Intrepid: A Vigilantes Novel Page 9

  Fox slid an eye-flickering look toward the stuttering kid. “Well, now. Seems you ransacked my personal space.”

  “I-I-I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

  The back of the man’s hand struck hard against the kid’s face, slamming him backward into the wall. The tight ball that the kid tucked himself into, as he cowered, revealed that it hadn’t been the first time he’d been hit.

  With the gun still trained on us, I studied the small gap to the side of the man, wondering how many steps I’d get before he shot me.

  Fox tipped his head, tongue scraping across his front teeth. “I think we could all use a drink.”

  8

  Sera

  Present day …

  I lay back against the pillow, with my book propped between my legs. Bea had gone home with Simone for the weekend, leaving the spacious apartment eerily quiet. I’d somehow gotten used to hearing her alternative music droning on in the background, or the sound of her sister’s voice on the many occasions she Facetimed her. Not that I’d complain, having lived so long in silence. I appreciated the evidence of life around me, no longer living as a ghost in my father’s graveyard mansion that housed far too many skeletons.

  I envied the laughter.

  It’d been years since I’d heard that jubilant sound, the way my mother’s laughter would fill up a room, until it burst with the infectious happiness that made her a woman you wanted to be around. One who commanded the attention of everyone around her, yet made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

  I missed her.

  Hard to believe ten years had passed since I last saw her face. She’d gone in to the emergency room for some weakness, breathing problems, and some confusion she’d been suffering. At the time, she thought she’d just picked up the flu. Didn’t think anything of it. She’d died not even a day later, unexpectedly. I’d learned she’d been carrying a rare, late-stage lung cancer that had aggressively metastasized to her brain and liver, and had begun to spread to her bones. I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

  She had no other family, besides me, and she’d wanted nothing to do with my father, so I didn’t even know who he was until I’d been sent to live with him. All my mother and I’d had was each other, and when she died, I felt as if a piece of my soul had left my body.

  A few months back, I’d had ‘No Regrets’ inked within a black lotus tattooed on my left shoulder. For me, it symbolized rising above the bullshit and starting anew, as my mother had always told me, without regret.

  Yawning for what had to be the dozenth time in the last fifteen minutes, I shook my head of those thoughts, dragging my attention back to the page I must’ve read about three times already. Surely, my subconscious vault had stored away something important by then.

  “C’mon, Sera. It’s the last chapter,” I muttered, and yawned again.

  I’d have given anything to throw on some Prince and sketch for the next hour, because I sure as hell had no interest in Criminal Justice, or anything even remotely connected to my father. That he had any level of control over my life, even after having freed myself of his constant scrutiny, infuriated me.

  But I’d made a deal, and I had no intentions of breaking it—even if it bored me to death.

  Minutes passed as my head continued to rebel against me, overpowering my ability to stay focused on terminology that my textbook had gone through painstaking efforts to hammer into my brain. Like cramming it with a bunch of worthless foam. I must’ve read the same line at least ten times, not absorbing a word of it. I scratched at my neck to break the distraction, and softened my strokes to a light tickle across my skin.

  My mind wandered into thoughts of Ty’s soft caresses, the way he’d touched me at the club, the long and nimble fingers of his strong hands. I imagined them dirty after working all day, his body covered in grime and sweat—a stark contrast to the clean-cut style he’d sported that night.

  The visuals teased my eyes closed, and I allowed my fingertips to drift over my throat, just as his had. With my fingers tangling a wicked web of excitement across my sensitive skin, the visuals of his beautiful face caught up in climax spread goosebumps across my skin.

  It’d been a long time since I’d fantasized about a man. After Dane, I’d made the decision to commit myself fully to school, to give myself a sense of purpose. Constructing an impenetrable shield, that effectively denied me of any need for affection, or touch. Somehow, Ty had broken through it, he’d burned it up and left me a hot mess when I’d left the club.

  I’d spent most of the day trying not to think of his eyes, blue as the hottest flame, his hard-cut body, and that mouthwatering scent he wore like his own personal brand of sex. So virile and undeniably masculine, it complemented the deep rich texture of his voice. I slid my hand beneath the hem of my T-shirt and across my stomach, imagining his lips leaving a trail of kisses there. Tipping my head to the side, I dragged my fingertips up the line from my navel to between my breasts, up along my collarbone, and back down, until my palm brushed over my hardened nipple.

