Claiming My Vengeance

by Jessica Blake

  I had things to do. And I wouldn’t be back in the office for a couple of days.

  ***

  During the entire drive to Detroit, I had no idea what I was going to say to Liv. I wasn’t any closer to figuring it out when I slowed down in front of her house than I was when I’d left my penthouse that morning.

  But when I got close, I saw a small, Hispanic woman holding a baby on the front porch, chatting with a couple of neighbors. In the driveway was a van for a popular furniture store, and as I watched, two burly men were carrying a baby crib inside.

  Instead of stopping to demand what was going on, I headed to The Red Stripe, a sick suspicion already brewing in my gut.

  There were only a couple of cars outside the bar, since it was only early afternoon, and the front door was propped open with a cinderblock. Inside was blasting music and the sound of power tools.

  The bar was empty, except for a big, tattooed guy running a sander expertly over the weathered wood of the countertop, but he shut it down when he saw me come in. “Sorry, buddy. We’re closed for renovations. Sign was on the door.”

  “The door was propped open,” I pointed out. “I didn’t see a sign. I’m not here for a drink, though.”

  The big guy pushed his safety glasses up on his head and gave me a speculative look before he reached back to turn the music down. “What can I do for you, then?”

  “I’m looking for Olivia Redmond.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his mouth hardened into a tight line. “Ainsley.” He practically spit the word out, and his stance went from laid-back to aggressive in a split second. This must’ve been Olivia’s night bartender — the one Cecil had told me she probably kept around for muscle. He was at least six-five, and his neck was as thick as a telephone pole.

  “That’s me.”

  His eyes narrowed down to slits. “She’s not here.”

  “Can you tell me when she’ll be back?” It took effort to keep my temper in check. Who the fuck was this bruiser and why did he feel so entitled to act like a dick once he knew who I was? Had Olivia moved on from me so fast?

  “No.” The word was flat. His eyes dared me to argue.

  “Listen,” I ground out from between my teeth. “I need to talk to her.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you.” I didn’t miss the way his knuckles whitened where he gripped the countertop.

  “Maybe I’ll see her and let her decide for herself.”

  “You need to leave.”

  “Not until I talk to her.”

  In a burst of movement, he rounded the counter, but I was ready for him. He threw one meaty arm in what would have been a knockout punch if I hadn’t grabbed his fist, pulling him forward and whipping his arm around his back, wrenching his shoulder hard in the socket until he let out a grunt.

  From any normal-sized man, that would have been a howl of pain. I got my other arm around his thick neck and was at the point of asking him nicely, again, to put me in touch with his boss when a woman’s shriek from the doorway made me look up.

  The Hispanic woman I’d seen at Liv’s house stood there, a baby cradled protectively in one arm and a brown paper bag in the other hand. “Freddie!”

  I let go of the guy’s arm, and he stumbled forward, angling himself defensively in front of the woman. His eyes glittered in his red face, and he looked like he wanted to lunge for me again.

  “I just need to know where Olivia is.”

  “She’s gone. Took off. Moved out east somewhere, you useless piece of shit,” Freddie spat. “And you need to get the fuck out of here before I call the cops.”

  “East? East where?” I couldn’t believe she was gone. It didn’t make sense. She loved this place. Looking around, though, at the changes being made… the fact that someone else had obviously moved into her house… it looked like she really had left.

  I bared my teeth, wanting to beat the hell out of this oversized asshole until he told me where she’d gone. Where I could find her. She couldn’t be gone. But the baby started to cry, and the woman behind Freddie was pale, her brown eyes big in her frightened face.

  “If she wanted you to know, maybe she would have told you.” Freddie’s voice was implacable, his face set. “Now leave, motherfucker.”

  He moved aside, guiding the woman with the baby backward, keeping himself between me and his family. Roiling with frustration, I did the only thing I could.

  I left.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Liv

  We’d done it.

  Hit Like a Girl’s grand opening had been an incredible success. We’d done steady business all day, signing women up for classes, selling gym memberships, and in a couple of cases, even doing some on-the-spot counseling.

