Wetwork
Nikolai Andrew
Copyright © 2021
by Nikolai Andrew
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,
events and incidents are either the products
of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
Editing Nicci Haydon
Created with Vellum
Contents
VIP’s
Follow Me
1. Stringer
2. Raven
3. Stringer
4. Stringer
5. Raven
6. Stringer
7. Raven
8. Stringer
9. Stringer
10. Raven
11. Stringer
Epilogue
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1
Stringer
I’ve heard it said that violence never solves anything.
Bullshit. From where I stand, violence is pretty much the only thing that ever does. It is violence that’s kept me alive.
And, right now, it’s the pelting barrage of violent thoughts that’s keeping me from going insane.
I’m out on RR 2, heading north outside of Green River, Wyoming. It’s rugged and isolated here and that’s why I chose this place to retire. .
The RPM gauge is in the red but my customized Suburban is built for just this sort of thing. My pulse is also racing into the red as my eyes scan the edge of the road, into the tree, looking for something. Anything.
There has to be some sign of her, some clue as to where those fuckers have taken her.
She’s the only thing in my life that reminds me there is light in the world. Sure, she drives me nuts. And God knows I’m far too old and ugly for her. But neither my dick nor whatever’s left of my shriveled heart seems to care about those details.
The thought of her even now, knowing she’s in danger, I still can’t keep my dick under control. I’m a sick motherfucker, and my sickness has a name:
Raven.
My fucking stepdaughter.
As I pass a turn off onto a dirt road lined with trees, something about the way the tire tracks disappear off in that direction pique my senses. The tracks are fresh. Dirt sprayed from the edges. They were going fast. There’s a tingle that traces down my spine , and I’ve learned through years of getting into and out of difficult situations not to ignore that feeling.
I slam on the brakes, tires squealing on the asphalt, then reverse and take the turn. A few seconds down the road, my instincts are confirmed when I see a brand-new Ford four-door up against the line of trees along the edge of the remote road. It looks and feels about as out of place as spots on a zebra. This is it, I can feel her. She’s close.
And so are the dead men walking who’ve taken her.
Before I hop out of my Suburban, I take a quick note of our location on the electronic dash map, noting the longitude and latitude as my training kicks in.
I wouldn’t have even known she was out of the house, if not for her friend, Willow. The kid called me from some biker bar, scared as shit when she couldn’t find Raven. It’s Raven’s eighteenth birthday and her and Willow decided it was a good idea to defy me and go out partying, somehow giving my attempts to keep her to myself the slip.
She’d already tried to beg me to take her out and I’d refused. I’m not exactly a social animal, preferring my own company to that of other human beings. That is, until I met Raven.
But I should’ve known she’d take it on herself to get out. She’s more than just a beauty, she’s smart and clever, and stubborn has fuck and that’s a hell of a combination. My house is wired with a security system that rivals drug lords and ex-presidents, but Christ if she didn’t somehow disable the alarm on her bedroom window and snuck out, avoiding my motion detectors and cameras on the exterior of the house. She’s like some CIA operative when it comes to figuring out how to get what she wants sometimes.
But, from what Willow told me, things didn’t quite go as planned. They went to this fucking biker bar called the Social Club where Willow’s brothers belong. Apparently, once you turn eighteen, and if you’re vetted by members, they overlook that you aren’t legal to drink.
From what she said, some outsiders came in and started kicking off with a few of the members. That didn’t end well, and sure as night follows day, broken noses and a beatdown followed, along with a swift ejection through the back door of the club.
Only, these guys took a souvenir.
When Raven went to pee, avoiding the melee of the fighting, then didn’t come back, Willow went looking and found the back door wide open and Raven’s phone smashed on the floor, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out something bad had happened. That’s when Willow called me.
She’s a sensible girl, which is the only reason I haven’t put an end to them seeing each other. This is the first time they’ve done anything besides go to the movies or shopping, because if I had any idea they were going to that club, I’d have Raven chipped or chained to the fucking bed. Thankfully, I know I can rely on Willow to call if there’s a problem, something Raven hasn’t learned yet.
Grabbing my Desert Eagle from the glove box, I check it as I was trained to do, first in the army and then during my time with Taylor Security. Satisfied, I load a magazine from the separate stash under the driver’s seat, put a spare in the pocket of my suit jacket as I holster the gun, then set off on foot with the sun starting to set behind me. It’s mid-June and it stays light out here until damn near ten o’clock, which is working in my favor right now.
I take one glance at the Ford, and immediately I see where the door’s been jacked open, telling me the shits who took Raven also helped themselves to someone else’s ride.
Figures.
