by RC Boldt
Poised with the next arrow drawn back, I address the girl hurriedly yanking her clothes back into place. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
I raise my arrow, and her eyes widen when she sees I’m aiming for her head. “Try again.”
She whimpers. “Seventeen.”
I tip my head, gesturing to Jeremiah. “That’s the best you can do for yourself? Really?”
She whimpers again.
Narrowing my eyes, I lower my voice. “Let me tell you something. If you head down to the clinic on South Fifteenth and Church and ask for the doc there, he needs help in his office. It’s not too strenuous, but it’s legit work. Solid hours. Your soul and morals will thank you.” I step closer to her and hiss, “But if I find out you’re still doing this shit, I’ll hunt you down.” I pause to let that settle in before pinning her with a hard glare. “And you won’t like it.”
The girl nods fast. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, get out of here.” I lift my chin, gesturing to the floor where Jeremiah’s wallet dropped out of his jeans pocket. “But first, take whatever he owes you, plus a tip.”
The girl does as she’s told and practically sprints out the rear exit.
Turning to Jeremiah, I gesture with the arrow to the metal folding chair nearby. “Sit.”
He drops into it, still cradling his bleeding hand, eyes glittering with fury. “Who the fuck are you?” His laugh is nasty and brittle as he lifts his chin at my balaclava masking my face and baring only my eyes. “You tryin’ to dress up like some freak or somethin’?”
I ignore him. “Here’s the deal. You tell me the truth, and I might let you live. Got it?”
He grunts. I take it as a yes.
“About seven years ago, a man named Rhett Bullard owned this place.”
“Yeah, I know all about him.”
“Oh, yeah?” I tip my head to the side, curious to hear his response. “What happened to him?”
His eyes light up with what can only be described as evil glee. “We made an example of him and his family ’cause he wouldn’t go along with our plan.” A proud grin spreads across his face. “This place was shot up real good.”
“And you had something to do with all that?”
Jeremiah raises his chin. “Hell yeah. I lit the place up. Shot every one of ’em.” His expression shifts from pride to one of irritation. “Except the bitch survived and tried to rat us out.”
I nod slowly. “Interesting. I appreciate your answers, Jeremiah.” Raising the arrow, I aim directly at his forehead, and his cocky demeanor instantly cracks.
He sputters, “But you said if I answered, you’d let me live!”
I feign remorse. “Oops. I lied.” I release the first arrow before I send two more, each driving through his flesh to lodge in his skull. “That’s for my family.” I shoot a final one at his chest. “And that’s for me.”
Walking over to the table, I pull out my Ka-Bar and carve two words deep into the wooden surface. It’s a message Cash Boudroux will recognize.
You’re next.
35
Kate
Returning from my late-night run, I notice Javoris sitting out front of the unit in the subsidized housing building I’d told him about.
Concerned, I quietly ask, “What’s wrong?”
I forget how quietly I move because the boy jumps, clearly startled by my sudden approach.
“Is something wrong?” I demand, worried that his mother’s in danger even though I don’t hear any loud voices.
“No, no,” he sputters. “Man, you scared the crap out of me!”
I frown, surveying our surroundings, but come up empty of threats. “Why’re you out here?”
He shrugs. “Just habit, I guess.”
“Things any better?”
“Oh, yeah.” His voice instantly changes. “My mom loves it ’cause she’s got a great schedule, and Miss Tawnya’s really nice.”
I stay silent because I know there’s something he’s not saying. Something’s bothering him.
“What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “I used the money I saved up doing some chores for the neighbors to help Mom out, and we had pizza from the good place when we moved in.”
“Arturo’s?”
His face brightens, partially illuminated by the lone working streetlight and the shaft of light from the crescent moon. “Yeah.” Then it’s like the light is snuffed out. “But now I don’t have anything saved to get her something for Christmas.” He drops his chin to his chest. “Plus, she said we probably couldn’t afford to buy gifts, so…”
Fuck. “What’ve you been wishing for?”
He shrugs again, and mumbles, “Doesn’t matter.”
“What about your mom?”
“She needs new shoes. Better ones that last longer.”
I wait a beat before prodding again, gently. “And you?”
He sighs. “A new backpack. And a jacket. And I was kinda wishing for…” I wait him out, but he just mutters, “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Tell me.”
He mutters his response so softly I strain to hear him. “I was wishing for a bow and arrow. I always thought it’d be cool ’cause when I was little, Mom used to read me the story of Robin Hood.”
An invisible fist reaches inside me with a seizing grip around my heart as a memory bombards me, the scene playing out before my eyes.
“Look, Mommy!” Willow poses with her toy bow and arrow. “I’m a warrior! I’ll protect you and Daddy and Paw-Paw!”
My heart twists, the pain lancing so deep I nearly heave trying to drag in oxygen to my lungs as I force myself back to the present.
“A bow and arrow, huh? You into archery?”
Javoris lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “Seems pretty cool.”
