Taste of Vengeance

by Kristi Belcamino

  They sat in silence for a few seconds, and then Gia spoke again. “I feel like I can’t trust myself. That feels terrible. I was so certain I was right about him and you were wrong.”

  “If the drug does what I think it might, a lot of this, hell, most of it,” Sydney said, “was probably out of your control.”

  “I’m just so angry.”

  And probably heartbroken, Sydney thought.

  After she went inside and paid the owner twice what he asked, Sydney led Gia back to her small apartment.

  Once inside, Sydney opened up her laptop. She typed in a flurry. Gia sank on the couch, holding her head in her hands.

  “I have a fucking headache from hell now, too.”

  “Yeah, Molly does that to some people and who knows what kind of withdrawal symptoms you might get from that drug,” Sydney said.

  “I haven’t been drugged.” Gia’s voice was adamant, but Sydney could hear the slightest hint of doubt.

  “Listen,” Sydney said. “Let’s brainstorm. We’ve got to find Damien.”

  “What if he’s already left the country?”

  Sydney typed some more and looked up. “Nope. His plane is still here on the ground. That’s a good sign for us.”

  Sydney scooted back her chair and turned to Gia.

  “Come here. I want you to meet Clem Smith.”

  Gia stood and stretched. “Who?”

  But when she looked over at the laptop screen, her face grew pale.

  Sydney could tell that even from across the room Gia could see the faces on the screen. She hurried over.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  There were two pictures on the screen. One of Damien Thornwell taken some time in the past few years. Next to it, was a mugshot of Damien as a teenager or young man. It had a Sheriff’s identification strip underneath it. An arrest photo for Clem Smith. He had light brown hair with a receding hair line and bad teeth.

  Underneath the photo was a headline: “Youth charged with raping classmate and murdering mother.”

  Gia stared at the screen and then said, “Holy shit, he has false teeth and dyes his hair.”

  Sydney burst into laughter. Gia joined her until she had tears streaming down her face.

  Finally, they stopped. Gia wiped away her tears. “I guess I had to laugh so I didn’t cry, but ended up bawling anyway. This is so fucked up. He raped his classmate, and a few years later, killed his mother after she threatened to go to authorities with proof of the rape.”

  “And changed his name.”

  “Motherfucker.”

  Sydney nodded. “Exactly.”

  “I always thought it was sort of creepy that his name was so similar to the devil in The Omen?”

  “What?”

  “You know in that movie with Gregory Peck? He plays the devil—a guy named Damien Thorn.”

  “Fucking creepy.”

  “We found something else.”

  “We? You mean that Joyful Justice?”

  “I had unsolved rape cases in the Bay Are run through our data base and found several with similar M.O.’s—women who had some connection to Sky Enterprises. But I also found something really interesting.”

  Sydney scrolled through a file. “The classmate he raped was named Lila. In at least two rapes after that, the victim said her attacker sobbed and said, ‘I hate you Lila. I hate you.’”

  “He’s repeating whatever happened with this Lila, and somewhere along the line it escalated to rape and murder,” Gia said. “Can we find Lila? Can we have her publicly identify Damien as Clem? Is there DNA evidence? I know the statute of limitations is expired, but we could somehow bring attention to him, even if we can’t prove he killed Alaia, we can make others aware of him, warn other women …”

  Gia trailed off. Sydney slowly shook her head.

  “He’s fucking Damien Thornwell.”

  Gia clasped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God. You’re right. Nobody will believe us.”

  “We have to do something,” Sydney said. “He’ll never stop. Even if he goes underground, he’ll continue raping and killing women. Sexual predators don’t just stop. Ever. We have to stop him.”

  The two women stared at each other for a few seconds and then both nodded.

  “Let’s do it,” Gia said and headed for the door.