  My body shuddered at the sensation, the clenching of my thighs shutting the cover of the book, so its spine slid down my legs, until the hard edge rested against the thin cotton shorts I wore. Back and forth, beneath the T-shirt, I traced my flattened palm across my breast and circled the tip of my finger over the areola, closer and closer to the nipple. Arching off the bed projected them further, while the visuals of Ty’s soft lips clamped around them only heightened my arousal.

  The buzz of my phone vibrated against the nightstand beside me and shattered my musings, as I shot up in bed, straightening my shirt.

  As I reached for it, a text popped up on the screen, from an unknown number.

  Are you going to ignore me, then?

  “Un-fucking-believable!” Once again, I wanted to throw my phone against the wall. I had been trying to ignore Dane, so I hadn’t bothered to respond to him after the text at the club. No way I was about to dive headfirst into another round of his bullshit, after it’d taken all summer to distance myself from him.

  ME: It’s over, Dane. We are over. Don’t text me at this number again.

  Irritated, I set the phone back on the nightstand and lifted my textbook, as if I could concentrate on that again. As if I wasn’t so goddamn pissed off I could chuck my book across the room, along with my phone. After all, the book represented my father—another man in my life from whom I’d have loved to cut ties.

  HIM: This isn’t Dane. It’s Ty.

  Oh. For the briefest moment, I felt like shit, until I remembered that I hadn’t given Ty my number. Of course, Dane didn’t know that.

  ME: Nice try, asshole.

  That time, I lay the phone beside me on the bed, hoping to muffle the buzz of a future text.

  HIM: Would Dane know that we were at Hotel Savarine?

  HIM: That I gave you a ride on my Ducati?

  What the hell? When the hell did Ty get my number? The last week filtered back in slow recollections of the few run-ins I’d had with him, during none of which I recalled having exchanged digits.

  A creeping sensation crawled up my spine, teasing my instincts, one that felt all too familiar.

  HIM: I need to see you again.

  No. Hell, no. I’d had enough of stalkers.

  ME: I told you before. I don’t date.

  HIM: Who said it had to be a date? Maybe I just want to fuck you against the wall the way I had you at the club. Don’t you remember, Sera?

  ME: Please don’t text me at this number again.

  HIM: Sure about that? You looked pretty into it as I recall.

  ME: I’m blocking you. Fuck off.

  HIM: I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

  I did, though. And when I set the phone down, I noticed the tremble that vibrated beneath my skin. I’d felt it once before.

  I’d be damned if I’d let myself go through that again.

  9

  Jameson

  Nine yea
rs ago …

  The worn couch cushions held the pungent smell of piss, bad enough I choked back a gag. A scratched and broken coffee table separated Eli and me from Fox and the stuttering kid, Gideon. On the table in front of me sat a shot glass I was expected to throw back, like our generous hosts had moments before. I pushed away the proffered drink, eyeing Eli beside me, who stared into the amber liquid as though he didn’t know what to do. His knife had already been confiscated by Gideon—our only means of defense.

  Fox handed me the blunt stuck out from his dry, cracked lips and those rotten teeth. “Smoke your heads off, boys. Ain’t nobody here to stop ya. Smoke and drink all ya want.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Sure ya do. You wouldn’t have come here if ya weren’t lookin’ for some trouble.”

  “I’m not. Drinking.” Lips pressed to a hard line, I stared back in challenge.

  Fox’s lips stretched to a sly grin, as he reached to his side and produced a grisly looking blade, with a long serrated edge—the second weapon he’d apparently been carrying. “You will drink, or you will begin to lose fingers. Take your pick, son.”

  “I’m not your son,” I gritted, breathing slow through my nose to calm the anger seething in my blood.

  “You callin’ my bluff, boy?”

  “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  Eyes widening, Fox sat back into his seat, stretching his arms across the space that separated him from Gideon‘s spot along from him. “Well, shit. Guess I underestimated your … tenacity. Bet you didn’t think a grease monkey like me knew such a big word, did ya?” His chest expanded with a deep breath, and on the exhale, his lips curled into a snarl. “You seem to have overestimated my patience.” Fox shot forward and slammed his blade into the back of Gideon’s palm, perched on the edge of the table.

  A gurgled cry bounced off the walls, captured into Fox’s palm, as he slapped his hand over his sidekick’s mouth to quiet him.

