by Celia Crown
“Your drink?” I murmur.
“It was only an excuse to get you here,” he says, unashamed of his action.
“You could’ve just hollered,” I joke as we leave his massive office.
“You don’t like unwanted attention,” he reckons. “Do you want your coworkers to gossip?”
That’s very considerate of him. Nothing makes a workplace more toxic than petty coworkers.
“What about this?” I ask when he takes me to the stairwell for employees.
“If necessary for your comfort, I will fire the entire staff.”
Heat flushes my cheeks from his determined gaze as we leave the warm club and head toward the back of the building.
The employee parking lot is full, but his car isn’t there.
He has a reserved parking space; no one dares to park near his sleek black car because one tiny scratch can ignite his fury. Everyone knows about his temper and the scowling features they won’t forget.
A vibration buzzes, and I watch him take out his phone to check the message. He frowns as an irate grunt slithers through his teeth.
“Did something happen?” I ask.
Digging into his pocket for the car keys, they jangle noisily as another vibration sounds.
The screen flashes with rapid notifications, so quickly that he cannot even respond to them.
Vasari punches the key fob, and the popping locks are louder than I’ve heard before.
It’s not a car alarm, but the vacant parking lot makes the locks sound even more jarring.
“Stay in here,” he orders as he pushes my head down in the car.
My ass bounces on the leather cushion as Vasari softly kisses me and sighs.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promises.
“Take your time,” I whisper kindly. “It sounds like an emergency.”
“No, it’s an irrelevant investor.”
My brows rise at his apathetic frown. “Irrelevant?”
“He’s been trying to sell me a get-rich-quick scheme.”
I nod with an understanding smile. It shouldn’t be long before he gets back then. I’ll just find something to look at while I’m waiting.
“We’ll have dinner at home,” he suggests. “Think about what you want.”
He shuts the door, and the locks click shut as his massive body retreats.
I lean back in the seat as I contemplate our food choices. It has been a rough night, and the workload has taken a toll on my body.
I woke up tired this morning, and the first half of my shift increased my fatigue.
The last half pushed me into a state of exhaustion. My ankles hurt now that I have gotten off my feet.
What? Why is that sensation back again?
I bring a hand to the nape of my neck. I knead the stiff muscle with a frown as the itchiness bites into my skin.
I get that same dreadful feeling; someone is watching me again.
I nervously look out the windshield.
Camo pants.
The window next to me explodes.
Chapter Eight
Vasari
The blinking red dot should be stationary.
My little Emmy should be in my car, sitting pretty and waiting for me to take her home. Her tracker should not be blinking erratically, nor should it be moving briskly.
She knows better than to worry me. She’s not someone who finds amusement in dangerous jokes, especially at night in a sketchy neighborhood.
That means her departure is an involuntary act.
Someone took my little girl from me. They broke the window and kidnapped her.
The fucking audacity.
I stomp on the gas, whizzing through the red lights, and endangering others with my reckless driving. I don’t care what happens to them, and I’m not trying to avoid causing accidents.
My Emmy needs me.
A faraway siren roars through the broken window as my car cuts through a tricky intersection.
I want the cops to follow me, to help me crush the cretins that took Emmy. There is no way I’m letting those animals get away with such an atrocity.
I wasn’t even gone for an hour. That aggravating investor took up thirty minutes of my time; I should never have let it take that long.
It’s my fault for letting this happen to her.
An alert should’ve warned me about the strange movement on the tracker. There must have been a technical problem. Maybe it was the battery, or perhaps it was the swiftness with which it happened.
Either way, the tracker failed me.
If that gut feeling I had earlier tonight hadn’t come back while meeting with the investor, I wouldn’t have checked her tracker.
I’ve never felt such overwhelming fear as when I saw that she was miles away. That turned into dread when I saw the security footage.
Some prick in camo pants distracted her, and another bastard broke the window to drag her out by her hair.
I saw red, and I still see red as I cut through another busy intersection.
He put his filthy hands on my little girl, threw her to the ground like trash, and had the nerve to slap her so hard that her head bounced on the gravel.
I’m going to kill them.
More sirens have joined the chase, but they’re too far away to catch up to me. I press on the gas until the car reaches maximum speed, and the cutting wind turns the broken glass into sharp blades against my cheeks.
I follow the blinking red dot as her movement becomes concentrated in one area. She keeps circling back and forth as if she’s either avoiding something or actively chasing something.
Based on that security tape, she is running away from those men.
“Imbeciles,” I sneer, fury in the taut muscles of my jaw.
At first, I had an inkling of what that damn arrow meant. I was unsure and didn’t want to base my security measures on a hunch.
I still couldn’t protect her.
I failed her.
How will my little girl be able to trust me again?
She wasn’t safe in my locked car, parked under a security camera, and steps away from the club’s back door.
She was in my territory.
My mistake. My fault.
I will rectify this.