“Hmm. There’s a clinic that the metro bus runs to. Cape Fear Med Center. The doc there is an old Marine, but word on the street is he has extensive knowledge about archery, too.” I wait for the boy to raise his head, and his expression of hope is a soothing balm to my battered heart. “Bet he’d take you under his wing and show you the ropes.”
He nods like he’s mentally storing the information. I take a step, moving away, determined to head home when his question catches me off guard.
“What about you?”
I stop but don’t turn back. “What about me?”
“What do you want for Christmas?”
Revenge.
My family.
For this to finally be over.
But I don’t say any of this. Instead, I walk away. “Night, Javoris.”
His soft words trail after me. “Night, Grim.”
36
Hunter
“What the fuck is with the goddamn bow and arrow shit?” I mutter, dragging a hand over my head in frustration. “And who’s the woman they hired to do the hit in the bar?”
I’ve done everything, combed through every damn file I could find, and I still come up empty-handed.
I dart up from the chair and begin pacing. Kujo just watches me, his eyes tracking me, but his head remains resting on his front paws.
“Goddammit!” Agitation fills my veins. “Who uses a bow and arrows to take out a damn crime organization?” I finally release a sigh. For fuck’s sake, my concentration is shit, and I know why.
Because of her. Kate.
Dammit, I need to shove her out of my head and concentrate. I’ll get nowhere if I continue letting her distract me.
Is this person working alone? Is he trying to disrupt the Dixie Mafia in order to take over and run his own redneck crime organization?
Sinking into my chair with a sigh, I force my mind to clear and focus on the job.
I need to be one step ahead next time. I’ll study the hits made so far and map out the targets he’ll likely plan to take out next.
When we cross paths again, he’ll regret it.
37
Kate
Getting past t
he outside surveillance was child’s play, considering I know the place like the back of my hand. I spent much of my childhood at the shop after school and helping with little tasks here and there during the summers before I was old enough to run the register and correctly count money.
They’re paranoid after I left Jeremiah for them, and thankfully, they haven’t detected the voice-activated bugs I planted. Now there’s a large number of men on guard as they prep the weapons shipments in the back of the pawn shop. The only plus is these men are clearly not military-trained. They’re simply hired muscle capable of throwing a punch and pulling a trigger.
Just the same, I have no doubt I can take them on. Even if a few of the men appear to be single-handedly keeping steroid manufacturers in business, judging by the massive bulk of their physique.
“Don’t judge your opponent by his physical features,” Kru’s voice echoes in my mind. “Anyone, no matter how large, has weaknesses. Your task is to zero in on those and carefully execute the attack.”
Inhaling a deep, fortifying breath, I aim my gun and pull the trigger, taking out the power supply for the store. The silencer on my weapon allows me to disable the backup generator quietly.
As soon as the power dies, leaving the building shrouded in darkness, the shouts of men follow. Perhaps the meager amount of moonlight casting through the overhead windows isn’t satisfactory for their operations.
“Stay alert!”
Yeah, good luck with that, boys.
I’m about to enter a dark storeroom with a large number of armed men. Once my eyes adjust to the overall darkness, I know my vision still won’t be one hundred percent accurate, so I need to draw on my training from years ago.
“What are you doing?” The panic in my voice is evident as Kru carefully secures the blindfold. The fabric doesn’t allow even an ounce of light to permeate it.
“We have a tendency to rely on our vision. It becomes a weakness. When you can’t rely on it, you lose confidence.” He pauses. “What do you feel right now?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Yes. You have not learned to rely on your other senses. To embrace them. They will help you survive. Now, breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. Imagine you are letting go of your fear of the unknown.”
I do as he says, and my muscles lose a fraction of their tenseness.
“Now concentrate on what you feel. The tiniest shift in the air when something moves.” His voice now sounds as if it’s coming from behind me. “When the little hairs on your body stand on end, do not ignore them. Your senses are telling you something important. Never ignore them.”
I nod while silently concentrating on my surroundings and what I can feel and hear.
“You are taking on an opponent you cannot see. Can you defend yourself?”
No sooner does he speak his last word than the air shifts, alerting me to the movement, and I instinctively block the blow with my hand. Without any pause, he advances, and I match him, deflecting and dodging before advancing on him.
Even though he’s much older, he’s still nimble and stealthy as hell. When I get too cocky and take a swing, he sends me to the ground by sweeping my feet out from under me and quickly restrains me.
“Never assume you are the best. There is always someone out there who is stronger, wiser, and stealthier than you.”
He releases me, and I jump to my feet. “Then how can I win against them?”
“The person with the most motivation and skill will win.” Still blindfolded, I sense his approach before he taps the center of my chest. The man constantly does this to emphasize the need to have my driving force come from within. “If your motivation runs deep, through to your bones, then you have an advantage.”
I’m not entirely sure Kru understood what I was training for. He never asked me outright, but there was no denying the man was astute. And a part of me desperately wants to make him proud by showing him that his training paid off. That I’m still heeding his lessons.