  Thanks to a few of my contacts in Chicago and some strategic advertising, we had already generated enough interest in the first day to go ahead and hire the three staff members Roxy had interviewed the week before. They were set to start the next day, which was excellent, because our first class started the following afternoon, and if I had to answer a phone one more time, I was going to scream.

  Elated and exhausted, we didn’t leave until after midnight, and as Roxy locked the doors up behind us, she whooped, doing a quick little dance in place. “It’s really happening!” she crowed, her blue eyes glimmering with excitement. She was still amped up. “Want to go out for a drink to celebrate?”

  Roxy’s energy was limitless. Mine was not. She was a year younger than me, and right then, I was feeling every one of those twelve months. “You go ahead. I’m going to go home, eat some food, and sleep. We get to start all over tomorrow, don’t forget.”

  I waited to make sure she got into her CRV safely, and then undid the anti-theft devices on my bike. We’d been lucky to find a building that had a small adjacent parking lot with several designated spots for customers, but there wasn’t room in the gym to pull in my Ducati.

  I buckled on my helmet and started the bike. Rolling out into the light traffic on that hot summer night, I headed for my apartment building on Division. Ironically, I was only a mile from Gabe’s penthouse. The proximity wasn’t intentional. The perfect gym rental space we’d found was on Larrabee Street, and even though I loved Roxy, I loved having my own space even more, so the cramped, one bedroom, just-about-affordable apartment I’d found was nearby too.

  Chicago was a big, bustling city. It was more than possible to live on the same block as someone and never even see them. I hadn’t seen Gabe around, though I’d admit to only myself that I was constantly catching sight of guys with a similar broad-shouldered build or dark brown hair that reminded me of Gabriel’s.

  Physically, that made an ache spear through my chest every time it happened. As bluntly as he’d just walked away from whatever kind of relationship we’d shared, I still regretted changing my phone number, just in case he tried to call me. I told myself that was because I would hate to miss an opportunity to ream him out, but even I wasn’t fooled by that excuse.

  Anyway, he could have easily called the bar, tracked me down somehow, but it had been just over two months with nothing but radio silence. I guessed the silence was more eloquent than anything else could have been.

  The apartment building had both street parking and underground parking, and despite the additional charge, I’d opted for the underground parking since it felt safer. The place wasn’t exactly Fort Knox, and Dexter, the security guard, paid more attention to his phone than anything else. But I’d take my feeling of security where I could get it.

  I waved my key card by the sensor to bring up the overhead door and pulled in, the yellowish sodium bulbs inside throwing my shadow ahead of me on the concrete in sharp relief.

  I shivered a little as I pulled into my numbered parking space, the underground garage being a good fifteen degrees cooler than the humid night outside. In fact, the temperatures had hovered around ninety lately, so I’d been leaving my leather jacket at home.

  I rubbed at the goose
bumps on my arms and headed for the elevator. Punching the number for my floor, I winced a little at the creaking, grumpy groaning of the machinery above my head. The word from Dexter was that it had gone down last week, and I didn’t want to be the next one to get stuck. Especially at this hour. I’d end up sleeping on the tiled floor.

  But I made it to my destination. The hallway was quiet, except for the sound of a loud television coming from my next-door neighbor’s place. Mrs. Beatrice, as she insisted on being called, was an ancient, bitter old woman, hard of hearing, an insomniac, and very fond of Fox News. She was also, as I found out firsthand a few days before, completely crazy.

  She’d cornered me coming out of my apartment one morning, as if she’d been watching through her peephole for me to appear, and ranted up and down that she didn’t need my charity. She said that the day she resorted to eating cat food was the day she cocked up her toes, thank you very much. I had no clue what she was talking about, but I apologized, loudly, until she finally left me alone. My ears still felt slightly numb.

  The neighbor on my other side, in contrast, was completely drama-free. He worked overnights, and I’d only met him once in passing. I didn’t even know his name.

