The Vigilantes Collection

by Lake, Keri

  Reed brought a friend over earlier, who stole Robert’s stash of weed. Of course, my brother paid the price for his shithead friend.

  “Are you okay?” As I plop down on the floor beside him, an ache throbs in my hip, where Robert struck me with the bat for intervening.

  Reed’s lip quivers, and tears fill his eyes as he shakes his head. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Jase.” His fingers thread through his hair, and he buries his face in his knees. “I can’t take any more of this.”

  I’m not one to cry, but damn if he doesn’t bring tears to my eyes. I know how he feels, trapped inside a hell we can’t escape, and I hate that beating the shit out of my little brother has become my step-prick’s favorite pastime. The rage inside of me threatens to explode, and all I can think about is how good it’d feel to take a baseball bat to the bastard’s head. See how he likes it.

  “We’ll get out of here.” Wrapping my arm around my brother, I lie, because it’s all I can think to do, and it’s better than promising him that the bastard’ll never hurt him again. “I promise I’ll get you out, Reed.”

  I stared out through the windshield, my body tense, just as it tensed every damn time I ventured into memories of my childhood.

  For years, I’d watched my brother fall victim to our abusive stepfather, always locking him up, starving him, beating him. I used to hate Reed for being such an easy target for the rotten cocksucker. With every punishment meted out, a new layer of fury had built up inside me, until I was one trigger pull away from exploding.

  Robert had slithered his way into our mom's life about a month after my real father died in prison. Like a Knight in shining meth crystals, he'd introduced her to new kind of catatonia that'd kept her crashed for a couple days at a time.

  That was when I’d realized she’d never get clean. She’d never be the mom she’d promised in those brief and rare moments of clarity, when she’d apologize to us and swear she’d never meant to hurt us. It was those false hopes, when she’d be camped out by the bathtub, somewhere between hungover and her next hit, clutching Reed and I in her arms like we were some kind of tether to life, that we’d be seduced by her lies.

  We were desperate to love her, but loving a drug addict was like trying to hold a flame—no matter how many times we’d reach out to her, how many times we’d lay beside her whenever she came down from the high and suffered some lucidity, we’d end up with nothing but burns to show for it.

  A flash hit the corner of my eye, right before pain exploded in my jaw.

  “Motherfucker!” I turned to find the woman had not only come to, but had twisted in her seat

  With her foot cocked back for another kick to my face, she clutched her bound wrist, tugging as she tried to work the cuffs.

  Anger stirred in my gut. The ache throbbed in my jaw. Grabbing her ankle, one hand keeping the car on the road, I thwarted another attack by pinning her bare foot to the console.

  “Fuck you!” She slammed her fist into my ear.

  I tucked my head into my shoulder as a steady ring chimed inside my skull. “Ah, fuck!”

  The car swerved, a flash of headlights tightening my muscles, until I veered the car to the right. Letting go of her ankle, I reached down into my boot and tugged out Black Betty, pointing it square at her face.

  She stilled, her chest rising and falling.

  My glances flitted from her face to the road. “Hit me again, and I’ll throw your ass out onto the Lodge. We clear?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I asked you a question.” My thumb slid along the hilt of the knife.

  “Fuck you.” Anger still lashed out in her tone, but her voice had calmed.

  With a sneer, I shook my head.

  “You’re the asshole from the club.”

  The shifting of her eyes told me she still had some crazy energy left in her, so I kept the knife on her, just in case she tried something stupid.

  “I’m the asshole who just stole your ass from two psychopaths, who’d have probably cut you up on camera. Would you like to go back?”

  As if something clicked, her brows lowered, her gaze falling away. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace we can talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I let her sit and think about that for a while. She knew more about the tattoo on my arm than anyone else I’d come across, and I planned to find out more about it. Maybe she’d end up confessing about her connection to Tesarik.

  “Peepshow … you killed him?” she asked.

