Retribution

by Shana Figueroa

  Those evil bastards. Fucking Lucien. She would make them pay in the worst way possible.

  After what felt like an eternity, Val pushed her despair away and regained control of her emotions. She let go of Stacey and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Will you watch the video and take notes, please? I don’t want to do it myself.”

  Stacey nodded while pushing away her own tears. “I know they don’t have a great track record with you, but you should really go to the police—”

  “So they can shame me?” Val snapped. “Quiz me on why I was there? What I was wearing? What I was drinking? How slutty I was on a scale from one to ten?”

  “We have the video—”

  “The video doesn’t prove anything! It can be explained away as an amateur sex tape that I consented to and now regret. Especially when they find out I was pretending to be a hooker.”

  “Val, please—they’re not all like Sten. You can’t do this alone.”

  “I’ve got you.”

  “We don’t have the same resources as the police.”

  “No, but we’re not bound by their rules, either.”

  “Let me go to the police, then. I’ll make an anonymous complaint—”

  “Don’t bother.” Val checked her watch, then pulled her gun from her purse and racked the slide back. “When my sister was raped, she was shamed and humiliated so badly she killed herself to make it stop. All the women who show up at our office come to us because no one else will help or believe them. You know what the police will say to me? That I learned a hard lesson: don’t go home with strangers. Well, I have a lesson of my own to give.” She snapped the slide back in place. “If you rape a woman, she might come back and kill you.”

  * * *

  Val drummed her fingers on her car’s steering wheel as she watched the Pana Sea’s back entrance from a street perpendicular to the entrance’s alleyway. It’d been quiet until a delivery truck pulled up a few minutes ago. Now a team of two men unloaded boxes of liquor, swizzle sticks, and other supplies from the back and carried them into the building. One of the men was Eric, the bartender from the night before. After a few minutes of ferrying boxes, the other man motioned to Eric, communicating something while pointing to the street at the opposite end of the alley. Eric nodded, and the other man walked around the corner and out of sight, probably to run some errand. The coast was clear for Val to have a few minutes of quality alone-time with the bartender.

  She hopped out of her car and hurried across the street at a quick trot, careful to stay out of Eric’s line of sight as she approached. Val watched him from the corner until he went inside again, then she ran to the far end of the van and waited for him to wander back out. When his back faced her, she stepped out of cover and tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned toward her, she kicked him hard in the shin. Eric yelped and fell to his knees.

  Val unholstered her gun and knelt beside him. “Hi, Eric. Remember me?”

  Eric clutched his leg and glared at her. “You bitch—”

  Val cracked him in the face with the butt of her Glock. He tumbled onto his side, cheek to the pavement.

  “Every time you call me that, I’ll pistol-whip you. Consider it sensitivity training.”

  He rubbed his cheek and cringed. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “The guy who approached me at the bar last night—he called himself Lucien. Who is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She pistol-whipped him again. “That’s for lying.”

  “I don’t fucking know!” Eric spit blood onto the ground. “He shows up every other month or so. One of the rich assholes who like throwing money around and bringing whores back to their little clubhouse. That’s all I know.”

  “Clubhouse? You mean he’s part of a club?”

  “Yeah—I think so. I don’t know exactly what it is. I hear them talking about it sometimes when they’re too drunk to keep their mouths shut. They call it the Blue Serpent. Only rich fucks and their playthings allowed.”

  Val touched the mysterious scar behind her ear. The Blue Serpent—goddammit, it was a high-end rape ring. What was it about having a lot of money that turned people into depraved scumbags?

  “Was Celine with Lucien the last time you saw her?”

  “No. She left with some redheaded guy I’ve only seen a couple of times. They call him Ginger. Real original.”

  Val tapped her gun against her knee. “What did you put in my drink?”

  “Nothing.”

  She whacked him in the face again. It felt good to make somebody pay, even a small fish. Eric writhed on the ground for a few seconds before pushing himself up, leaning heavily on one arm.

  “What did you put in my drink, Eric?”

  “Nothing! I didn’t do anything to your goddamn drink, bitc—” He scowled at the pavement and wiped his mouth.

  Val stood and pointed the gun at his head. If he was lying, he’d die. She didn’t think she could stop herself.

  Staring down the barrel of her gun, and maybe also sensing how willing she was to kill him, Eric’s face crumpled and he burst into tears. “I didn’t do anything to your drink, I swear! I just work here. I have nothing to do with those rich assholes. Please. I have a girlfriend, and she’s got a kid and I’m like his father figure…” He sobbed, soiling the pavement with his tears and snot.

  If Eric faked his pathetic pleading, he deserved an Oscar. Val rolled her eyes at the blubbering man, then sighed and lowered her gun. “Find another job, Eric. This place is about to go out of business.”

  She stepped around him and left the way she came.

