The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  The gluttony of what his life had become sickened him the most. There was a time he’d imagined his daughter Lucia playing on the lawn, rolling in bright green grass. And laughter. True, genuine laughter that would bring a smile to his tired face and warm his soul.

  A soul that would always mourn what he’d given up.

  For decades, he’d helped build an empire from nothing. For decades, he’d murdered savagely and without remorse.

  From the gypsy ghetto of Lunik IX, where Lucia had been born, he and her mother, Valeria, had traveled to America for a better life. A safe place, where he could raise his beautiful zlatko without the threat of disease and poverty.

  The small Slovak community of Detroit had welcomed him, including Jozef Tesarik, who he’d later partnered with to construct one of the most revered criminal enterprises in the state. Tesarik’s power rivaled that of the most notorious criminals in the city, and as his right-hand man, Roman would never let his family know hunger, nor poverty, again.

  Unfortunately, with power came greed, and with greed came betrayal.

  On a drunken night, with too much vodka and celebration in his body, Tesarik’s younger brother, Eugen, who wasn’t particularly fond of his older brother’s business relationship with Roman, had threatened to rape and murder both Valeria and Lucia.

  Lucia had been only ten at the time.

  Roman had fed him endless drinks that night, until Eugen could hardly stand on his own, and while Eugen could still walk, Roman had helped him to his car. He’d strapped Eugen into the passenger seat, and drove him just outside downtown, in the direction of his home to avoid suspicion, and parked the car on the train tracks. He’d set Eugen, who’d become combative in his drunken state, into the driver seat. With the butt of his gun, he’d pistol-whipped the man into a bloody, unrecognizable mess, then left him there, where he lay unconscious.

  The next morning, news reports had described a grisly scene, in which Eugen had been thrown from his vehicle and run over by the train, his head nearly severed from his body. Because he’d had a history of drinking and driving, there had never been any suspicion of foul play, and his face had been too mangled for police to determine the assault that'd occurred just prior to death.

  While Tesarik had never suspected him, Roman feared for his family, and had left Valeria and Lucia the same night.

  Many times throughout the years, he’d tried to help Valeria, sending money and whatever she’d need for Lucia, but as stubborn as she was, she’d always refused. Eventually, she’d remarried, and as much as it pained Roman to watch her love another, he’d known her husband, Paul, for quite some time. A good man. Perhaps an even better man than he’d ever been to both Valeria and Lucia.

  Distant screams drew Roman out of his musings, to the sound of his guards refusing defeat somewhere below, on the mansion’s first floor.

  Numbness had settled over the back of his palms, through which nails had been driven into the arms of the chair to hold him imprisoned.

  The smell of burnt skin lingered through the room, and the cold bite of agony streaked up his shins, as though his flesh had been peeled back, where Tesarik’s men had held a blowtorch to his legs. He’d taken a drill to the elbow prior to that—a pain he hardly noticed as his body had begun to shut down.

  “Nič nám nepovie.” He won’t tell us anything.

  The voice of his tormentor played on his nerves, just as Roman had trained him to do to his victims years ago. He’d been Roman’s protege back when he‘d worked as a hitman for Tesarik. The best.

  For hours, they’d tried to get him to reveal who’d contracted him to kill Tesarik, who’d stolen the money. They wanted Achilleus X, and Roman would’ve sooner died than handed him over.

  In his periphery, a shadowed form came to a stand at his side. Roman didn’t tremble or hide. He’d expected the day when Tesarik would come after him, and with Lucia safe, he didn’t fight, either. It was better that way.

  “Hello, old friend,” Tesarik said beside him, and the click of a gun preceded the press of cold steel against his temple. “I want you to know, I have Nicoleta.”

  Years before, Roman had advised him against taking his enemy’s daughter, on the grounds that it’d wage the kind of war to destroy everything they’d spent decades building.

  A threat Roman no longer cared about.