The warm breeze carries the scent of the forest as I edge through the tree line, and a noise sets my teeth on edge as my other senses prickle.
It’s her voice. She’s screaming, though from here I can’t tell what she’s saying. I follow the sound, winding my way through the trees as I curse under my breath, my fucking weak knee giving me some kickback with jolts of pain, but I ignore it—pain is just another sensation and I’m in control of my body, not the other way around.
The catastrophic injury is the reason I was forced into retirement from Taylor Security four years ago. The surgeons did their best, but the shattered kneecap and the exploded bones in the joint have put me permanently in pain and off my game.
I limp through the underbrush, avoiding fallen branches where I can and twisting and working forward over the trees that block the path. But when Raven’s screams go silent, ice fills my veins and I push through the pain and pick up the pace.
In my experience, silence after screams is not a good sign.
I hear male voices, laughing and hollering, unaware I’m about to end their miserable lives.
I hear one voice clearly through the trees. “Get her leggings off, dude, let’s see the money.”
“I’m trying, Howie! She’s squirming
like a fucking eel!” More laughter as I force myself to slow my pace, my breath burning in my lungs as I creep up in silent, measured steps.
A red haze clouds my vision when I see her on her back in a grassy clearing, struggling against the grip of the guys holding her. I count three guys just as Willow described. I note the prison tats, stained shirts, filthy jeans and shaved heads.
One of them with half his face in an shitty indigo tribal tattoo has a hand over her mouth, muffling her screams. With his free hand he’s struggling to hold onto her wrists as she bucks and twists, the waves of her jet-black hair flailing like a cat-o-nine-tails.
A second is grappling with her legs, getting kicked for his trouble, but it’s only a matter of time before they get what they want as they tug at her black leggings, getting them stuck on her black boots. The third, a scrawny motherfucker with blood staining his mustache from what looks like a recently-broken nose, is standing to one side and calling the shots.
“Gord, hold her steady, man. Put her in a fucking headlock or something, stop playing and get her clothes off.”
Rage is the enemy of success, but I can’t help it as it burns inside of me.
They’re touching her. My Raven. My little feather. Talking about her like she’s nothing but an object for their use.
She’s a hellcat on her own, and from what I see has been giving it back the best she can, but there are three of them and they’re hellbent on defiling her. They say that when a dog gets a taste for blood, there’s nothing you can do but put it down, and these three are as rabid as they come.
Getting down into a crouch to take better aim is fucked up because of my knee, and from this distance I’d be risking hitting Raven if I tried to target the two holding her. They are moving and jerking too much, but that’s just as well. I want to see their fear before I put them out of my misery. With a grunt of anger, I take aim at the one with the bloodstained mustache as his last words send bolts of lightning down into my soul.
One second, he’s directing Gord and Howie on how best to rape my stepdaughter.
Big mistake, motherfucker.
The next second, before they can even turn toward the sound of the shot, he’s crumpled to the ground, a hole in the side of his head the size of a cherry.
One down, two to go.
The one he called Gord jerks his head my way as I break into an unsteady run forward, but I don’t think he sees me. Not really. His eyes are darting to the corpse laying five feet from him. I’ve seen the reaction before; fight or flight, but there is always this moment of shock when the untrained body freezes.
Freeze, flight, fight.
With his attention diverted for a precious second, Raven takes her opportunity. Her small fists now free, brightly-painted nails flashing in the last of the daylight, dart up between his legs in a one-two punch, connecting hard with his balls and fuck they must be crushed like soft fruit because his whole body convulses as he chokes and gags like he’s just been hit by a locomotive.
That’s my girl.
“What the fuck?” Howie shouts, panicked, as he watches Gord getting his soprano voice handed back to him. He doesn’t see me in time as the butt of my gun connects with the back of his head, jolting his spinal column and dissolving him into a yelping heap on the ground.
A second later, I grab his right arm and yank, twisting it out of its socket with a satisfying pop and scream. If you have to fight up close, disable your opponent first so he can’t fight back. The words of my instructor at Taylor Security come back to me as I swivel, taking hold of his left arm and using my momentum to throw him over my shoulder dislocating his other arm from the socket.
He lands in a heavy thud in the grass, staring up at me, his eyes wide with surprise and fear but I’m far from done with this sack of shit.
I center my pistol and put a quick shot through his knee. As the round shatters the bone, his screams send birds flying from the tops of the trees, and I know just how painful that will be. Luckily for him, he won’t have to live with it very long.
“Fuuuuuuck, no! Please!” His gray eyes are watery as he squirms, spittle flying with each word.
In that second, I’m all training, an empty, unfeeling shell. He’s the trash that needs to be taken out. And that’s what I’m trained to do. I’ve killed so many the only reason he’s different is he hurt one of mine and no one hurts what belongs to me. I steady my breathing, then move the gun to aim at his other leg.