  “He tried to rape you while you were out.”

  She flinched, her gaze lowering again. “Did … did …?”

  “No.”

  “You … rescued me, then?”

  Again, I didn’t bother to answer the question. I’d never been down with the hero shit. Heroes were good guys. Selfless. She was nothing more than a distraction I had to knock down before I could begin playing the game—a task I needed to check off before I could carry out my vengeance.

  I dared a glance at her, knowing there’d be fear in her eyes, and sure enough, a glisten of tears coated her gray irises. Running her hands through her hair left the long, wet brown locks tussled and painfully sexy. My finger twitched with the urge to grip that hair in my fist and add a little sweat.

  It’d been months since I’d been with a woman. Smelled one. Felt the soft skin beneath my fingertips. Lust, like an animal instinct, shot through my body, as my mind quickly played out dim lights, a simple bed with damp sheets, a sheen of sweat coating our bodies as I fucked her hard and fast with those beautiful sounds of both pain and pleasure ripping from her throat.

  I mentally shook the thought out of my head. Christ, she’d been attacked, nearly violated, and who knew what else she’d been exposed to before I’d stolen her.

  “What’d they want with you?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit. They were after something. What was it?” I alternated glances between her and the road. “Why’d they break in?”

  “I saw …” She kept her head tucked behind her hands. “They think I have something that belongs to them.”

  “What is it?”

  She didn't trust me, and the sideways glance she shot my way told me so. “What does it matter now? They’re dead, aren’t they?”

  “Because I want to know.” I reached into the back seat and lifted the camera. “Something on this?”

  After studying me for a moment, she shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea what’s so important on that thing. But yes.” She smoothed her hands across her thighs, as though wiping their sweat onto her legs. “Can I use your phone?”

  I glanced over, giving an angry snarl of my lip that had her gaze scooting away again.

  “What … what is it you want to talk about? Seventh Circle? Is that why you took me?”

  Again, I kept quiet. Even if she told me all I needed to know about Seventh Circle, the fact was, the bitch still owed me for turning me over to Tesarik, and I’d not yet decided what that payback should be.

  Her lips formed a hard line, and she shook her head, but she still didn't look my way. “I could kick myself for being so damn stupid.”

  I lowered the blade, tucking it back into my boot. “You try to hit me again, I will not hesitate to knock you the fuck out. I’m not keen on hitting women, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

  “You’re a real charmer.”

  Not bothering to respond, I pulled the car into Lone Pine Lodging. The place had probably seen better days, but it certainly didn’t have the reputation of being the worst joint in Detroit. Parked at the side of the building, I performed a quick weapons check, patting the drop-leg holster at my thigh, where the gun’s grip stuck out of the hard sheath, and letting the T-shaped handle of my safe maker pass beneath my palm. Finally, of course, Black Betty that I’d tucked inside my boot.

  “Stay put. You try to get away, I’ll shoot you b
efore you hit Gratiot. Got it?” When she didn't answer, I raised my brows.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  With an uncertain glance back at her, I slid from the driver’s seat and rounded the car. I entered the room I’d stayed in the last few days, and performed a quick sweep. Once satisfied with the all clear, I returned to the car, my pace slowing as I caught sight of the opened passenger door and the cuffs damn near mocking me as they dangled from the handle.

  “Motherfucker!”

  With her injuries, she couldn’t have gone far. I spun around and headed beyond the rooms, toward the field in the back of the motel. The unusual October warmth left sweat clinging to my face, as I slipped into the tall cattails and weeds.

  Only seconds passed before the splash of water and an outcry of, “Shit!” carried across the field, narrowing down her location.

  I followed the sound, slogging through the weeds and water until her limping figure hobbled just ahead. In a few quick strides, I tackled her to the boggy ground, with her screams reverberating inside my skull.

