The Executioner
A love story
A novel by
Melissa Silvey
This novel is in no way a justification for vigilantism, but a fantasy that started the same way my other stories start: what if. It is not, and should not be seen as, a work of anything other than fiction.
Please share the novel only in accordance with the policies of the website you purchased it from. Do not copy the novel or any part therein. Thanks for your cooperation.
This novel is intended for mature audiences, and is a work of erotic fiction.
And finally:
Thank you so much to Mary Rudy Hunter who encouraged me to finish this book when I’d set it aside. I couldn’t decide who Ari should be with, and it was depressing. I figured it out, and I think Mary, Ari, and I are all happy! Thanks for reading for me and being my second biggest fan (beside my Mom)!
The Executioner: A Love Story
Written by Melissa Silvey
Self Published by Melissa Silvey
Copyright 2013 Melissa Silvey
All Rights Reserved
Please do not copy, or publish without the express written consent of author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter One
Florian Desjardins tucked her dark brown hair up into a tight bun. She kept it just long enough to tie up and hide under wigs. Any longer and there would be too much to try to hide, any shorter and she had to slick it down to her head with product. She had a few years worth of practice, and had it down to an art. She placed one of her many blonde wigs expertly in place. All of her fake hair had been professionally made for her. Sometimes even she thought it was her real hair.
This hairpiece was a natural honey blonde with bangs that swept to the side and long layers around her face. She found this one made her look about nineteen. She wore skinny jeans and a dark military style jacket with military-style black leather boots. If she wanted to look younger, sometimes she wore the wig with hot pink ends and a bright pink and black skirt with a black hoodie.
The man she currently hunted liked college coeds. At twenty-six she could still pull off nineteen, but any younger and she felt awkward. Trying to look fifteen was pushing it now. She knew she would eventually train her replacement; after five years on the job she was ready to move on and give it to someone else.
She wouldn’t have to find her own replacement. The Secretary would arrange that. But she would train her successor, just as Marianne Dumont had trained her. Marianne Dumont was not a real person; neither was Florian Desjardins. Marianne Dumont’s alter-ego had retired to Boston, rich and happily married. Florian had decided she would retire somewhere in Canada, perhaps Vancouver.
Florian Desjardins was a Canadian citizen, brought into the US on a work visa sponsored by the Secretary herself. Florian’s passport was a beautiful forgery; but a forgery none-the-less. All of her papers were forged, except for the American visa. That at least was real. Her real passport and birth certificate were locked in a safety deposit box in New Jersey. She didn’t have the key, the Secretary did. When her final mission was complete she would get it back and burn her forged documents. Florian Desjardins would be no more.
The Secretary recruited Florian when she was twenty. She trained for several months under Marianne. She didn’t know Marianne’s real name, and she didn’t want to. The less either of them knew about each other, the better. Marianne was not the first, and Florian would not be the last. The Secretary was getting older, so Florian assumed there would be very few after her. Perhaps the one she trained would be the last of the short list of special women the Secretary named the Executioners. The Secretary, of course, was the judge and jury.
She gathered women who shared a common bond, like her. Each of the executioners had lost someone close to them to a sexual predator. The Secretary lost her daughter when she was ten to a child molester who had been released from prison several times before abducting Clarice at a park where her nanny took her every day. The Secretary gave each of her executioners a French name, just like her daughter’s. Her husband was French-Canadian, which was her excuse for hiring Canadian au-pairs for her son, and now grandchildren.
The Secretary had tried to change laws within the system. But it didn’t work fast enough for her. She wanted a federal death sentence for all sexual predators. She didn’t get one. So she made her own.
Florian’s alter ego had lost her sister Jasmine to a man who had raped several college aged girls for approximately five years before he elevated to murder. His first murder victim happened to be her sister. He was released on a technicality because Jasmine had sex with her boyfriend prior to being raped, and the DNA tests were inconclusive simply because the two samples were mixed. There was no question that Conner Samples was guilty, he was seen leaving the party with Jasmine. But the DA could not get a Grand Jury to issue a warrant without a conclusive DNA test.
Conner Samples was Florian’s first mission with Marianne. Marianne lured him into a vacant building, and Florian knocked him out with a sharp blow just below his ear. They pumped his veins full of crack cocaine and meth and then set him on fire. The women did a very good job of making the fire look like a horrible accident brought about by heavy drug use.
After the first, Florian was addicted. It was the selling point in the Secretary’s recruitment package. She didn’t even have to tell Florian about the ungodly salary that she would earn. She just wanted to kill the animals that preyed on the most vulnerable members of society. Florian would almost do it for free.
She returned her attention to her make-up. For five years she’d been a teenager all over again, and she had to appear defenseless and weak. She was a killer with a heart of stone, but looking at herself in the mirror she seemed like any other college girl. That was where the Secretary had found her, attending a rally at the college campus Jasmine had attended. She followed in her sister’s footsteps simply to make a change in the campus culture of careless partying and drunken sex. But that didn’t work either.
