head. Her body convulsed with each burn of the cigar, but the screams had died to drained whimpers.

  Conall flipped her over, inciting another pained yelp as her wounds smashed against the concrete, and when he pulled a set of pliers off a rack on the wall, a cold numbness crept over my body. After placing them over her slender fingers, Conall gripped the pliers and jerked his arm, as he wrenched two of her fingers, breaking the bones.

  I winced at the crack, writhing in my binds. Another long, droning scream tore from her throat, a cry that’d become so tired and listless, as if she didn’t even have the strength to react to the pain anymore.

  Fuck. Fuck!

  “Mia Lu
ce, look at me. Please look at me.”

  Large round pupils made her eyes appear vacant, as she stared up at the ceiling. Lost. Pulled into a dark world I feared she might never escape.

  “I’ll get you out. I promise I’ll get you out.”

  Blinded by rage, I could hardly make out Lucy’s form behind the blur of tears. Her languid, inattentive screams pulled me under the surface, and I disappeared inside the muted world of a memory.

  I’m lying on the grass in her backyard with her, staring up at the sky, as I’ve learned she does when she’s alone.

  “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” she asks beside me and smiles. Perfect dimples in her cheeks have me staring at her longer than I should.

  “You first,” I say, finally tearing my gaze away from her.

  “I’d go to Paris. The Eiffel Tower, and all the pretty cafés, where I’d sit and drink coffee. A million miles from this place. What about you?”

  I glance over at her and back to the sky. “Anywhere?”

  “Anywhere,” she echoes.

  Nowhere I’d ever read about, or been, had ever given me the sense of calm I feel lying next to her now. She’s something new and different. Warmth in my blood, like the time I snuck Robert’s whiskey and drank it in the shed behind the house. “I’d stay here. With you.”

  The dimples appear a second time. “We could run away. Both of us. Leave this place and never come back.” Her hand grips mine, and she turns to face me, her breath warm against my neck. “Are you with me?”

  I thread my fingers in hers and hold tight. “Always.”

  Whimpering sounds dissolved the memory. The plink of blood dripping over the edge of the table seeped into my consciousness, and I focused on it, a steady stream that splashed into a small pool on the floor in front of me.

  “I can’t … I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do it. I can’t do this anymore.” Lucy whispered over and over, as if in a state of crazed shock. “Okay. Okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.” She lay on the table, the cuffs ticking against the pipe with her trembling. “Oh, God, please, I can’t. I can’t take anymore. He’s coming back.” Her words sat on the edge of panic, while her body ticked with spasms.

  Two of her fingers had turned a purplish blue, twisted in a way that told me they were broken. The tinny flavor of blood coated the back of my mouth where I’d clenched my teeth around my tongue, and the scent of piss crinkled my nose.

  Conall was nowhere in sight.

  “Lucy,” I whispered. “Lucy, look at me.”

  Her bottom lip quivered, and she shook her head.

  “Listen to me. Can you break out of those cuffs?” When she didn’t answer, I leaned forward. “Lucy, please, baby. You don’t have time. Listen. Can you break out of the cuffs?” She’d done it before. Many times, though I’d no fucking clue how.

  Seconds ticked by in what felt like an eternity, as I waited for her answer.

  At her nod, a wave of relief surged through my body.

  “I want you to try. Hear me? Break out of them.”

  Curling her non-broken fingers around the cuffs, she pulled down on the pipe and her body scooted upward along the concrete. A pained outcry echoed in the room, and I imagined her wounds tearing against the uneven granules of cement. With a tilt of her head, she allowed her fingers to dig through the blood-sopped mess of her hair, until she snapped a barrette cloaked beneath thick strands. Her hands shook, two of her fingers outstretched and purple, while she twisted the object between her good fingers, and like second nature, she broke the snap-clip into a couple of two-inch shims and inserted it into the track of the cuff.

  A metallic clink signaled her release, and when she twisted her wrist loose, a surge of victory swam through my veins. She popped the other cuff loose and sat up on the table, cradling her mangled hand.

  Urgency tugged in my gut. “You need to get the fuck out of here before he comes back.” I had no idea what he’d gone to do. No idea when he’d be back.

  Her gaze flicked to mine, and her mouth soured to a pout, before she frowned. “He’s coming back soon.” The tremble in her voice mirrored the quake of her body. “He’s not finished with me.” The fight had drained from her voice, which had withered into acceptance, as if she didn’t care if the bastard finished her off.

  “Where did he go?”

  Her sniffling told me another wheeze of panic would follow. “To boil some water. To … to … sterilize my wounds.”

  My entire body froze. Cold and numb from shock and anger. Broken into a million pieces with no hope of ever being whole again. I’d once been tortured. Beaten. Lay at death’s door.