  The apartment across the hall was empty, and I hadn’t been in the building long enough to meet anyone else on my floor. I smelled Indian food, though, and my stomach growled as I opened the door, trying to remember if I’d bought lunchmeat at the grocery store the day before. It was too late to cook a full meal now, even though I had a sudden craving for curry, and a sandwich before I fell into bed sounded just about doable.

  I flipped on the light and tossed my keys on the tiny side table by the door, dropping my messenger bag on the floor beside it. I wasn’t regretting my move to Chicago, but it still didn’t feel permanent yet, and so far, my apartment reflected that.

  Furniture was minimal and functional — just a few Ikea pieces. A loveseat and a dinette table. A bed. Bare kitchen basics. No TV… I’d given up watching the news for glimpses of Gabriel.

  Pushing that thought away reflexively, I decided I’d go buy some artwork and maybe a rug later in the week, if I had time. The place had less personality than a hotel room. Beige walls, nineties-era laminate countertops, carpet in a daring, slightly browner shade of beige. My apartment even still smelled like carpet cleaner. I sniffed the air and grimaced.

  I was about to head into the kitchen to rummage through the refrigerator when something tickled at the back of my mind. It didn’t smell like carpet cleaner in my apartment. It smelled like something else. I sniffed again. There was a definite chemical sweetness in the air. I tensed.

  And then Devlin Cunningham stepped around the corner.

  “Welcome home, Olivia.”

  His voice was hoarse, and he looked nothing like the urbane, wealthy son of a successful crook that I’d grown up with. He was even different than the intimidating thug I’d seen from the passenger side of Jude’s VW bus only two months ago. He had on a dingy-looking gray t-shirt and baggy jeans that looked like they hadn’t been washed in at least that long. The clothes hung on him as if they were either borrowed or he’d lost twenty pounds. His face was leaner, harder than it had been, he had a nasty looking sore at the side of his mouth, and his cold, pale blue eyes glittered with an almost reptilian menace.

  I couldn’t breathe. My lungs struggled to wheeze in air. I forgot every single bit of ten years’ worth of self-defense and martial arts training in a split second.

  I’d been running from nightmares for years now, conquering most of them, but standing in my apartment was the scariest nightmare of them all. My hands trembled uncontrollably.

  “You don’t look happy to see me,” Devlin said softly. He was enjoying my obvious fear.

  I couldn’t form words. Black dots and sparks were edging my vision, and there was a heavy feeling in my chest.

  “Aren’t you even going to ask me why I’m here?”

  I didn’t respond, just stared at him. Wishing he’d disappear, like nightmares did when you woke up. My mind squirreled around frantically even as my body betrayed me, and my knees went watery. It was like the last seven years had never happened. I was seventeen years old again, helpless to stop him from attacking me.

  “I’m here for payback.” He licked his lips, his tongue playing at the sore. “Oh, Livvie, I owe you so much.”

  His voice was quiet and crooning, and he took one step toward me, then another. My lungs seized even tighter, and my heart felt like a bird in a cage throwing itself against the bars in panic. Maybe I’d die of a heart attack before he even touched me, I thought dumbly. But no, he reached out one meaty hand and roughly grabbed my chin.

  I couldn’t move away, staring into his eyes like a mouse mesmerized by a snake. His pupils were wide, and his lips stretched in a rictus of a smile as he licked them. And then I identified the smell that had alerted me earlier. It was gasoline. The smell on his hands and clothes was strong and pungent, reminding me of the garden shed I’d hidden in after I’d escaped him.

  One thought pounded in my brain… everything was coming around, full circle. I’d never really gotten away from Devlin.

  “I’m going to kill you, Livvie,” he said almost cheerfully. “You know that, don’t you?” When I didn’t respond, he gripped my chin tighter and moved my head up and down in a jerky nod. “Before that, I’m going to fuck you, like I should have done years ago. You might even enjoy it. But first, I owe you for that knee to my nuts.”

  He let go of my face and lashed out with one fist, punching me hard, whipping my head to the side as I staggered.

