Ballistic (A Vigilantes Novel)

by Keri Lake

  Of course not. Markings made us less attractive for buyers. Tesarik always made sure the evidence of his abuse had healed well before any sale. Except for the movie productions. In that case, bruises and cuts only made for more authentic viewing.

  If I hadn’t been tied up, I’d have been tempted to push her away for touching me so reverently. No one had touched me like that before, not even my own mother. I might’ve been inclined to believe I’d gotten it from her, but I knew better. I’d always had an aversion to touch. A trait I developed the moment I’d met Dmitry.

  Dmitry. His name brought forth the distorted visuals from before. Something locked inside my head, like a box with no key.

  I sat on the couch with a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Not the nasty green type, but the white stuff. The good stuff. I’d decided to binge all the movies from the eighties. The Breakfast Club. Sixteen Candles. All my favorites. Mom had stayed off my case since I’d paid off her debt to Pigman. I’d ordered a bunch of stuff online with the credit card number—jewelry, purses, electronics, then hocked it all at the pawn shop for cash. About three grand in total, of which I’d kept a hundred for myself for some new shoes and a freezer full of ice cream.

  Breyers.

  Mom had accused me of sleeping with Pigman, a thought that’d had me barfing in the bathroom afterward, until I’d come clean—about the hocking part, anyway. I’d told her I’d found someone’s wedding ring in a McDonald’s toilet bowl and pawned it off. Finders keepers, as far as she was concerned, so she’d never asked anything more after that. I was no longer a sinning thief, but merely an opportunist.

  I dipped my spoon into the creamy white goodness, gathering up the small chunks of chocolate, but at the rapping of the door, I stopped midway to my mouth.

  What the heck?

  Mom was gone for the night, hanging out at Pigman’s. Not that she’d knock, anyway.

  Could’ve been Mister Williams from next door again. He sometimes popped over while my mom was out to bitch about her parking on his grass.

  I set the ice cream down onto the coffee table and, crouching low, snuck across the room toward the window. I peered through the sheer curtains, to see a tall man standing with his back to me. In his right hand, a cigarette dangled from his black-gloved fingertips. Beyond him, I couldn’t see anything more than a black shine in the darkness where a car must’ve sat parked in the shadows.

  Panic clamped down onto my lungs, and I dropped to the floor, pressing my back into the wall.

  The man whose credit card I’d used.

  Another whomp of the door startled my muscles, and I clamped my eyes shut. “Go away,” I whispered.

  The TV flickered across from me, an observation he’d undoubtedly made before knocking on the door.

  Shit. Shit. Shit!

  “I know you’re in there, girl. I saw you through the curtain. You have two choices: open this door, or get the fuck out of the way so I can kick it in.” The thick accent and steady voice made him sound like the dude from Rocky IV—totally devoid of sympathy for a kid.

  “I’ve got a gun!” I blurted the words before I had time to think about them. “And I’ve been trained to use it.”

  “I’m here to talk. That’s it.”

  “I’m not allowed to let strangers in.”

  “Well, how ‘bout I call the police, and you can explain all that Girl Scout shit to them. Seeing as you stole a few grand from me, I’m sure they’ll take that into account before they arrest you.”

  What felt like a tight fist inside my chest squeezed my lungs. I should’ve known he’d find me. Stupid! I’d had the stuff delivered to the old lady’s house on the corner. She never came out of the house unless she had to take one of her fifty cats to the vet. Wonder if the guy had already killed her.

  “How … you just want to talk?”

  “That’s all.”

  Shit. Shit! If I didn’t answer the door, he’d probably break it down and then my mom, or Pigman, would come after me. I pushed up from the floor, every instinct inside of me telling me what I was about to do was the dumbest thing I could’ve possibly done, but I did it anyway.

  The moment I opened the door, I found myself staring into those penetrating gray eyes that seemed almost darker than before, if possible.

  He took a step inside, but before he could breach my invisible threshold of safety, I shook my head, pushing him back. “You can’t come in.”