  56

  Orgy

  After sleeping much of the next day, we headed out to the villa under the cover of night. My head still hurt like a motherfucker, but I was eager to find Damien. I wanted to make him pay for what he had done. I wanted to look into his eyes and hurt him. With my words and actions and fists, just like he’d hurt me.

  We circled the house, coming at it from a parking lot down the beach and then lay down in the sand out back.

  Sydney handed me her night vision goggles.

  “Tell me what you see while I talk to Dan. It’s on heat seeking. Flip this to switch to night vision.”

  I strapped them on and peered up toward Damien’s room. The full-length windows made it easy to see inside from our vantage point.

  Sydney was talking in a low voice on the phone to someone named Dan who was at Joyful Justice headquarters.

  It was dark inside Damien’s room, and I didn’t see any movement whatsoever. I scanned my room. Nothing.

  Two rooms over though, I saw bodies moving.

  The bodies were entwined. I switched to night vision and zoomed in. Zoe and Cat and Nick were having at it. Wait. Tim was also there, half buried under the covers. Good for them.

  But no Damien.

  A glance at Rich’s room told me there wasn’t anything there, either.

  Downstairs, I scanned the common spaces. Thank God these people didn’t believe in curtains.

  Nothing.

  All the fun was happening at the orgy upstairs.

  “Where the fuck is Rich?” I said.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” Sydney said as she hung up her phone.

  I dropped the glasses and turned to her.

  “Dan’s been monitoring the police frequencies. While you were sleeping today they found Rich.”

  “And?”

  “He’s dead. They found him in Damien’s pied-à-terre. They found a knife and a gun near his body. Shot himself. Both had his fingerprints on it. They found a prostitute’s body in the closet. Stabbed. She’d been there for a few days. It was staged to make Rich look like the killer.”

  Bile rose to my mouth. I’d fucked Damien with a dead woman’s body a few feet away. I don’t know how, but I knew who the woman was. The woman I’d seen Damien with on the beach. But I had to ask.

  “What did the woman look like?”

  Sydney exhaled. “Honestly? Like you. Fucking spitting image.”

  I leaned over and vomited.

  “We don’t have time for that shit.”

  I swiped at my mouth and nodded.

  “Wait? How do you know what she looked like?” I asked, but already knew the answer. “You went there today while I was asleep?”

  Sydney nodded. “It was the second time I’d been there. I was there last night before you arrived, but the caretaker had come in and I’d had to hide under the bed until he left. That’s how I found you. I’d been keeping an eye on the place and saw you rush out and Damien chasing you. I went back today to search for the notebook.”

  “You searched while the prostitute’s body was there? And Rich’s body?”

  She cleared her throat. “It wasn’t a pretty sight. Anyway, Alaia’s last text said her notebook would be there, but I couldn’t find it. I thought the notebook would provide evidence, but he might have found it and destroyed. He has to be stopped. With or without evidence. We need to trap him. I’m just trying to figure out how.”

  “She spoke about a notebook?” I sat up, remembering my conversation with Damien about his commonplace book.

  I keep a notebook that contains details of my life…I have it with me at all times.

/>   “What if it is his notebook, not hers,” I said and told her about the commonplace book.

  Her eyes widened. “That’s what we need to find. It has to have evidence. But meanwhile, we need to find him and stop him.”

  Suddenly it hit me. “I know! The Wizard’s Ball at the Copa? He has to attend. He’s the master of ceremonies. His ego won’t let him miss it.”

  Sydney’s voice held a grin. “I don’t think my running shorts will blend in.”

  I took her arm. “Let’s go shopping.”

  57

  The Dog, Too

  Damien paced the penthouse at the Copacabana, his phone to his ear.

  “You have to make sure that every security guard within ten blocks of here knows that there has been a threat to my life. I want roadblocks two blocks out and each vehicle checked. Unless they have a ticket, turn them away. I don’t care if it’s the goddamn actress who won the Oscar this year. Ticketed guests only. Do you understand?”