  I slid my hands beneath her legs and back, preparing to lift her into my arms, but a clock to my jaw kicked my head to the side. Irritation had me biting the inside of my cheek to keep from paddling her ass for it. Abandoning my grip of her legs, I slid my arms over hers, trapping her in a bear hug, and lifted her out of the water. Her head flailed toward my face, but I dodged each lash, giving one harsh squeeze in warning.

  “I told you, you hit me again, and this won’t end well.”

  “Let me go!”

  “Not a chance.” I carried her back through the cattails toward the room, and once clear of the slippery ground, I swiped up her legs, upping my pace.

  She leaned forward, trying to get my attention. “Wait. Please. Just listen. Look at me, please.”

  Like a fool, I did, noticing under the motel floodlights how the gray of her irises had an almost silvery quality, with thin white spokes around her pupils that reminded me of an electrical storm. Mesmerizing and beautiful.

  “Please,” she kept on, as I set her down.

  Vengeance.

  A flash of my brother’s lifeless face zipped behind my eyes, and the switch flipped inside my brain. Slapping a hand over her mouth, I backed her against the door of the apartment, pressing my body into hers.

  Trembling in my grasp, she stiffened, eyes wide.

  “You say another word, and the only thing your family will find is your fucking corpse.”

  The brutality inside me burst to the surface, and as quickly as it arrived, remorse chased behind it.

  Holding her against the door, I unlocked it and ushered her inside.

  The small living room accommodated one couch, and a TV propped directly across from it, on a brown stand that looked like it’d been transported straight out of the seventies. An unimpressive kitchenette stood off to the left, easily hidden by an accordion door that slid across like drapes, mostly stocked with liquor and a few things I’d grabbed to eat in the evening.

  “Wow. This place looks safe.” The sarcasm weighed heavy in her voice.

  Stepping just inside the door, I tucked the key into my pocket and nudged my head toward the bathroom, at the opposite end of the bedroom, visible through the door that separated it from the living room and kitchenette. “Get cleaned up.”

  Her wounds might’ve needed attention, but for the time being, she could at least wash the fucker’s blood off her body. The smartass expression on her face sobered, and without saying a word in protest, she hobbled into the bathroom, as instructed, and closed the door behind her.

  At the sound of running water, I tugged the burner phone from my pocket, and finding a text from the cleanup crew, letting me know they’d finished, I breathed a little easier.

  No one would ever find the bastards’ bodies.

  11

  Lucy

  I refused to shower with the man in the other room.

  He may, or may not, have saved my life, depending on how one looked at the situation, but I still didn’t trust him and his torture porn tattoo.

  Instead, I slicked a wet washcloth over my arms and face, washing away the blood, with my gaze locked on the door. Beneath the bra’s underwire, I wiped the sweat there, grimacing at the thought of keeping the damn thing on all night. I refused to take it off, though, and having my breasts on full display for him.

  The question that still hung on the air was: what the hell did he want with me?

  A relentless throbbing pulsed in the back of my head where I’d been struck. Palpating it left me cringing, as my fingers drifted over a solid knot beneath my hair. Pressure still hammered behind my eyes and nose like a bad hangover.

  I shivered, thinking of those moments I’d been knocked out, and looked toward the door. Had he touched me during that time?

  Besides the obvious bruises from fighting, and the ache in my skull, I didn’t register any other pain. My arms ached a little, where one of them had held me down with his boot. No ache between my thighs, or where they might’ve groped my breasts, though.

  I didn’t know why he’d taken me, or what he planned to do with me, but I’d wait until he fell asleep to bolt. I’d have to find a ride, since I had no cash, and judging by the roads we'd passed on the way, we'd landed too far on the outskirts of town to walk. His car might’ve been an option, if I could hotwire the damn thing. A boyfriend in college showed me once, but I wasn't sure I could pull it off under pressure.

  I opened the bathroom door and was faced with his back, where he stood blocking the only exit out of the bedroom. He’d removed his shirt and stood rolling his shoulders, while he offloaded his weapons onto the desk beside him.