I will prove to her that I can protect her, care for her in ways that will scare her—to completely shatter her doubts about my ability to protect her.
Frantically turning the car onto a grassy area, I throw open the door and leave the keys in the ignition. I run into the black trees, darkness reducing my vision as I keep a watchful eye on the ground.
The blinking dot stops moving as I hastily approach, but then she starts to sprint away again.
This terrain is similar to Central Park, one of Emmy’s favorite places to take pictures. The photographs in her home and her phone are dominated by wooded terrain, some with starry skies.
I didn’t breach the privacy of her phone; she showed it to me voluntarily. Even if she hadn’t, I would’ve discovered the password on my own.
I convince myself that it’s not a bad thing to worry about her. It justifies the times I have violated her trust.
She doesn’t know that, and she never will.
I’m justified in my actions; otherwise, I wouldn’t know how to find her with a snap of my fingers.
A ghastly sensation runs down my spine. Self-preservation kicks in as I spin around to face the imminent danger.
Pain runs through my shoulder as the ambush knocks me backward. My staggering feet lose traction in the soft soil as the attack does more damage than it should.
The wound pulls, tearing the skin with a wave of fiery pain across the icy metal. Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I press a steady hand against the wound.
“You’re in the way,” warns a voice in the dark.
I got shot by an arrow, one designed for hunting.
Holding the arrow steady, I press tightly against my shoulder to rip the sharp tip out. Agonizing pain runs
down my arm before it goes numb.
The man steps out of the darkness. Mud-stained hands pluck the gleaming bow. He pants soundlessly, drool falling from his moving lips.
He has the eyes of a maddened swine.
Pupil dilation nearly hides the light brown of his eyes, his knuckles lack blood flow, and the tic in his body are all signs that point to drugs.
The man curses at me, mumbling nonsense as he staggers forward into the moonlight. He steps back into the shadows, and the arrow slips on the bow when he stumbles.
He’s on acid.
Psychedelic drugs usually make people sensitive to light, and the frantic tics of his body reinforce my assessment.
I lunge forward with a bloody hand to grasp the thin arrow in the bow. Fury runs through my powerful body as I break the arrow in half and yank the bow from his grip.
The drugs have reduced his brain function and weaken control over his body.
“My son is on the path to becoming a man,” he slurs with drooping eyes.
My bloody hand slams the back of his head into a tree. Splinters of wood sail through the air as I repeatedly bash his head in.
He doesn’t register the pain as his knees buckle. My hand is the only thing holding him up.
The grin under my hand widens as my blood seeps into the cracks of his teeth.
“I won’t let anyone get in the way,” he bellows, his words running together in a burst of foaming saliva.
Without his deadly weapon, he’s no match for a man who just saw his little girl get hit. I will never forget this bastard’s face.
“You touched what’s mine,” I grunt while strategically slamming his head into the splintering tree trunk.
He laughs brazenly but doesn’t fight me. He has no strength left to do so, especially since I have a firm grip on him.
He’s not going to be breathing when this fight is over.
“Who are you to put your hands on my little girl?” I question why this calamity took place.
Another laugh receives results in yet another calculated bash to his skull. With a vicious flick of my wrist, his head twists, and he drops to the ground.
Part of me wonders whether he has any bones in his neck.
Let’s test that thought.
My eyes flash to his hand on the deadly bow as he turns those wild eyes at me.
He’s a drugged-up fiend, but I’m a monster.
Placing a hand firmly around his ankle, I meet his blood-shot eyes as I mirror his maniacal grin with my psychotic one. I plant my feet in the ground and hurl him into the fractured tree.
The satisfyingly loud sound of crushed bones soars into the midnight sky as he screams.
No one can hear him, and no one is coming to save him.
I have done my research, kept up with the news, and learned about the standard of living around here.
There are missing posters everywhere with young women who have disappeared while going about their daily routines. The pattern indicates that most of them vanished near this dense park, a perfect place to hide a body.
It is not difficult to see the connection and assume the bow and arrow are for hunting humans.
The trees are very dense and would stifle any screams or calls for help. I’m confident no one will find us any time soon since we’re deep in the middle of the park.
His pitched laugh gets my attention as I walk towards his limp body. Judging from his position, he is paralyzed after his spine collided with the tree.
I applaud my aim. Maybe I should take up archery as well.
“You didn’t have to come after my little girl,” I reckon dryly.
But he just cackles through his bloody teeth.
“Maybe you and your son would have lived to see another day,” I say to entertain myself.
A flicker of clarity shoots across his widened eyes, and his maniacal grin falters seconds before my foot slams down on his larynx.
The sound of fragile bones shattering is not satisfying at all.
I still have to banish his foolish son from society.
I raise a bloodied hand to watch the flashing red dot blink three times and then disappear.
Panic rips through my heart as I sprint toward her last known location.
It didn’t look like she was moving, so she should be relatively close to that area.