Straightening my spine and preparing myself for the battle ahead, I draw the arrow back, my thumb brushing against my jaw, poised and ready to strike. Every single move will be executed with careful precision. The slightest mistake can cost me everything. Because if I die, it’s all for naught. I will have failed them.
And that is unacceptable.
If Cash thinks I can’t get to him with these guys guarding the place, he’s in for a rude awakening.
Focusing on the sounds surrounding me, it allows me to assess the guards quickly. They’re unskilled and nervous; their heavy breaths reach my ears as I breach the building, shooting the first arrow. It pierces a man’s throat, the stumbling sounds intermixed with gurgling, and the others begin aimlessly firing their guns.
I stay crouched low because they don’t expect this, and it works to my advantage. Not only do they anticipate me to come directly at them, but they also assume I’d employ the usual method of attack. Drawing on my lessons, I maintain even breathing and concentrate on my surroundings. On my enemies.
Once I’ve eliminated the first group of men and exhausted my supply of arrows, I quickly draw my two guns from their holsters and fire at the remaining men. The men advance toward me before I dart low and slide on my knees to duck behind a large shelf filled with the shop’s inventory of MREs. Diagonal from me is a small nook beside the storage closet, and it triggers a memory, blossoming in my mind as I fire on the next handful of men.
When I was a young girl, I’d often play here with my dolls while my parents worked in the front of the shop. It was my own special space where I created an imaginary world for my dolls.
Another memory edges its way in of Willow hiding there when we’d have to work and she was off from school. I’d catch her pretending to be a princess warrior, “spying on the enemy and preparing to rescue the prince.”
“Use your emotions to drive you to action. Let them be your fuel, your motivation. But never, never let them blind you from your mission.”
Kru’s words serve as a necessary reminder. I’m waging war against the monsters who stole my family from me. I must stay focused.
After quickly reloading, I aim carefully and shoot the two men nearest me. The thump of their bodies dropping on the hard floor tells me my aim was accurate: direct hit to their foreheads.
Static hisses over the walkie-talkies the men wear. I carefully snake out an arm and jerk one from the clip of the closest dead asshole’s belt.
“Status update now!”
I can’t resist a smile at the sound of that male voice. It’s anxious and unsure, and nearly everything I crave to hear in it. Except one quality isn’t quite strong enough to be evident: fear.
And I refuse to settle for anything less than bone-chilling fear from him.
I press the button on the device I’ve confiscated. My voice is low, hushed, yet steely and filled to the brim with menacing promise. “I’m coming for you.”
A maniacal laugh bubbles up within me at the nefarious quality of my whispered words as they echo through the speakers of the devices attached to the men already dead or quickly approaching death’s door, but I tamp it down.
“Whoever you are, you’ve got a death wish. There’s no fucking way you’re getting out of here alive.” His threats only serve to fuel me further. “You’re gonna die tonight.”
I narrow my eyes and set the walkie-talkie down quietly, murmuring to myself, “You should re-check your Magic Eight Ball, asshole.”
Listening carefully, I tune into every sound regardless of how inconsequential it may seem because it helps me to determine his location. Breathing that’s labored and pained hits my ears, but that’s not him. Those are from one of my victims.
There it is—the hint of footsteps from about six yards away. I stay low and wait, listening to every move. When he turns the corner around the aisle, nearing this shelf, I pull the trigger twice before I skitter across the floor on my knees and take cover behind another shelf filled with tactical gear.
“Show yourself, asshole! At least have the decency to let me see who’s trying to kill me!”
I slowly rise, still behind the shelf, preparing myself for what comes next. Gripping both guns, I wait, and he doesn’t disappoint. He fires his gun, but his aim is focused on the aisle across from me and I’m grateful for that.
At the telltale click signaling his lack of ammunition, he cusses and tosses the gun down, the metal skating across the floor. I dart around the corner of the aisle, veering into a shaft of moonlight cast down through the windows, and fire at him. One of my guns jams, but I manage to nail him in the center of his chest.
His body jerks back from the hit, and his mouth gapes as he gasps for air, and I realize he’s wearing a bulletproof vest. Then he catches me by surprise when he draws another weapon and fires at me while I simultaneously fire twice more in his shoulder.
Grim determination laces his voice, mingling with pain as he eyes my balaclava-covered face disgustedly. “Too fucking scared to show your face, huh? What a goddamn pussy.”
His bullet hits me right below my left breast, my bulletproof vest thankfully stopping its penetration. My body lurches backward much like a rag doll as I reflexively pull the trigger and hit him in the upper shoulder near his neck. His body flinches at the hit, blood instantly blooming at the site. He clamps a hand over the wound as countless expletives fall from his lips.
Even with the agonizing pain coursing through me, I stagger back toward the metal storage shelves, fighting to drag oxygen into my lungs. Cash fires off another shot, and it cuts a path directly through the flesh of the top, outer part of my shoulder left unprotected by my vest. The searing sting of gunpowder assails me, my skin feeling as if it’s been set on fire, followed by the instant sensation of wetness.