  A cold sting cracked against my cheek, radiating up through my sinuses. Fingers curled around my neck, pinching off the air to my lungs, and I slid backward across the floor, until the wall slammed into my back. “As I see it, I can do whatever the fuck I want. After all, isn’t this shithole what I paid for?”

  I opened my mouth to respond but my words lay trapped below his grip. Just as the first burst of stars floated before my eyes, he let go. Slumping forward, I sucked in three deep breaths and coughed.

  “You put your hands on me again, and I’ll break every one of your fingers. Clear?”

  Still bent forward, I nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “Who are you working for?”

  I frowned up at him. “Work? Like a job?”

  “Yes. A job. Who runs your little operation here?” He looked around the small place, his lip curled in disgust.

  “N-n-no one. Sir.”

  “How did you swipe my card numbers? The old man at the party store?”

  Eyes wide, I shook my head. Dear God, I didn’t want to involve Pops. Hopefully he hadn’t gone to him first. “No. It was just me.”

  The stranger tipped his head, his gray thunderstorm stare drilling into me. “How?”

  “I … I memorized the card numbers.”

  “You had my card for two seconds.”

  “I have … photographic recall.”

  “Photographic memory.” The stern expression on his face twisted into a skeptical smile, with wrinkles that bracketed both his mouth and eyes. “What the fuck …”

  “It’s true. I bought stuff online at the library and pawned it off. My mom … she got behind on—”

  He held up his hand to cut me off and shook his head. “How old are you, child?”

  “Almost twelve.”

  “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  I shook my head, suddenly wishing I did.

  “I’m Dmitry Prochazka. Do you know what I do to those who steal from me?” He didn’t give me the opportunity to answer. “I kill them in very bad, bad ways.”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat, but didn’t bother to say a word in response.

  “Fortunately for you, I don’t kill children. So I guess I’m going to have to take this one up with the cops.”

  “I’m sorry Mr. P-Prochazka. I promise I’ll pay it back. I promise.”

  Another glance around the place, and his gaze landed on me again. “I don’t think you can. I don’t think you have shit.”

  “I’ll work. Please, I’m begging you. Please don’t call the police.”

  He studied me for a good few minutes, then sucked in a drag of his cigarette. “Today’s your lucky day, girl. I’m feeling charitable. You’re gonna come work for me. Until what you owe is paid off.”

  A flare of panic struck my chest. I didn’t want to work for him, the scary guy with weird gray eyes, but I didn’t have a choice. If I turned him down, he’d probably go to the police. “What kind of work?”

  “Cleaning shit out of my toilets. You have a problem with that?”

  Lips thinned, I shook my head. “No.”

  “Good.” He stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a card, jotting down an address. “Have your mom, or dad, or whoever, drop you off here.”

  As he handed off the card, I stared down at the address, located on the other side of Detroit. “I can’t …. My mom thinks I hocked a wedding ring.”

  “Then I guess you better oil up that piece of shit bike outside. It’s a hike.” At my nod, he backed up a couple steps. “Be ther
e first thing in the morning. You fail to show? Expect to hear from me again.”

  “Yes. Sir.”

  A crackling snap broke my thoughts, and I glanced over at the older woman, slipping a pair of rubber gloves from her hands and tossing them somewhere beyond my view. She lifted the sheets back over my body and took a moment to massage my arms and legs through the fabric.

  None of her ministrations registered really. My body had gone numb.

  Once finished, she strode across the room and opened the door on Dax, who stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. So serious.

  Every time I saw the guy he had some concentrated look on his face. I wondered if he ever smiled, if he had nice teeth behind those lips. I wondered if I was the reason he didn’t bother.

  The two of them stepped out into the hallway, and Dax cast one more glance back at me before closing the door behind him.

  He still didn’t smile.