  Chapter Six

  Val bit her lip as she sat in her car, parked a safe distance from where she’d roughed up Eric a few minutes earlier. She stared at Max’s face and phone number cued up on her cell. They hadn’t talked in months, not since they’d broken up—not since she broke up with him, specifically. She’d tried to explain to Max how Delilah was always watching her, how they’d only been pushed together so they would have a child—a child that would be stolen from them. How they couldn’t trust anyone. He swore they could work it out, pleaded with her to fight for their future, but she’d cracked. Throughout their time on the lam together, when Max had been wanted for murder, she’d accused him of running from his problems. But in the end, she was the one who ran. She was the weak one.

  Per Eric, the Blue Serpent was a rich-dicks-only club. Max was the only rich dick Val knew personally. If she was going to infiltrate the club, it was either through him or not at all. No way would she try seducing another anonymous wealthy guy again. She swallowed hard, gave herself a figurative kick in the butt, hoped he hadn’t changed his number, then dialed him up.

  The phone rang several times, then went to voice mail. “This is Max, leave a message.”

  “Uh, hi. It’s…it’s me, Val. I know you can probably tell it’s me from your caller ID, but, you know, in case you deleted my number or whatever…” God, I sound like a loser. “Anyway, um, I need to talk to you—”

  Her phone vibrated against her ear. She held it out to see someone trying to call her at the same time she left a message—Max. She switched over to him.

  “Hello?” she said like an idiot who didn’t understand how technology worked.

  “Are you trying to call me? Or did you just butt-dial me?”

  The sound of his voice in her ear made her smile. She was glad he couldn’t see her grinning like a crazy ex-girlfriend. Val wiped her smile away and tried to stay focused. “Yeah, I tried to call you. I wanted to talk—I mean, I need to talk to you.”

  “Is something wrong?” he asked. Val heard chattering in the background, fading as he seemed to move away from a crowd.

  “Yes. Something’s wrong.”

  “Like what?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

  Val smiled again—he still cared, at least a little. Whether he cared about her or protecting his many secrets, she wasn’t sure…no, it was her…she wished. She cl
osed her eyes and shook her head. You dumped him, Val. It’s over between you two. Just get on with it.

  “I can’t explain over the phone,” she said, even though she could totally explain over the phone if she’d wanted to. “Can we meet somewhere?”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “Please?” She cringed at the unintended desperation in her voice.

  For a moment he said nothing. Val heard a woman’s high-pitched laugh in the background, followed by a dog bark. Did he have a dog now, or was it Abigail’s dog? It would be their dog, really. Or was he at someone else’s house—Abigail’s family, or a friend’s place? She bit her lip as the silence between her and Max stretched into the better part of a minute.

  “Fine,” he said. “Meet me at Wicked Brew, on the corner of Queen Anne and Valley, in thirty minutes.”

  “Okay,” she said with some difficulty, unaware she’d been holding her breath until that moment. “Thank you, Max.”

  “Bye.” He hung up.

  Well, it was better than nothing.

  * * *

  Val fiddled with her coffee mug and watched passersby amble past the Wicked Brew’s window. She eyed her hazy reflection and noted that, once again, Max would see her looking like shit. No makeup, hair a mess, a bit pale from the stress of the last couple of days, and now a brown stain on her tank top from where coffee had dribbled down the mug’s side when she’d taken a sip. Not that it mattered, but it’d be nice if she could get herself together for him just once. What did they say about breakups—looking good is the best revenge?

  As she used her fingers to smooth out her hair in the window’s reflection, a figure appeared behind her. She turned and saw him standing there, the first time she’d seen him in the flesh in almost eight months. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that looked loose enough to be comfortable but tight enough to show off his toned muscles and browned skin from an abundance of outdoor exercise. Running and boxing were his sports, she remembered. His tan made the gorgeous blue and green fractal tattoos snaking across both his inner forearms stand out even more. A day’s worth of stubble shadowed his sharp cheekbones. The wavy black hair cropped short along the sides and longer on top caught the afternoon sunlight in a way the cameras couldn’t relay.

  Val’s mouth watered against her will. Looking good was the best revenge—against her. Dammit.

  She sat up straight and pushed away the image of what she knew he looked like underneath his clothes. “Hi,” she said with a polite smile.

  “Hi.” Max didn’t return her smile. He regarded her with a neutral expression—the mask he often wore to hide his feelings. Despite his passive face, his beautiful hazel eyes with their emerald green centers—the ones that could melt her from the inside—had a cold veneer. He sat in a chair across from her, leaned back, and crossed his arms over his chest like a shield.

  Val pushed back a lump in her throat. He clearly didn’t want to be there, with her. She wouldn’t keep him long.

  “How are you?” she asked, though if the press reports were accurate, she knew the answer was “fabulous.”

  “Fine,” he said. “You?”

  “Uh, I’m—” Terrible. She pulled at her hair, making sure it covered her scar. “You look good.”

  His voice was flat. “You, too.”

  “I heard about your engagement. I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy, I mean.”

  He squirmed a little in his chair, the first sign of emotion he’d shown so far. “What do you want, Val?”

  What she wanted was him. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, she still loved him. She loved him so much it filled her entire being and poured out of her in waves of desperate longing so strong she was surprised Max hadn’t drowned in it yet. But she’d broken his heart. She loved him, and he hated her. He was better off without her.