  “I’ll take the private elevator down, give my speech, and then I’ll require an armed escort up to the helipad on the roof immediately after.”

  Damien hung up and dialed another number.

  “I leave at midnight. I want them both dead. And the dog, too.”

  58

  Rock and Roll

  Figuring that shopping for dresses after the Carnival festivities had begun was near impossible, Sydney knocked on the landlady’s door and thrust a large amount of cash toward her. Within an hour, a man appeared at their door with dresses and masks. He left with enough money to probably pay his rent for two months, and Sydney and Gia decided to try to nap before the ball.

  At nine-thirty, Sydney woke Gia.

  “Time to rock and roll.”

  Gia stretched. “Thank God, my headache’s finally gone.”

  After they dressed—Gia in black, Sydney in white—they put on the jeweled eye masks.

  Sydney handed Gia a small black bag on a silver chain. Gia took it and felt its heft. She looked inside and saw a small automatic pistol.

  “You know how to use that?”

  Gia nodded.

  “It’s a Sig Sauer P238. It’s my spare. But it will work.” Sydney patted her own bag and smiled. “I’m fully loaded.”

  They waited until they saw the big black car pull up on the street below before they left, Sydney patting Blue on the head. He looked at her dolefully as if he knew he might not ever see her again.

  The landlady had been instructed to call Dan if Sydney didn’t return.

  Dan had helped them form a plan. He’d hacked the website of the firm providing security for the event.

  According to Dan’s information, checkpoints would be set up around the hotel. And the ballroom would be heavily guarded. Inside, guards would be posted at the main entrance and exit and one on each side of the stage.

  Dan had also sent blueprints and they’d studied plans of the ballroom before their nap. The stage Damien would appear on was against a far wall, opposite the door.

  They would wait in the wings and then each approach, one on each side of the audience, and take him out at the podium. Dan had helped Sydney find an elevator just off the stage that would take them either to the basement or a different floor. From there, they’d separate and meet in the kitchen. Sydney hoped that once there, they could dress like cooks and escape in a catering van. But it was risky. A lot depended on the level of surveillance throughout the hotel. If they could get out of the hotel, they’d ditch the van before the checkpoints and head back to the favela.

  After handing Sydney the keys, the driver slunk off into the shadows.

  I’ll drive,” Sydney said, lifting the lid to the trunk.

  “What if I suffocate?” Gia said.

  “Then bang on the trunk lid.”

  Gia crawled in with a scowl.

  “Hey,” she said once she was lying down. “Can we drive Cameron Stone? I think I have a crush on him. I’m pretty sure he likes me, too. He was staring at me at dinner the other night. How about we pick him up instead?”

  “No.” Sydney slammed the trunk, pulled down her chauffeur cap, and climbed into the driver’s seat. She immediately cranked the stereo, blasting Cuban music. The sound was interrupted by a muffled banging.

  Sighing, she got out and peered into the trunk.

  “You can’t breathe?”

  “Just testing.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes and slammed the trunk lid.

  59

  Pity Party

  Lying in the dark, I wanted to kick the lid of the trunk. Why the fuck was I the one stuck in this suffocating, smelly space? Whatever rich fuck we were driving to the ball would probably love having two female chauffeurs, right?

  I hadn’t realized I was slightly claustrophobic until now. My breath came in rapid, shallow gulps. I was certain I would hyperventilate. It took all my willpower not to kick and scream for Sydney to let me out.

  I did some deep breathing and felt a little better. I had no choice.

  The two of us together would draw attention we didn’t want or need.

  Any reports of a livery car with blond and brunette drivers would get back to Damien. I was sure of it. At worst, we’d be killed. At best, we’d be banned from the ball and wouldn’t be able to get to Damien. And that was all that mattered. Getting close enough to do some real damage.

  My bag was pressed against my hip as I lay in the trunk on my side. I patted it. The gun was small but would work.

  We went around a sharp corner and I slid, banging my head on the inside of the trunk.