Jasmine had been drunk, very drunk. But that didn’t give Conner Samples an excuse to rape and kill her. That had been another part of his defense, that she was a sorority girl who liked to party and gave it away to half the guys on campus. Florian wanted to kill him just for making her sister out as a slut.
Florian was seventeen when her sister had been murdered. At eighteen she applied for a gun permit, and learned how to shoot. She also excelled at self defense courses. She was angry, and could shoot a gun and knew several ways to disable an attacker. She was the perfect candidate for the Secretary.
She tucked her small handgun in the back of her skinny jeans under her jacket and another in her boot. She had two leather knife holders made just for her that fit over her forearms and were hidden under most of the clothes she wore. She wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, especially not the monster she hunted. He operated much like Conner Samples, but he would dope young girls with a date rape drug and beat them up while raping them.
There were 5 victims, each assaulted with the same method of operation. He would beat them, strangle them, and rape them. One girl had been a virgin, and he tore her so badly she needed several surgeries. He left no DNA until the final victim. The crime scene techs found two strands of pubic hair on her underwear, and matched them to Victor Reyes. The only reason
his DNA was on file was a drug conviction ten years prior when he was a teenager, and it was found that he was in the country illegally.
He was released on bail, and left Miami. He ran to Salinas, California where he had family. That’s where the Secretary found him. Florian was flown from DC to San Francisco on the Secretary’s private plane. From there she drove in a rented car to Salinas. She hated the smell of dirt and garlic and onions at first, but eventually she got used to it.
She stalked the man for two weeks as Florian, taking the bus into the city when he did, finding where he worked, where he ate lunch, what time he returned home. She knew where he ate dinner, and what he ate. And she knew where he drank beer after dinner. She knew everything about him.
He spent Saturday evenings at a bar and grill in Monterey where several young girls from the college waited tables and tended bar. Florian watched him watch the girls. She knew it would be soon that he chose one to attack. She could see it in his eyes.
She thought about trying to get a job at the bar, but changed her mind. It would take too much paperwork for little pay off. She thought about trying to approach him, but she didn’t want to be too forward. So she chose the next Saturday to make her move.
And that was now.
She stared at herself in the mirror and believed she was a nineteen year old college student. “Hi,” she said to reflection in her most self absorbed, conceited tone. “I’m looking for my friend Trish. I was supposed to meet her here at ten.”
Violet eyes behind thick black eyeliner glared back at her. She changed her eyes with contacts the night of the hunt. She didn’t want anything to be recognizable about her, and her bright blue eyes with her tan skin, even with the wig, were distinctive, to say the least.
She was tired. It wasn’t exciting anymore. She’d killed so many men it had become routine.
“Hey,” she said to herself in an artificially deep voice. “I see you looking at me, and I know what you want to do to me. So why don’t we go find an alley somewhere that I can leave your body and you won’t be found for weeks.”
She chuckled at herself. She actually liked that idea. She thought about it as she grabbed her messenger bag and threw it over her shoulder.
Florian walked into the restaurant and caused a bit of a stir. Apparently her target wasn’t the only man in the place who liked young girls. Heads turned as she found a table in a corner and stared at the menu. She didn’t cause this much of a fuss as herself, but she did get a few stares. She didn’t mind blending in when she knew, if she wanted to, she could stand out.
“I’m meeting someone here,” she said in her young girl voice. “You know, an internet date,” she insisted with a blush. Her eyes went up to the ceiling, showing her pain at the admission.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the waitress said with a big smile. “Don’t worry, when I see him I’ll send him your way.” The waitress brought her a drink and an appetizer. She ate slowly and looked around anxiously. She saw her target at the bar, drinking a beer and staring back at her. She smiled shyly.
Men always seemed to believe if a girl smiled at them they had a chance; especially if they’d been drinking. It was so easy sometimes to manipulate them. She looked shyly down at her drink, then back at the target. She even blushed on cue.
And for some reason he thought that was the time to come over. “So you’re waiting on someone,” he asked as he stood by the table.
“I don’t think he’s going to come,” she sighed and faked disappointment.
“Can I join you?” She nodded. He wasn’t bad looking. He didn’t look like a monster. And sometimes that deflated her. He was so young, too; probably only a few years older than her. His eyes were dark brown. She wished they weren’t. She had a thing for guys with dark brown eyes.
“Do you want a beer,” he asked as he waved to the waitress.
“Oh, no, I’m not old enough,” she said meekly.
“It’s okay, I’ll get you one,” he smiled encouragingly.
“I don’t have an ID,” she shook her head.
“Don’t worry about it,” he laughed. “You have the most amazing eyes.”
“Thanks.” She sighed. “They’re my mom’s eyes.” The lies didn’t bother her at all anymore. It was now second nature. Like the blood and the violence.