  “Ten, kto kope druhému jamu, sám do nej spadne,” Tesarik said. He who digs a pit for others will fall in it himself . “Do you remember what I vowed, if you ever betrayed me?” The quiver of the steel against his skin echoed the anger tingeing Tesarik’s question.

  Roman didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer, since they’d already cut out his tongue. Keeping his stare locked on the front lawn, he could almost see Lucia lying there as a child, staring up at the blue sky, as she often did, dreaming of things he would never imagine for himself.

  Perhaps whatever she’d once dreamed of would come true. She’d know love and happiness, and in time, all of her pain could disappear. If nothing else, perhaps he could close his eyes and dream of that for her.

  So he did.

  67

  Dax

  Three Months Later …

  Perched on the roof of Book Tower, Dax swigged from a fifth of Jack and stared off at Grand River, nearly forty stories below him, where red and white lights of passing cars streaked in a liquor-induced haze. The city stood bathed in a soft glow against the night sky, a beautiful sight that failed to calm his nerves.

  Somewhere that girl screamed in darkness. Alone. Scared.

  Caged by that twisted motherfucker who planned to use and abuse her.

  Only seventeen.

  It’d been three months, and still Dax couldn't stomach the thought of Tesarik violating her as he’d threatened. The thoughts swirling inside his head had drudged up memories of his own past, pieces he’d pushed down so deep they’d come to feel like someone else’s nightmares. He tipped back the liquor and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, letting the buzz of alcohol help solidify the plans he’d been plotting most of the night.

  He’d grown tired of the same horrors that woke him night after night—of watching the hopelessness in her eyes as Tesarik had driven away with her. The madness had begun to consume him. He could sense it crawling through his veins, threatening to pull him under, just as it’d done with Livvie.

  Dax would find Tesarik and kill him. Even if she was already dead—a possibility he’d considered—it didn’t matter.

  Tesarik would die.

  He’d, personally, see to it, or risk going ballistic.

  Epilogue

  Epilogue Jase

  Ten months later …

  Screams woke me from sleep, and I shot up out of bed. I’d never get that fucking image out of my head as long as I lived. The nightmares wouldn’t end. They’d broken me that night, and if not for what I considered a brief moment of unbridled insanity, neither one of us would be alive.

  “I’m coming, baby girl,” a soft voice whispered, breaking the relentless loop still fucking with my head.

  My eyes darted to Lucy, then to the crib across the room, and I gripped her shoulder. “I got her.”

  After months of breastfeeding, Lucy had finally gotten the baby to the point where I could feed her a bottle in the night. Sometimes, holding my daughter was the only thing that could bring me back from the hell burning inside my mind.

  “Thank you.” She smiled and snuggled herself back under the covers again.

  Blinking away sleep, I made my way across the room, where my sweet girl let the world know how hungry she was at one in the morning. Her little head shook back and forth, mouth wide open, as she searched for her fingers and sucked on two at a time.

  Goddamn, she was cute. And she was mine. My beautiful Soleluna.

  I lifted her out of the crib, her cries dying down to something more desperate, almost like crazed laughter, and I carried her toward the kitchen, stopping along the way to check the bathroom, the ext
ra bedroom, and the living room. My waking moments were riddled with checks, always looking over my shoulder. It’d been months since I’d slept through the night, but with the new baby, the moments had become more fleeting. Not because of Soleluna, but so I'd always be ready for the day when Tesarik would storm through the door, as he had when they'd murdered Roman.

  That day, he'd left a note behind containing one simple message: Expect me.

  I would. I did.

  Dagger popped out of his bed in the corner, hobbling behind us, and sat on his haunches beside the counter where I stood. For a monster, he sure as hell had a soft spot for his baby girl, and never failed to check on her when she woke in the night. Behind him sat Ruger, the Kangal we’d bought, just before Soleluna was born. He’d been trained as a guard dog, about a hundred-sixty pounds of muscle, and was protective of everyone in the house, including Dagger.

  From the fridge, I pulled the awaiting bottle of breast milk and set it on the counter. One-handed, I gently bounced Soleluna while nabbing a pan and heated up the water on the stove.