  “SLOW THE FUCK DOWN SYDNEY!”

  I slipped off my sandals and aimed one bare-footed heel at a taillight until it came loose then I curled up in the fetal position and wriggled until I’d managed to turn my body around.

  I jabbed at the tail light until it loosened. If I held it a certain way, I could see out about an inch. For some reason this made me feel better. Less claustrophobic. Less trapped. And I’d see who was coming. And if it wasn’t Sydney, I’d be prepared.

  I reached for my bag and felt the reassuring weight of the gun inside. I pressed the fabric of the bag, feeling the outline of the lethal steel. My fingers itched to hold the gun and squeeze the trigger. I visualized Damien up on a stage and me rushing up and facing him, holding the gun outstretched between us.

  I imagined the look in his eyes. Astonishment. Betrayal. Hurt. Love.

  Love. Fuck. Swallowing hard I closed my eyes.

  He loved me. I knew this. I was certain.

  Could I kill someone who loved me? Yes. The hard part was going to be killing someone I loved back.

  Because as fucked up as it was, it was true. I both hated and loved Damien. For my entire adult life, I’d lamented that everyone I’d ever loved had died—most in terrible and violent ways. I’d spent countless hours living in fear that if I loved again, the object of my affections would end up dead. And yet here I was stuffed in the back of a trunk during Rio’s Carnival, mentally preparing myself to put a bullet through Damien’s head.

  We rounded another corner, and I braced myself this time, preventing another head whacking.

  I heard a muffled voice say, “Sorry.”

  But I imagined Sydney smiling, taking the corner a little too fast on purpose.

  I knew she was frustrated that I hadn’t believed her about Damien. But she’d only seen his bad side. I saw the other side of him. The sweet side of him. The humanity in him. The tender look when he made love to me. The side of him that loved that goddamned dog, Snuffles. The part of him that had given two million dollars of his money to a pet rescue organization we saw on TV one night.

  The Damien that was first interested in my company because he had a soft spot for the homeless. I remembered him stopping to talk to the homeless man outside my building and how it was genuine and real and how he treated that man with respect and dignity.

  But that Damien was dead.

  Besides, his name wasn’t even Damien. It
was Clem.

  And Clem was a monster. A stone-cold killer. A predator. A depraved waste of flesh who preyed on innocent women. Who abused his power to indulge in his sick perversions.

  I clenched my jaw. That Damien/Clem must die.

  We came to a stop, and I heard voices and doors opening and shutting.

  Our client.

  Somehow Dan and Sydney has arranged for us to drive some muckety-muck to the ball. We’d drop him off at the red carpet and then, instead of parking where all of the other chauffeurs were designated to sit out the ball, Sydney would make up some story allowing us access to the hotel garage. We hoped.

  After a few minutes, we slowed. I peeked out my tiny hole and saw cars behind me. We must be at the checkpoint.

  We were getting closer to Damien.

  Steeling myself, I pushed back the memory of the last time we made love. But not before I remembered the look in his eyes. I quickly replaced that thought with another one: Alaia fighting for her life so hard that her entire fingernail ripped off her finger. I imagined the prostitute’s dead body slumped in the closet mere feet away from us making love.

  I clenched my fists. He must die.

  And at my hands.

  I was the reason that woman on the beach was dead

  If I’d only listened to Sydney, I would have realized he was a killer. I would have known to warn that woman, and she would still be alive. Maybe a pill had something to do with making me more vulnerable and allowing my lust and emotions to overpower my logic and good sense, but the fact of the matter was someone had died because of me. Never again.

  Damien needed to die. And I needed to be the one to do it.

  The car ground to a halt again. This time I heard the distinct clicking of the paparazzi and saw the flashing strobes through my gap in the taillight.

  Then we pulled away. Before we turned a corner, I got a glimpse of a crowd pressed up against the fence overlooking the red carpet.