Then, I hear Raven behind me.
“You motherfucker!” She spits out as I turn, pulling her leggings back to her waist before kicking the guy on the ground in the gut with a black Dr. Martens boot. “You bastard! I hope you said your prayers, because I’m going to kill you, you fucking asshole!”
Her habit of cussing is one of her less favorable qualities, but there will be time to correct that later. If a situation called for curse words, this would be it.
I leave Howie to writhe in agony as I turn and take the few steps to where she’s standing over Gord, still balled in a fetal position gripping his balls, I wrap my arms around her torso in a bear hug and pull her off him with ease. She barely weighs a hundred pounds and for me she feels like no more than a doll in my arms. For a second, she struggles, trying to turn her head to bite me, then swinging her fists nearly connecting with my chin.
She’s having no trouble deciding if she’s in fight or flight mode.
She’s all fight like a cornered honey badger.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say in the most calming voice I can muster. “I’ve got you, baby. It’s me. I’ve got you.”
Her ebony-colored eyes go wide and I could fall into them. My cock responds, thickening, as it always does in her presence, even in this crazy circumstance. I’m sure she must feel it poking against the cleft of her ass, but she doesn’t give any indication of it. “How did you get here?”
I place her firmly to one side. “Are you hurt?”
“What? No, I…what have you done?” She looks around at the carnage her hands down fluttering around her mouth as Gord continues to scream and cry, his shattered knees soaking his jeans with blood.
“My job,” I answer, my voice low and flat, then turn and shoot Gord in the face, silencing him once and for all before I stomp back to Howie’s side.
“Jesus Christ! What are you doing?” Raven cries, her voice a mixture of confusion and anger. “How did you find me?”
“Please don’t kill me,” Howie sobs as I glare down at him. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t want to… None of this was my idea, you have to believe me. I didn’t even want to go to that fucking bar, man. I didn’t—”
The report of the gun ends his pathetic pleas as I turn back to Raven.
“Willow called me,” I say, answering her last question as I stuff my pistol into the holster under my arm.
I put a hand to her face, pushing her hair back behind her ear, then gripping her chin. Turning her head side to side, I watch her eyes to make sure she’s focused on me and examine for anything beyond the small cut above her eyebrow. The cut angers me, makes me want to bring them all back to life and kill them all over again, only slower this time, for daring to harm such perfection.
Her fresh face is smudged with dirt as I count the eight freckles on her nose and the twenty-six on her cheeks, like somehow they could have stolen one. Her face has the roundness of youth, reminding me that she hovers in that space between child and adult, though her ebony eyes have the look of wisdom that should only come from age.
I note the flash of gold around her neck, the antique heart locket from her mother, a picture of them together when she was a little girl inside. The thin white t-shirt she’s wearing has grass and pine needles stuck on the fabric and I hate myself when my gaze drops to her perfect, perky tits and my mouth starts to water.
So fucking beautiful. So fucking sexy. I shake my head, the pervasive thoughts of who I want to be for her, even now, so inappropriately invading the moment.
I move
my fingers to her shoulders, then down her arms, feeling for anything, watching her face to see if she winces where I touch. I feel her bones, her body frailer than I’d like. I check and re-check, knowing pain can be masked for hours by the spike in adrenaline from a traumatic situation, but from what I can tell, she’s not harmed.
She’s staring at the dead bodies around us. “What did you do? Are you a fucking psycho…”
“They were hurting you, Raven. And they were going to hurt you more…” I can’t bring myself to say the word rape. I hate it, hate the thought of it. Death is too good for rapists.
“I could handle them.”
“No, you couldn’t,” I tell her as I finish checking her over, satisfied that they didn’t get far enough to hurt her the way they wanted. Then I turn to look back at the tree line. The road out here didn’t exactly look used, and there are a lot of woods. If I dispose of them properly, the chances of anyone ever discovering the bodies would be minimal. “Did anyone call them by name in the bar? Did anyone know them?”
“You’re a retired accountant! What the hell…” She presses her fingers into her eye-sockets shaking her head as she repeats the cover story I’ve told everyone for four years.
“Raven, listen to me. This is very important. Will anyone miss them?”
She moves her fingers to her temples, trying to focus on me. “They said they were going to have their fun then keep going, like they were just on a road trip, I guess. No one at the bar seemed to know them, they came in looking for trouble. They said by the time I called the cops, they’d be long gone because they crushed my phone in the bar.” I watch her turn and spit at Gord, grayish splotches already forming on his skin. “They weren’t from around here.”
Wetwork Page 1