  I peeked outside the window of the small house we'd purchased on the border of Hamtramck. We could’ve moved anywhere in the world, what with the fortune Roman had left behind for Lucy and the payment he’d forwarded for my having killed Kelley and Conall, but I’d vowed to Roman that I’d kill Tesarik and protect Lucy. That meant staying where I could keep a close watch on Tesarik's men, which would hopefully lead me to the man, himself. Then I could rid the threat that still loomed over my new family.

  Through twenty minutes of Soleluna's on-and-off crying, I managed to warm the milk in the bottle, before testing it on the back of my hand, as Lucy had shown me.

  Soleluna practically growled as I slid the nipple of the bottle into her mouth, and within seconds she closed her eyes, peacefully feeding. Cradling her in my arms, I continued to bounce her and made my way back to the bedroom, where I climbed in beside Lucy, who didn’t so much as stir.

  Once Soleluna had finished the bottle, I held her for a moment, staring down at her tiny little body, as she curled against my bare chest, sleeping like an angel.

  It amazed me, sometimes, how life could change so quickly.

  Lucy called it fate. She’d told me a number of times that it had been fate that'd brought me back into her life, the night I broke into her apartment and saved her life.

  Funny thing was, I never told her that she’d saved my life first.

  I plow through the screen door of the trailer, flinching at the sound of the crack as the frame hits the exterior. My mom would chase after me for messing Robert’s home up like that.

  A renewed spark of anger lights my blood, as I run across the yard toward the fields.

  Fuck him. I hope he dies in a fucking blaze of flames inside of that trailer.

  Tears spring to my eyes, as the visuals of my old friend, Blade, hanging lifeless from the Oak tree in the back, torments me over and over. My bastard step-prick gutted him open like hunted game strung up on a buck pole.

  My punishment for stealing his gun for food. Sorry thing was, my mom defended the bastard. Not even the slightest remorse for what that motherfucker did.

  I smooth my thumb over the cold, steel surface of the gun inside my pocket.

  I’ve thought about it too many times. Time to do it. Time to put an end to the misery I’ve suffered since the day we left my grandmothers, forced to live with a complete stranger and a mother who’s never given a flying fuck about us.

  I finally reach the field. A worn path marks the route that the kids who live in the trailer park take to get home every day. Dropping to the ground in a slump, I clutch my skull while a silent scream rips through my thoughts. Reed will be alone. With them. Even if he’s older and can take care of himself, can fight back pretty good, Robert still bullies the shit out of him.

  My hand trembles as I pull the gun from my pocket and hold it in my lap. Feels heavier than usual. Colder. A lifeless piece of metal, capable of destroying life.

  Dying isn’t so bad, is it?

  Even though my dad was a cop killer and had the reputation of a bad man, people honored his death. Including my mother. Will she honor me? Will she fall to her knees beside my body and apologize for every wrong, every broken promise, every hit, every moment of fear that she’s watched my brother and I suffer?

  Or will she be pissed that I got blood on Robert’s gun?

  I’m sorry, Reed.

  Laughter from beyond tells me the middle school’s let out. They’ll be the first to find me. At least somebody will.

  I’ve practiced so many times before. Know where to position the gun against the roof of my mouth, to ensure I’ll kill myself and not end up as some fucking invalid with a blown out skull.

  The voices draw closer, the laughter much louder. They’re making their way through the skinny stretch of trees between the school and the field.

  Do it. Now.

  Closing my eyes, I put the gun in my mouth and position the barrel upward.

  Forgive me, Reed. I love you.

  Three. Two.

  A scream breaks my concentration—loud and piercing, it cries out for help. Urgency tugs at my stomach to pull the trigger, get it over with, but at the second scream, my eyes flip open.

  A girl. Her voice drowned in shouts and laughter. I hear her, though.

  “Help me! Oh, God, please! Momma! Momma help me!”

  None of my business.