I’m headed in that direction when a glint catches my eye. I stop and pick up the bangle bracelet I gave her. Whether or not she left it intentionally, it’s a good indication of her location.
“No,” a frantic voice shouts. “No, no, no, no!”
The rustling sounds behind me are getting closer and much louder. I dodge seconds before a body comes barreling at me. Glaring at the assailant, I growl ferociously.
“No!” the man, younger and more hyperactive, screams again. “Stop! You can’t be here! Dad said I have the right as a man to—”
He is rambling, but I don’t pay attention as I glance at the blood soaking his camo pants. A serrated knife is lodged in his thigh, probably nicking an artery as he totters closer to me.
“I’m so close!” he shrieks deprecatingly. “I’m going to be a man!”
He’s on acid too. His behavior is identical to that of the dead man who strongly resembled him.
Like father, like son.
They made the mistake of choosing my Emmy for this ridiculous rite of passage.
His eyes show more lucidity than the father did. But the line between mental illness and the effects of psychedelic drugs can get blurred.
He’s not entirely under the influence of the drugs yet. But craziness can run in families.
I am pleased to be the one to end it in this family.
I promptly disarm him while he rambles. He puts up a good fight, but his skinny limbs are uncoordinated. He tries to hit me with everything he has but puts his power in the wrong places.
I punch him in the ribs, intending to break bones as I let out my raging aggression.
His father was not a satisfying outlet for my anger and desire for violence.
The man cries loudly, calling for his father as a child would. Tears gather at the corners of his unfocused eyes as snot flies out of his nose.
Disgust courses through me as I backhand him to the ground.
The moonlight illuminates his pathetic appearance as he inhales the grass through his gaping mouth.
“Where’s my Emmy?” I demand as I step towards his cowering form.
I’m positive it was the other man who shot the arrow into my club, nearly killing my Emmy and damaging my property.
“No!” he shrills defiantly.
The change in attitude sparks raging irritation in my temples. I step on his wrist, making the fingers curl into his palm.
“She’s mine!” he brazenly declares. “I found her! Dad said I could have her! She’s my rite of passage to manhood!”
My foot strikes his jaw, unhinging the bone and halting the boy’s voice once and for all.
“Vasari,” Emmy’s voice softly calls.
She is begging for help and being safe in my arms.
My eyes pierce the shadows, but it’s undeniable. That’s her body and her voice.
“Are you alright, little girl?” I ask because that will determine the fate of this cretin.
She whispers delicately, “No. It hurts.”
I pounce at the boy, hands wrapped around his neck and purposeful intent running through my arms. Without emotion, I snap his neck and end this nightmare for my Emmy.
He topples over, forgotten, and discarded.
I follow the sound of her sweet sniveling. She is hiding behind a big tree, using the shadow for protection.
“I’m right here, Emmy,” I coo.
A sickening spiral of gratification churns my stomach.
I don’t feel an ounce of remorse about the killings.
Extending my hands, I offer proof that the nightmare has ended. She refuses to come out, and then it dawns on me.
&nbs
p; I wipe the blood on my shirt and offer my relatively clean hands to her. She steps nervously from the shadow with her little fingers rubbing at the sticky blood on her skin.
I knew she was the one who injured that bastard.
She looks at the lifeless body before her shoulders sag.
“He’s gone,” I reassure softly. “He won’t hurt you again.”
She chokes as she bravely holds back the tears in her pretty eyes. I don’t blame her for shaking in fear. No one could go through being hunted by barbarians and come out unscathed either mentally or physically.
“Come here,” I motion patiently. “I’ve got you.”
Emmy’s guard shatters, and tears run down her cheeks. She lunges into my waiting arms, hiccuping, and crying out my name.
I lift her into my arms so her legs can wrap around my hips. More rustling comes from behind me, but I focus on securing her little ass on my forearms to make her comfortable.
Her wet face buries into my neck, sobbing her heart out.
“Police!” a man’s voice announces; it’s somewhat familiar. “We received reports of reckless driving!”
“Let me see your hands!” A flashlight shines on my back, casting our silhouettes across the trees.
Cops in this city have a reputation for cleaning up crime scenes rather than preventing them. This case is no different. They’re slow, reactive, and quite useless.
I can change that. I can make them useful.
“Do you want to come home with me?” I whisper into her ear, ignoring the incompetent detective who’s been in charge of investigating the original arrow incident.
She mumbles absentmindedly, “Home. Want to go home with you.”
“Close your eyes, little girl,” I suggest. “I won’t let go. Trust me; you’re safe.”
Her trembling arms squeeze tightly around my neck as she nods. I pat her supple ass in approval and lock my arms around her back, so she feels more secure.
The useless detective and his imbecilic partner are gagging at the sight of the dead body. They haven’t discovered the other one yet; I don’t plan on telling them about it.
Why would I bring trouble upon myself?
It’s my lawyer’s job to protect me.
“What happened?” the man asks stupidly.