The waitress arrived, and didn’t look too happy. She stared at Florian pointedly. Florian looked hopeful anyway.
“Hey, can I get two beers,” he asked with a wink.
“I’ll need to see your ID,” the waitress said.
“I don’t,” she answered.
“Doesn’t have it with her,” the target interrupted her. “Just bring the beer.” His voice grew deep.
“I can’t do that,” the waitress shook her head. “I’ll get fired.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” the target insisted.
“I can’t,” she shook her head.
“Just bring the damn beer,” he snapped. The waitress glanced at Florian.
“I’ll have another soda,” she insisted. When the waitress brought the drink she brought the bill as well; a not so subtle hint to get lost while she could.
“We should go somewhere and get a beer and get to know each other,” he smiled. His teeth were bright white again his tan skin. Her eyes grew wide. She waited to see if he offered to pick up her check. He didn’t. So she laid a twenty down on the ticket and told the waitress to keep the change. She wanted her to know she appreciated her effort.
“So, want to go back to my place?” He wondered after he took a sip of the beer the waitress brought.
“Sure,” she shrugged. “Where do you live?”
“Salinas,” he said with a nod.
“Oh, I can’t go that far with a stranger,” she said coyly. “My apartment is just down the street.”
“Even better,” he grinned. He really thought he was getting lucky, she thought as she looked at him with dreamy eyes. Stupid guy.
She smiled at him as she nodded and led him outside. “Should we stop to get beer?”
“I have some in my fridge,” she grinned enticingly.
“It’s right around here,” she said as she waved him to follow her into an alley. She had the area planned out already; dark, surrounded by two empty buildings. She led him to the middle, half way between two streets, behind an empty dumpster, and motioned to him.
“Come here,” she said as she put her hands into her sleeves. On her forearms she could feel the metal handles of the knives. She pulled out the blade on her left forearm with her right hand just as he leaned in to kiss her. She could smell the beer on his breath. She slid the blade skillfully between his ribs and punctured his left lung. She didn’t even know if he felt it yet.
“Victor Reyes, you’ve been found guilty of rape, sodomy, assault, and attempted murder,” she whispered. He gasped for breath, and he tried to push her away. But she had her arm wrapped around his shoulder, and held him in closer as she pierced his other lung. “You’ve been sentenced to death.”
He slumped behind the dumpster, and she searched for his wallet and pulled it out of his back pocket. She’d be out of the state before anyone even identified him. She threw it in her messenger bag and walked off slowly. She had no need to run away. It was to look like a random violent attack on a drunk, violent guy.
Until she heard a door open behind her. She yelled over her shoulder, “He passed out. I’m going to go back to the bar to get his friend.” She said it in a New England accent. She searched the sidewalk and saw a group of people coming toward her, which bummed her out because she couldn’t tear off the wig right there.
But she did see a taxi passing by, so she climbed into it quickly. And she was in Seaside before the person in the alley realized he wasn’t passed out. She had the cab driver drop her at a fast food restaurant. She climbed out, thanked him and tipped him well.
She pulled off the wig and removed the contacts, and threw them into her messenger bag. She grabbed a hood
ie out of her bag, took off her military jacket and stuffed it inside. Then she waited on the bus. By the time she was back in her hotel room in Salinas she would have been unrecognizable to the waitress who had just waited on her an hour ago.
She turned on the news and saw a picture of the guy. He was dead, the anchor stated, and they were looking for a blonde woman with purple eyes who left a bar with him.
She showered for nearly an hour in warm water, trying to calm her nerves. Then she pulled a beer out of the mini fridge and sipped it slowly. It had been a long time since she came close to getting caught.
She spent Sunday in her hotel room, watching the news. She knew she would be stuck in California for several days. She didn’t want to leave the hotel quickly and cause any suspicion.
So she spent the next day touring Monterey, the aquarium and Fisherman’s Wharf to watch the sea otters. That evening a composite drawing was shown on the news of the girl wanted in connection with the death of Victor Reyes. She laughed as it looked nothing at all like her. “The girl is blonde, with violet or purple eyes, and between eighteen and twenty-one years old. Anyone knowing this girl should call the tip line.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
The next day she took a whale watching cruise. She enjoyed the crisp, brisk sea air and the feeling of freedom that accompanied it. She hadn’t felt that since she was a kid. She raised her hands in the air and smiled brightly, like a bird ready to take flight.
That evening Victor Reyes wasn’t even on the news. Apparently they found out what a dirt bag he was. The next day she was on the Secretary’s private plane back to DC.
Chapter Two
She drug herself up the two flights of stairs to her porch. She shared the porch with her next door neighbor, a shy young man whom she rarely saw. He left the apartment before dawn, and came back home after dark. She assumed he was a grad student or worked at the college. She didn’t even know his name.
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