  But her cries. They come from somewhere deep inside her gut, and touch something inside of me. I know that pain. The despair of knowing no one will come. I’ve felt it so many nights when Robert beat me until I couldn’t walk. Until every bone in my body ached and every breath felt like fire in my lungs.

  Tucking the gun inside my pocket, I rise up from the ground and I stalk across the field toward the woods. Just like hunting, I duck low and keep to the brush, stepping light to avoid the crackle of twigs and dried leaves.

  A hundred yards off, three boys I recognize from the high school circle like wolves around what I assume is the girl who cried out. Her pants have been pulled down, and her bare skin glows against the rusty brown forest bed. Her muffled screams hardly carry through the forest, as one boy holds her down while the other laughs, his face between her skinny thighs.

  Something dark rises up inside of me, mingling with the rage from before, and a craving to tear them apart has me moving toward them. They should see me, as obvious as I approach, but their eyes are fixed on the girl and her bareness. She bucks and tries to fight them off. She can’t. She’s small.

  I leap onto Brennan Kosky and drill a fist into his face. Before he can react, I’ve knocked out his front teeth. I keep at him, pummeling him to the ground. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I laugh, watching blood ooze from his nostrils.

  Feels so damn good. Every hit purges the anger trapped inside my fists, and I imagine Robert’s face kicking to the side, bloody with each punch.

  A push to my chest knocks me backward, and I lunge for Tyler Munley, captain of the football team. Tackling him to the ground, we scramble for dominance, the two of us rolling across the forest. I slam my fist into his jaw. A crack of pain explodes across my cheek, as his knuckles crush my face. For every knock I get in, he volleys two in return.

  The hits feel good. I feel alive. I want to smash his face, like I did Brennan’s, but air explodes from my lungs, and I fall forward, twisting in time to see Josh Galloway lift his foot for another strike.

  A shot rings out, and both boys halt their assault.

  Through a fog of ecstasy and pain, I glance toward the sound, as the girl drops the gun—my gun—from above her head and aims it toward the three of us.

  Her hands are shaking. Her eyes are dark and cold, overpowering the innocence of her honey peach skin, and I wonder if she’ll shoot us.

  She’s already proven she can pull the trigger.

  Brennan, Tyler and Josh scramble to their feet and, by a count of ten, are already
halfway through the field.

  I stay where I am on the ground, staring straight into the end of that barrel.

  For a moment, her face is emotionless. Maybe she mistook us. Maybe she thinks I’m one of them. Tears fill her eyes, and that’s when she finally comes apart. Like watching a ball of yarn unravel into a single flitting string, she collapses to the ground and sobs.

  Through heaving breaths, I drop my gaze, giving her a moment to do whatever it is girls do. I’ve seen my mom come apart this way after Robert beats the shit out of her. Like the seams popping, all that emotion, embarrassment, all the shit she tries to hold in just comes pouring out of her.

  The girls crying dies down to sniffles, and I finally climb to my feet, closing the space between us. Bright red blood trickles from a nasty looking gash at the corner of her eye, so deep it has my lip crimping, and I’ve just seen my dog gutted open. She needs stitches. No doubt, it’ll be a scar someday—one that’ll remind her she almost got raped. One she’ll have to see every time she looks in the mirror.

  “Can I have my gun?” I reach out for it, ignoring her tears.

  Her shoulders bunch, like another round of sobs might escape, and panic rises up in me, because I don’t know what to do with that. “They said that … if I tell anyone, they’ll hurt my mom.”

  Yeah, I’ve heard that before. And if I don’t end up killing them myself, there’ll be hell to pay at school tomorrow. Tyler and his fucking clique of pansies are probably already scheming their revenge against me at this very moment. They’ll probably jump me walking to school. “I won’t tell anyone,” I say.

  She snivels and wipes her nose across her sleeve, her gaze landing on my arm. “You have scars.”

  “No shit. Give me my gun.” As she hands it to me, I feel a twinge of guilt for being an asshole. “What’s your name?”

  “Lucy.”