  A cross had been tattooed down his spine, between his shoulder blades, and in the dim lighting of the room, shadows emphasized the dips of his muscles, smooth and sculpted, as if they’d been chipped into form by an artist's tools. I took in the faint striations that appeared to be scars marring his back, like cracks in the stone. A series of about a dozen, evenly spaced marks on his left flank sat in a perfect row. Couldn’t have been bullet wounds——not even a sharpshooter could get that perfect spacing of each scar. Supporting them all, broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, and with each slow movement, his muscles rolled and rippled, leaving me momentarily dumbfounded.

  The guy was huge. Bigger than he'd appeared in the jacket, and likely, a massive roadblock to escape. He had some pretty big guns, from what I could see, too, and not just the ones he’d set out on the table.

  Jesus. I’d never survive getting locked in those bastards. He could probably crush me with one arm, while winning a game of chess with the other.

  My gaze continued lower, to an ass that sat high in his jeans. Perfect. Muscled. Could probably bounce a quarter off the damn thing and put an eye out.

  His head kicked to the side, and my heart caught in my throat, embarrassment heating my cheeks that he might've caught me staring at his ass. Sneaking a quick glimpse at his tattoo, the circle seven, a dark cloud of anger stole away my humiliation as I asked, “What do you want with me?”

  His tongue slid across his lips, and he made a full turn, giving me an eyeful of perfectly chiseled abs to go with that back and ass. “Get on the bed.”

  Had he not been a raping bastard, that might’ve turned me on. After all, I did have a wild streak that happened to enjoy a little on-the-rough-side roleplay. It’d been months since I’d been with a man, and he certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes, but a flash of the girl’s dead body being dumped into a drain quickly stamped that thought right into the ground.

  “Fuck you.” I crossed my arms, my mind scrambling for an alternative plan, in case my act of rebellion went south. Though it’d be a bit undignified, I wasn’t above diving between his legs for the door, if there was a chance he wouldn’t drag me back. “I know what you are. I know what you bastards do, and if you think you’re going to make me some kind of porn pinup for you and your little buddies, you’ve got another
thing coming.”

  “I’m not going to tell you again. Get on the fucking bed.”

  If I listened to him, I’d be at his mercy. If I didn’t, I’d be at his mercy. I was screwed either way. Think, Lucy.

  The guy had an arsenal of weapons, including that monster black blade he’d pulled in the car, and all he’d have to do was pop me with it. I was pretty sure no one would ever find my body.

  Maybe I could make him think I was in on the club. Play it off like I was some valued member of a goddamn torture porn circle. It was better than anything else I’d come up with, which included shamelessly begging for my life. After all, I knew at least one other person who wore the tattoo—Viktor—and, no doubt, that bastard was the creepiest of all of them.

  I shook my head, making my way toward the bed, where I correctly tucked in a corner of the fitted sheet that hadn't quite sat straight. “Viktor’s going to be so pissed at you for this.”

  His brows lifted at that. “You know Viktor? Conall?”

  Ugh. Two of my least favorite people in the world, and he knew them both. “I’m not saying a word.” I casually slid onto the bed, digging my shoulder blades into the pillow as though making myself nice and comfy.

  First lesson of never being a victim—establish the value of your life.

  “You’ll talk, or I’ll skin you alive. How’s that?” he asked.

  “You skin me alive, and you’ll be standing in a pool of your own piss, once the boys in the club find out.”

  “What do you know about the club?”

  “Everything.”

  The blade made its unceremonious appearance again, as he lifted it from his holster and had it propped beneath my chin before I could utter my next lie. “You’ll tell me everything, then.”

  “In the morning.” I’d be long gone by then. Maybe I’d leave him a snarky little note with something mildly humorous like you’re all a bunch of gullible bitches.

  “Fine.” He jerked his head toward the headboard. “Arms up.”