Contents
HARD REVENGE
Author’s Notes
Dedication
Copyright
HARD REVENGE
Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1
Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Series
(Adult Content & Strong Language)
Jason Stanley
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HARD REVENGE
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One: Strange Voices
WHAP!
The front screen door slapped shut.
Voices drifted into the front bedroom where Michelle sat on the bed. It had been her parents’ room.
“Hey, you got any beers?” Gabe Jr., Michelle’s cousin, asked.
“Should be some in the fridge,” Michael, her brother, replied. “You guys want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“No.”
At the sound of three unfamiliar voices, Michelle quieted. She didn’t care what they said; she’d heard it all many times before. She’d also learned when Michael did business in the house, it was better to stay out of the mix. She didn’t like most of those guys and it kept Michael from worrying about her.
“Come on back,” Michael said. “We can do our business in my office.”
“We’re good right here.” One of the strangers said.
“No,” Michael replied. “I don’t do business here in the living room. My sister’s not here, but can come home any time. We’ll go back to my office like I said.”
Michelle heard the men walk down the hall. Assuming they’d gone to Michael’s den, she reached under the bed and pulled out a box that held mementos her mother had collected — things she and Michael had made back in grammar school. The sort of stuff all moms collect. Michelle sat on the bed next to the box and pulled out a green, flat plaster cast with two paw prints embedded on the face and “Pike” scratched below the prints.
Pike. Her all-time favorite cat. At five years old, she couldn’t say “Spike,” so his name became “Pike” instead and stuck for another fourteen years. She and Michael buried him in the backyard last year.
BLAM!
Michelle froze.
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
BLAM-BAM-BAM!
Silence . . .
BLAM!
Heart in her throat, Michelle heard someone stumbling up the hall and through the living room. She jumped up, spilling the box’s items, ran around the bed, and into the living room. A man staggered out the front door.
She spun, looking toward the rear of the house. “Michael! Michael!”
The scream of squealing tires yanked her attention back out through the open front door. A white Escalade shot past, a cloud of gray smoke billowed from spinning wheels. Michelle watched in horror as the SUV disappeared.
Shaking, she stepped toward the hall. “Michael, are you there? Michael?” The air was full of acrid, bitter smoke.
Fear, like an acid, raced through her body. She ran down the hall and stopped just short of the still-open door to Michael’s den. The smell of blood mixed with gunpowder overpowered her. She choked, coughed, then gagged. Dizzy, Michelle swallowed, forcing the bile rising in her throat down and bent over gagging. Standing up, gasping for breath, she took the last step to the den.
“Oh God. Michael!”
Michael lay on the floor, covered in blood. With one hand over her mouth, the other on her stomach, she retched.
Chaos! Farther inside, Gabe Jr. and two other guys lay dead. Two open briefcases sat on the coffee table — one full of drugs, the other full of money.
Michael’s eyes eased open. “Michelle,” he whispered.
Michelle swooped down, grabbed her brother. “Oh God, Michael, I thought you were dead.”
Michael slid his hand into hers and squeezed hard. “Michelle, listen. You gotta get out of here. If they find you, they’ll kill you.”
“I can’t go. I gotta get you to the hospital.”
“No. You have to leave. Get Uncle G. He can get you someplace safe.”
“Safe? No! We’re going to the hospital.”
He coughed. Blood dripped from his lips. “Baby girl, you promise me you’ll leave that shit sitting there. Don’t take nothing. You promise me. They’ll kill you if you take anything. Leave it. Get out. Just go.”
“No, Michael, I’m not leaving you here.”
“Promise me.”
“I won’t touch anything. I promise. Just don’t you die. Don’t you die.”
Michael’s hand went limp.
“No!” she cried. “You can’t. You have to stay!”
Michael looked up into Michelle’s eyes and whispered, “I love you, little—” His gaze went blank and his last breath sighed from his lips.
She sat on the floor rocking her brother back and forth as tears streaked down her face and sobs wracked her chest.
She didn’t know how long it was before she turned and puked in great, wrenching spasms that echoed the heartbreak of her soul.
Michelle promised Michael to leave everything, but he died.
Her world had gone crazy and the first thing she needed to do was break her promise. Not just any promise, but the last thing she promised to the one person who meant the most to her. Ever since their parents died four years earlier in a car accident, she’d relied on Michael for everything. Now he was dead, and the only sure thing was, she didn’t know how to make it on her own.
Scared out of her mind, Michelle couldn’t think, though she clearly understood two things: she had to get out of the house, and she had to have money to live. She left the drugs, took the money, and called her uncle, G-Baby.
“Oh God! Oh God! They killed them, they killed them, they’re dead, they’re dead, they’re in the house, dead. Oh God, they’re in the house, dead. What’re we gonna do? They’re dead. They killed them. Uncle G, they’re dead.”