  She sipped her coffee, taking a moment to get her emotions under control, then asked, “Have you ever been to the Pana Sea?”

  “A few times.”

  “Are you a regular?”

  “No. Too many people for my taste. I only go if Abby wants to go.”

  “Oh.” She hoped he hadn’t noticed her flinch at his fiancée’s name. Val drummed her fingers on the side of her mug. “Does she…know what you can do?” she couldn’t help asking.

  “Yes.”

  “And about your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “And—”

  “She knows everything, Val.”

  “Oh.”

  Val swallowed hard and put her trembling hands in her lap so he couldn’t see them. Of course he’d told his fiancée everything. He trusted her. He loved her. Max began fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, his cool resolve waning as his eyes cast about, looking at everything besides Val. Questions about his current love life were irrelevant—and causing him pain, she realized. What they’d been through—what she’d put him through—had been a roller coaster ride of emotions most people wouldn’t experience over their entire lifetime, let alone a few months. She’d hurt him deeply when she left; she knew that. The quicker she left him alone now, the better.

  “Have you ever met a man named Lucien at the Pana Sea?”

  Max’s gaze cut back to hers, and he raised an eyebrow. “Lucien Christophe?”

  “Maybe. Frenchman, blond hair, late thirties or early forties?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  Max shrugged. “Nothing, really. He’s in pharmaceuticals. When I was on the board of Carressa Industries, we sold him a small company that manufactured lab equipment. Now I see him sometimes at charity fund-raisers. Why do you ask?”

  “I think he might be involved in a woman’s disappearance.”

  His brow furrowed. “Who?”

  “Her name is Margaret, but she goes by Celine at the Pana Sea. She works as an escort. She’s going to die soon, if she’s not dead already.”

  Max sat up in his chair, a deep frown etched on his face. “You saw it in a vision?”

  Val nodded.

  “And you think you can stop it?”

  “I’m going to try. I have to try.”

  His face darkened.

  “Lucien’s part of a club called the Blue Serpent. Have you heard of them?”

  “Yes.” He started tapping his toe, his outer cool continuing to disintegrate.

  “Are you a member?”

  “No. I’ve only heard other people talking about it. Sounds more like a cult than a club.”

  “Can you get me access?”

  Max scoffed. “That’s why you asked me to come here? You want me to join a cult for you?”

  “Only rich people can get in. You’re my only rich…friend.”

  He glared at her. They would never be just friends. Either they’d be lovers or nothing at all.

  “I’m not joining a cult,” he said.

  “Then introduce me to someone who’s already in it.”

  “No,” he snapped. “I’m not setting you up on a blind date with a cult member, either. I don’t want any part of this.” He stood to leave.

  “Max, please.” She grabbed his arm before he could walk away. A pulse like static electricity shot through her at the feel of his flesh. He glanced at her hand, then at her, and for half a second Val saw her Max looking into her eyes, the one that set her insides on fire, that wanted her as much as she wanted him. Just as quickly he disappeared, replaced by Abigail’s Max. After she’d caught her breath, Val said, “Margaret will die if we don’t do something.”

  “That’s great you’re willing to bend over backward to change the future for someone you don’t even know. Congratulations on finding something important enough in your life to fight for. Good luck with that.”

  He didn’t jerk his arm out of her hand, but he walked away with such purpose that he left her arm dangling in the air, grasping at his receding back, blurry
through her tears.

  Chapter Seven

  Max still smelled grilled steak in the air when he returned to his condo after meeting with Val. Abby’s soft laughter echoed through the entrance hallway from the enclosed patio on the other side of the sprawling living room, along with at least three other voices of lingering guests. Toby, their Jack Russell terrier, jumped up from where he’d been waiting next to the door for Max to return. He barked a greeting and wagged his tail. Max dropped his keys on a narrow table by the door, then cut to the left of the living room and climbed the stairs before anyone could notice he’d returned, Toby trotting after.

  In the master bathroom, he dug a pill bottle out of the back of the medicine cabinet, tapped two capsules into his hand, and threw them in his mouth. He shot-gunned a glass of water and flinched at his depressing reflection, a deep frown etched across his face. The pills would help. The label on the bottle said Amerge, a migraine medication; it was actually OxyContin. He’d been prescribed the pain meds after that asshole Sten shot him in the stomach nine months ago. The pills had helped him through the worst of the healing process, then they helped him through his breakup with Val. Now they helped him get through the day. With multiple prescriptions and unlimited money, he effectively had an infinite supply of the stuff. At least it was safer than heroin, and easier to hide.

  Max splashed water on his face and practiced smiling. Why did Val have to show up now, two months before his wedding, still driven, still fierce, still beautiful? He’d committed to this new life he built for himself, started thinking he didn’t need the pills anymore. Then he saw her again, the only woman he’d ever loved—first woman, he reminded himself—playing with her gorgeous red hair. She’d turned and looked at him with steel eyes exactly as he remembered. All his feelings for her, the ones he’d painstakingly walled off brick by brick, came flooding back, and he knew he’d never wean himself off the goddamn pills—