  Nothing had ever pounded me with the defeat that swam through my body right then.

  She’d never fight him off herself. He’d broken her, too. Trying to free me would take too much time between the lock and the cuffs, though.

  “Lucy, listen very carefully. Beneath this chair is a bomb. It has a cellphone timer. I want you to activate it, then hide on the other side of the table. I’ll slide over beside the door. It should be enough to blow the door off. And you run. Hear me? Get the fuck out of here.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Nope.” Her body jerked as she broke into tears. “I’m not leaving you.” Sliding off the table, she padded across the concrete floor in her bare feet and slid herself carefully onto my lap.

  I rested my head against hers, pain and anger ripping me apart from the inside out. “Lucy, you have to get away from me. This shit’s unstable. It could blow us both away.”

  “It’s like you said before. Nothing else matters. It’s just you and me now.” She rested her head in the crook of my neck. “Are you with me?”

  I didn’t know what shit played inside her mind, but what’d happened to her was now embedded in her skin and a permanent part of her soul. It couldn’t be taken back. Maybe she was right. It was just the two of us. We had no one else in the world, and even if we made it out alive, we’d never survive what’d happened.

  I couldn’t look at her again, knowing I’d done nothing to help her, as I whispered, “Always.”

  Those images of what Conall had done to her had been seared into my mind forever, and just like watching my brother murdered in front of me, I raged with the frustration of not being able to protect her. I’d failed her, just as I’d failed Reed and Maria.

  No. If she wouldn’t run, then I would fight. For her.

  “Lucy,” I whispered. “Very carefully, look under the chair and, without touching anything, tell me what you see.”

  She lifted her head and gave a solemn nod. Slipping off my lap, she knelt to the floor and peered up under the chair. “Small pipes. With caps. Wires are coming out of them. And a cellphone.”

  “Are there numbers moving on the cellphone?”

  “No. It’s stuck on two minutes.”

  The grinding of metal snapped our attention back to the door.

  Conall.

  Eyes wide, she whipped her head toward the sound. “Oh, God. He’s coming.”

  “Lucy, I want you to pick my cuffs. Free me. I’ll kill him. I’ll punish him for what he did to you.”

  Falling into panic, she whimpered, sinking into herself as she shook her head. “He’s coming back!”

  “Listen to me! We can get out of here. Both of us. Pick the cuffs.”

  “I can’t! My fingers are … he’s coming.”

  “You can do this, baby. Mia Luce, I love you. I know I’m asking a lot of you right now, but you can do this. Don’t you dare let that piece of shit win. Fight. You hear me? Fight.”

  Her face twisted with panic, but, hands trembling, she rounded behind the chair, her fingertips brushing my own as she fumbled with the cuffs behind me.

  “That’s it, baby. C’mon. Unlock it.”

  “It won’t click!” She gave a moan full of frustration. “I’m trying but it won’t click!”

  “Shhh, it’s okay. Calm down and keep trying.”

  The doo
r swung open, and Conall hobbled toward us, with a steaming, rusted, silver bucket that sloshed water onto the floor.

  I twisted my wrist loose from the first cuff the instant I felt it slacken, and in the next breath, she popped the second and shuffled around the other side of me.

  With my hands freed, I struck out at the bucket in Conall’s hands, knocking it onto his legs.

  “Motherfucker!” The bucket clattered across the slick floor, and he kicked it across the room.

  I swung my fist, just missing him, as he jumped back and rounded the chair out of my reach. The chains at my chest and legs gripped tight, squeezing my lungs when I pushed against them to grab the cocksucker as he stumbled after Lucy.

  Spotting Black Betty on the shelf beside Lucy, I called out, “The knife!”

  In a split second, she'd grabbed it, and as Conall lurched forward, she lashed out, catching him in the shoulder.

  “Cunt!” Gripping her face with his meaty hand, Conall hauled her backward into the shelves, knocking whips, tools and paddles onto the floor, in a clamor of steel against concrete. He threw her against the table, slamming her face into the surface, and unfastened his jeans, pushing them to the floor. “Jase, how do you think your girl will like getting fucked by both my gun and my dick?”

  Panic rode my still bound ass and legs, and I glanced about the floor for the makeshift shim until I spotted it beside the chair. Bending forward took me close enough to grab it, and I twisted it in half and, blanking Lucy's grunts and writhing enough to focus, shoved it into the lock as a tension wrench. Holding it with my forefinger, I reached forward against the pressure at my chest and nabbed the second broken half from the blood-splattered table. Inserting it into the keyhole beside the other, I shimmied the lock back and forth until it snapped open, and pushed against the chains to unravel them from my chest and legs.