“Slow down, Michelle. Who’s dead?”
“They’re both dead. They’re dead in the house right now, and they’re dead. Oh God. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus.”
“Michelle, stop.”
“Oh God. Oh Jesus. Oh God.”
“Michelle! Listen to me. What’s my name?”
“What?”
“What is my name?”
“Your name? Your name is Uncle G, Uncle Gabriel.”
“Good. Now, Michelle, tell me who’s dead.”
“Michael and Gabe Jr., they’re . . . they’re . . . they’re both dead.”
Saying their names out loud had made their deaths seem more real, though Michelle couldn’t understand how anything could have been more real than seeing the life go out of her brother’s eyes.
For a long time, the phone line remained silent. Only much later did Michelle realize she’d blurted out to her Uncle G that his son had been killed.
“Uncle G . . . ? You there?”
Silence . . .
“Uncle G?”
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“In the garage.”
“Are Gab
e Jr. and Michael there?”
“They’re in the house.”
“What happened?”
“They . . . they were . . . they were in the house with some guys back in the den. Then it sounded like everyone started shooting. I was so scared. It got quiet, and I went back . . .” Michelle choked back more sobs. “Oh God, Uncle G, they were in there. They’re both dead.”
“Hang on, baby girl. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Yes.”
“You talk to anyone else yet?”
“No.”
“Okay. You’re safe for now. Do you have any idea why everyone started shooting?”
“It was drugs, Uncle G. I saw a briefcase full of drugs.”
“Are the police there?”
“No.”
“You can’t let the police see you. You’re a witness, and the men who own those drugs won’t — never mind. Shit. We gotta get you out of there. You still got your passport from when the family went to Mexico on vacation?”
“Yes.”
“Can you go back in the house and get it?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to see them anymore.”
“You need to do this. Take a breath. Get yourself ready. Just go in and get that passport. Don’t think about anything else.”
“Alright. Okay, I can to it.”
“Okay, go now. When you come out, stand behind the back of the garage. Stay where you can see the alley, but not be seen from the street. Come to the car right away when I pull up. Don’t run, just walk, fast. Can you do all that?”
“Yes.”
A few minutes later, G-Baby’s car came up the alley, and as Michelle stepped through the back gate, she glimpsed a cop car, lights flashing, pull up to the front of the house. Her life as a young girl was over forever.
She jumped into the car. “Uncle G, they’re dead.”
“I know.”
Covered in her brother’s blood, Michelle, a scared twenty-year-old college girl, sat beside her uncle with a briefcase full of money on her lap. Her purse held her wallet, her passport, and a pack of Kools. She didn’t know where she was going, but it could never be back home.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“You have to hide for a while. At least until I find out what happened and if anyone is looking for you.”
“The police?”
“No, the police aren’t the problem. Did you pick up any guns or touch anything in that room?”
“No, only this briefcase.”
“Good. What’s in the case?”
“Money.”
“Anything else in it?”
“No, just money.”
“Hmmm, where did it happen?”
“In the den.”
“Did you see anything else in the room?”
“A silver briefcase full of big bags of oxy. I didn’t touch it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t touch it?”
“I’m sure.”
“Good. How much money is in the case?”
“I don’t know — it’s full. Must be a lot.”
“Okay, that changes things. If the bosses think someone’s got the money, they’ll be after them. That’ll be you, because only you and the police had time to get it. They might think the police or one of their own got it, but we can’t take that chance.”
“So, what do we do?”
“First, we need to get you out of that dress. What size do you wear?”
G-Baby bought her some fresh clothes, then drove her out of L.A. County and down to his Vietnamese friends in Orange County. The briefcase held five hundred seventy-three thousand dollars, some of which G-Baby used to spirit Michelle out of the country and set up a place to live in the safety of being a stranger in a strange land. The rest was put in a safety deposit box in a bank in Westminster, or as some called it, Little Saigon.
A scared, heartbroken, young college girl boarded a flight to Hanoi, Vietnam. A week, four buses, and a train trip later, she showed up in Bangkok, Thailand. Then, she disappeared off the grid. Three years later a strong confident woman returned.
.
Two: Welcome Home
Three years and rivers of tears later . . .
FRESH OUT OF THE SHOWER, Michelle reached over and slapped Jermaine on the ass.
His eyes flew open!
Michelle stood next to the bed, butt naked and grinning, a towel draped over one shoulder.
“Damn, girl, what the hell was that for?”
“Get your lazy butt outta my bed. You and Grant here are getting us some breakfast.” She stuck out a fifty-dollar bill.
Jermaine rolled over and looked her up and down, a gleam in his eye. “Hey, girl, how about you climb your sweet self back in this bed and I give you something better’n breakfast?”
“I said get your lazy butt up and get us something to eat.” She shook Grant’s picture on the bill.