  8

  Dax

  “I’ve cleaned her wound, changed the dressings. Looks like Staph to me, but who the hell knows. I’ll call in a script for antibiotics for you at the pharmacy up the street, once I’ve had it cultured. They know me there. Pick it up under the name Robert Jones.” Doc Aikens prattled on, standing just outside of Nicoleta’s bedroom door. “I also did my usual gynecological. I’ll run the samples and let you know of any additional treatments, if necessary. Looks clean from what I’ve gathered, clinically. It appears she has an implant for birth control. Make her eat. Even if she fights you, she has to keep up her fluids and nutrition. Maybe grab a multi-vitamin for her. And let her out of the restraints every few hours.”

  Woman had my head spinning with all those directives. “Goddamn. Should I take her for walks twice a day, too?”

  Instead of smiling, her face crinkled with concern. “What do you plan to do with her?”

  I looked past her to the closed door and back again. “Her father’s been in touch with me.”

  “You seem troubled by that.”

  “I don’t know this guy.” I stroked my chin as a shit-storm of thoughts kicked up like a mini tornado again. “What if I’m putting her back in harm’s way?”

  “What’s your alternative? Keeping her?”

  “No. Hell, no. She’s …. I can’t keep her here. She’s probably in more danger with me than anyone. But I’m not sending her out into the streets, either.” I dragged a hand down my face and across the back of my neck, staring off at the wall behind her. “She gets these … nightmares, sometimes. I thought it was the drugs. Maybe hallucinating, but seems like she’s almost reliving some shit. Talking in tongues like she’s fucking possessed.”

  “She undoubtedly has some post-traumatic stress. I could provide a sleeping aide for that. Or perhaps try some melatonin for her, first. See if that calms her. It’s relatively mild, so she may need something stronger if they persist.” She tipped her head to the side drawing my attention back to her. “You know there are programs, Dax, that help—”

  “No.” Hands on my hips, I shook my head. “Look, no offense, but Livvie got caught up in those programs that supposedly help. The cops, the judges, the social workers. They’re all in on this shit.”

  Doc Aikens had long worked in shelters for battered women, and junkies trying to get clean. I’d first met her while trying to help a friend out of a shitty situation a while back. She’d known me for a long time. Knew my intentions and had offered to help me get Nicoleta off the drugs.

  She patted my shoulder and gave a sympathetic smile. “You’ll do what’s right, Dax. Seven times out of ten, you usually do.”

  In spite of all my indecision, I chuckled. “Only seven, huh?”

  “Well, nobody’s perfect, honey.” With a rub of my arm, she stepped past me, and headed toward the door.

  “Thanks, Doc. For everything.”

  With a wink, she exited my apartment, leaving me to figure out what the hell I planned to do with the girl.

  I still had every intention of going after Tesarik. Too many girls had paid for his extravagant lifestyle with their lives, and even if I risked mine, it’d be worth it to see that evil prick go down.

  I slid the card from my pocket, staring down at the number her father had given me. Guy probably had a hit out on me already. Made sense to turn her over to him, if he was, in fact, her father, but something in my gut wasn’t down with that plan. Something told me, in spite of those combative moments and the nightmares, she was better off with me. At least until I figured out what the hell those nightmares were all about.

  Cracking the door open, I peeked inside. Seeing the girl had fallen asleep, I padded quietly across the room to her bed. Beneath the bruises and scratches, she had the kind of face one couldn’t forget. The kind that sent a shiver down the spine, imagining sunlight and a smile lighting up those pale whiskey eyes.

  Her arms hung awkwardly from the restraints, and I shook my head, pushing to my feet. Didn’t feel right having her tied up like some kind of wild animal. Christ, no wonder she didn’t trust me.

  I unlatched both of them, lowering each arm down onto the bed beside her, and sat down in the nearby chair, watching the slow and steady rise of her chest. I’d had my share of women—beautiful, strong and outspoken. Something about the girl called to me to protect her. Yeah, she was strong, too. She’d have to be to have survived a rotten bastard like Tesarik, but she needed someone to watch out for her. To care for her.