  The pain that sang up my jaw and the shock of the impact sent me stumbling sideways, and I threw out my arm to brace myself against the wall. The punch also inadvertently served to jolt me out of my panic attack, and I gratefully heaved in air to my starved lungs.

  In.

  Out.

  Slower.

  Control.

  In through the nose, out through the mouth. I slowly straightened and faced him. Devlin Cunningham. The only fear I hadn’t yet conquered.

  “You should have left Chicago. Why didn’t you?” My voice wasn’t quite steady, and I tasted copper in my mouth. I wiped the back of my hand across my lips and it came away bloody. I wanted to spit at him.

  “Ah, she speaks.” He smiled as if he was pleased. “I had business here.”

  “Your business ended when your dad went to jail.”

  Devlin chuckled, scratching at his arm so hard I thought he’d bring blood. “You really think that’s all I had going on? Skimming profits from that cocksucker, Ainsley? I’m a Cunningham. I work in investments. The materials scam was just seed money.”

  “For what?”

  I hadn’t really expected him to confess, and he surprised me by lifting a shoulder. “Drugs. Cocaine, weed, whatever’s selling hottest.”

  I dropped my gaze to stare purposefully at the sore on his mouth. “Meth?”

  His smile faded, and he clenched a fist. “Enough talking.”

  “Wait. I just want to know one thing. Did you start the fires in Gabriel’s buildings?”

  Devlin’s expression eased a little, and he gave a small smile and another shrug. “Not the first one. That one was just bad luck.”

  “But the office building?”

  “I want to show you something.” He grinned and grabbed my arm, his fist like an iron clamp around my bicep, and dragged me toward the bedroom. I could break his hold, but I dug in my heels a little, putting up some semblance of a struggle. I wanted him completely off guard.

  He jerked hard, and I pretended to stumble. I would have to disable him fast. If he got those hands around my neck, he’d snap it easily.

  “Did you know that Ainsley owns this apartment too? Or is your fuck boy paying your rent?”

  The smell of gas got stronger, cloying and heavy.

  He was going to set the building on fire, I had zero doubt. My chest felt tight again, and I willed the
panic away. My Louisville Slugger was behind the bedroom door.

  When he yanked me into the bedroom, the gas fumes were almost overwhelming, and the carpet squelched wetly beneath my boots. A metal container was turned on its side in the opposite corner. The smoke detector was on the floor, the batteries scattered nearby.

  Devlin let me go and pulled a book of matches out of his pocket, holding them up in the air. “The Velvet Hour. I saw your boyfriend cozied up to the bar there earlier tonight. I thought about killing him, you know. But then I decided on something that would be a lot more fun.”

  I edged back a step, a pretty good idea now of what he had in mind. “How did you even get in here? How’d you know where I live?”

  Keep him talking, I told myself.

  “Visited your bar in Detroit. Pretty little waitress was chatty and got even chattier each time I placed a twenty on the table.” He snorted. “Can’t rely on people these days, can you?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to because he went on.

  “She told me something interesting. Said that you and some girl named Roxy were opening some ‘women’s self-defense’ club in Chicago.” He sneered, lip curling up over yellowing teeth. “Not that you’re qualified for that. The rest was easy. Cross-reference clubs with Roxy, and…” He waved his arms around like he was waving magic wands, “I found the place, followed you here. Now, I’m Dexter’s newest weed hookup. He thinks I work for a grocery delivery company, so when I ‘lost’ my key fob for the elevator, he made me up a new one.”

  Some dots began to connect. “You delivered cat food to my neighbor, didn’t you?” Another step.

  He lifted a shoulder. “And some other random shit. Left it in front of her door while I made sure I could get into your apartment. Your locks are shitty, by the way.”

  He was still fiddling with the matches, his hands twitchy, a dark, speculative look in his eye. Almost absently, he pulled one off and flipped the cover over it, lighting it with a scritching noise. It flared to life extra brightly, as if feeding on the gasoline fumes surrounding us.