“Uh-huh, I heard you. After last night, you know I’m not lazy, and I’m really not all that hungry . . .”
Jermaine pushed up to sit against the headboard. Cocking an eyebrow, he shook his head. “Nope, I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one needs to move and that is, move your fine ass back in this bed.”
“I don’t think you get it,” Michelle said. “This is my crib. I set the agenda, and I say you go get us some breakfast or go home.”
“All right, but . . . damn, girl, you sure you don’t want another taste o’ this?”
Michelle half-turned. “You’re starting to piss me off. I don’t care if you go get us breakfast or just take your stank ass home. Now get outta my bed.”
“Stank ass?” Jermaine half grinned and half sneered.
“That’s what I said” Michelle’s smile had completely disappeared and she turned to step away from the bed.
“I say when I leave and that’ll be after another taste of that ass.” His hand shot out grabbing her wrist. He yanked her backwards onto the bed.
UMPHFF!
Michelle fell back, sitting sidewise on Jermaine’s legs. She yanked her wrist up bringing Jermaine’s hand with it. She reached across with her other hand and seized the meaty part of his hand. At the same time she flipped over in a backwards summersault kicking her legs over her head and pulling his hand with her.
With her momentum rolling across the bed, she hauled her full body weight on Jermaine’s hand twisting it into a cross-body wrist lock. Using both hands, she wrenched hard putting his wrist in a strong, painful shoulder straining lock.
“Bitch!” He yelled and tried to spin out of the lock.
Without warning, Michelle let his hand go and dropped to the floor.
He fell back, his weight moving him away for a split second. He recoiled, jumping back toward her on the floor at the side of the bed.
Michelle lay flat, back on the floor. Her black 9mm Glock aimed at Jermaine’s face as he lunged over the side of the bed.
“Move another muscle and you’re dead.”
For the second time that morning, Jermaine’s eye flew wide open. He froze.
“Slowly where I can see every move, back the fuck up.”
Jermaine slid back on the bed. Michelle twisted sideways and sat up with her back against the wall. Pushing with her legs, she slid up the wall to stand facing Jermaine. Her Glock never wavered.
“You live or die on your next words.”
Michelle didn’t want to shoot Jermaine, but she would if it came to that.
Fucking asshole! Don’t make me do it.
Jermaine’s eyes closed down to slits. “Ma, you know I was only playing.”
Michelle spoke calmly. “Your clothes are on the dresser. Slide off the end of the bed and get dressed.”
Jermaine started to smile but didn’t move. “We both know you ain’t gon—”
BLAM! The bullet hit the mattress next to Jermaine’s leg.
“Fuck! Shit, woman!” Jermaine’s voice squeaked.
Michelle flicked the barrel at his face. “Shut up and l
ook at me.”
His focus moved from the end of the barrel to Michelle’s eyes.
“If I have to shoot you, I’ll have to kill you ’cause I don’t have time to deal with the po-po on no bullshit like this. Your body will disappear. Won’t nobody know shit about it. Now what’ll it be? Get dressed and gone, or get dead?”
Jermaine slowly raised his hands. “Can I move to get my clothes?”
Holding his eyes, she flicked the Glock at the dresser. “Scoot off the end of the bed. Put your shirt and pants on, leave your shoes.”
Thirty seconds later Jermaine walked to the front door.
Except for the Glock in her hand, Michelle stood naked across the living room from Jermaine. “Leave the door open and walk to your car. Don’t look back, and never ever think of bringing your dumb ass around here again.” Two types of men wouldn’t look back. Those who were really scared and real professionals. For all the types of asshole he might be, Jermaine wasn’t a pro.
As he hobbled on bare feet down the front walk, Michelle stood inside the open door. Far back enough so the neighbors wouldn’t see her, close enough to watch him get to his car.
Without looking at her once, he quickly pulled away.
“How in the hell did I misjudge that asshole so badly?” Michelle asked the empty room.
She snatched her sweats off the hook on the inside of her closet door and jerked them on. Holding the pistol under her sweatshirt she slipped on a pair of flip-flops and stepped out her front door checking the street.
All quiet.
Asshole. “I guess there’s a first time for everything. But in my own house for Christ’s sake! All I wanted was to get laid and have some breakfast. Damn!”
Exasperated at the situation, Michelle went in to make coffee and wait at least an hour. She wanted to be reasonably sure he wasn’t coming back for more trouble before she let her defenses down enough to take a shower.
After two cups of coffee, her quiet watch, and finally the promised shower, Michelle felt confident in leaving. She locked up her cottage and hopped into her silver convertible Crossfire. She headed away from the beach where she lived, toward Anglewatts, the heart of the urban jungle.
Her stomach growled reminding her she still hadn’t had anything to eat.
Hard Revenge: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique) Page 1