  Shipping her off to some asshole claiming to be her old man just felt wrong, for some reason. Maybe that was the excuse I’d come up with to keep from giving her up. Or maybe I just never had much respect for deadbeat dads who’d threatened me.

  Pain stabbed my ribcage on a sharp breath, and I leaned into my side where I’d taken two hard punches. The radiating ache throbbed a warning that I’d have a massive bruise there within a matter of minutes.

  “That’ll teach you, boy. Touch my shit again, and I’ll break every bone in your hand.”

  Breathing hard through my nose to keep from expanding my chest too much, I glared up at my foster dad who loomed over me with cold, threatening eyes. The kind of eyes that held nothing but hate behind them. I’d swiped a pack of cigarettes from the carton he’d left on the table. Should’ve known the bastard would notice. Hadn’t bothered to check out the garage, where I’d organized all his tools, or the dishwasher I’d emptied earlier in the day, or the fucking lawn I’d mowed three days ago.

  But he’d sure as hell noticed that pack of smokes missing.

  He prodded a finger toward me, and I’d have loved to snap it right off his hand. “Keep eye fucking me, kid. I’ll add a bruise to the other side.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I muttered, and without warning, an object flew in from the left of me, cracking my cheekbone on impact and rattled my teeth.

  “Got something more to say, tough guy?” He taunted, flicking his fingers, beckoning a fight.

  Every cell in my body told me to take another hit, because it’d be worth it just to get all that hate out of me. But one glimpse of my foster sister, Livvie, standing at the door capped the urges.

  Instead, I pushed to my feet and stormed past him, past Livvie, through the house and out the door. Once my feet hit the dirt, I ran until the air burned my lungs and didn’t stop until I reached the abandoned shithole I’d turned into my personal hideaway, a fire-gutted building on the corner that used to be a party store. Tromping over charred remains and broken glass, I took a seat on a chair I’d brought a while back.

  I fucking hated my life. If it weren’t for Livvie, I’d leave the shithole and take my chances on the streets.

  The crackling of broken glass beneath boots drew my attention to the entrance, where Livvie made her way toward me.

  Ice in a Ziploc baggie hung from her hand, and she passed it to me, crouching at my knees. Lifting the white rag in her other hand, she dabbed at my eye, setting the cool, damp fabric to my burning, swollen flesh. “Why do you taunt him? You know it pisses him
off more.”

  “He needs to know what a piece of shit he is sometimes.”

  A smile stretched her lips, as she snatched the bag of ice and gently touched the spot she’d cleaned. “And you’re the messenger.”

  “Someone has to do it.” Wearing a frown, I dropped my gaze and snarled. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. I swear to God, if he ever touches you, I’ll kill him.”

  “Always so protective.” Her gaze fell from mine, and she squeezed my hand, while still holding the ice to my cheek. “Just promise me you won’t get yourself killed first, Dax. I won’t survive this place, his oppressive bullshit without you.”

  A sleepy moan drew me out of those thoughts and I stared back at Nicoleta, whose eyelids fluttered, arm twitching, as she slumbered.

  “’The fuck’re you doing, man?” I whispered into the emptiness of the room.

  Rubbing the bridge of my nose did little to abate the hurricane of thoughts that had my brain spinning inside my skull. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes.

  She wasn’t mine to keep.

  Rain pelted against the window as I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. My bed had always been something of a sanctuary for me—a place I’d go to get high and pass out, or fuck. In the last few days, it seemed to be the place all my thoughts congregated into a clusterfuck of confusion.

  “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me …” Nicoleta’s words from a few nights ago echoed inside my head.

  As much as I knew it’d just been the drugs talking, I couldn’t deny their effect on me. I wouldn’t put on hand on her, of course, but it gave me the urge to dial up a friend and burn off some of the frustration that had me all tense and twitchy. I’d kept a few friends with benefits in my contacts—sometimes a quick blow job and others an all-night fuck-fest. I’d probably need a whole week to get it out of my system. Always had a hard time sitting still for too long, which probably explained why I’d spent most of my adolescence climbing abandoned skyscrapers in the city.