  My heart caught in my throat, fingers digging into the cushions, as I watched the blood seep from where the blade stood lodged in Gideon’s flesh.

  “Oh, fuck,” Eli muttered beside me, and tipped back his shot glass.

  I remained still, staring at the kid’s mutilated hand, his muffled cries failing to move me. I wondered what my father would do if he were there. No doubt, he’d have been smarter. He wouldn’t have followed anyone in the first place, and if he had, and gotten himself caught up in the same mess, he’d have fought his way out.

  Maybe to the death.

  No, not with me, though. He wouldn’t have risked getting me killed. He’d have told me to stick it out. Whatever I had to do in order to stay alive, and to wait for the precise moment when opportunity might present itself.

  Then strike hard.

  Hand trembling, I lifted the shot glass and swallowed the liquid. It burned as it slid down the back of my throat, like flames in my mouth, and did nothing to help rein in the tears itching to escape. I set the empty glass onto the table, keeping my gaze locked on Fox’s, who smiled as his eyes stalked every movement.

  “That’s a good boy.” Removing his hand from Gideon’s mouth, he wrenched the knife from the kid’s palm, inciting one more howl of pain, and set it down beside the bottle of Jack. Blood dripped from the tip, collecting in a tiny pool atop the wood.

  Somehow, I was certain that wouldn’t be the last of the blood spilled. I had a feeling there’d be much more to come.

  Fox puffed his blunt, and poured another round of shots. “Y’like drinking games, boys?”

  “I’ve never played any, sir.” Eli’s tune had changed quickly in the last hour.

  Mine was still trying to figure out the right song.

  “I tend to like the ones where the stakes are a bit higher. Y’all heard of Truth or Dare, I’m sure, but we’re going to play Drink or Dare. Here’s how it works. You either drink as much as you’re told, or perform a dare. Once you choose, you can’t go back. And if you pass out, well …” He snorted and tossed back another shot of liquor. “Let’s just say, you don’t wanna pass out.”

  His smile stretched wider, into the wicked grin of a sadist who was about to feed his every whim.

  10

  Sera

  Present day …

  The nice thing about volunteering as an in-home caregiver on the weekend was being able to get all my studying done.

  On Saturday evenings, I typically relieved Lilia, the fulltime nurse, and stayed until Sunday night, so she could get some much-needed time off. And since the woman I cared for was no stranger, it was a nice break from the norm—a place where time seemed to move at a much slower pace. I figured, Jo had taken care of me seven years as a maid and pseudo-nanny before she’d had a stroke, so repaying the favor was the least I could do.

  Aside from a few combatant moments, she mostly remained in a vegetative state, staring off at the wall, or wherever I parked her wheelchair. A sight that troubled me, given how feisty and outgoing she’d once been.

  Lilia would tell me it was her history of alcohol and smoking that’d contributed to her stroke, and physiologically, that might’ve been the case, but I believed the psychological effects of having found out what’d happened to her missing son played a much bigger role. One that’d left her mentally paralyzed long before the stroke had hit.

  Lilia lived with Jo during the week, and stayed with her boyfriend on weekends, when I covered for her. The arrangement worked out beautifully for both of them—Lilia could conveniently work full time while studying for her nursing degree, and Jo received round-the-clock care outside of a nursing home, in a safer neighborhood than where she’d lived for twenty, or so, years. The alternative had never been an option, as far as I was concerned—I’d never have let her rot away in some poorly maintained nursing home, like the one her social worker had worked tirelessly to secure for her. Nothing against the woman—she did what she could with what Jo had to her name—but it wouldn’t have been right. Not after what she’d been through.

  Dusk settled over the house, signaling the end of my shift, as I gathered up my bags, while Lilia carried groceries inside.

  “Hey, I checked the account this morning,” she said, as she passed where I stood beside Jo. “No deposits. Any idea what’s going on with that?” Lilia set the armful of groceries onto the recently bleached countertop, and tossed her keys into a bowl set off to the side.

  Through some hard-won negotiations on my part, my father had agreed a while back to take over Jo’s care. Not like he didn’t owe it to her after his ruthless prickiness had left her penniless.

  Frowning, I pulled the duffle higher up on my shoulder and shook my head. “I’ll look into it. You had enough for groceries, right?”

  “Yeah. But it’s almost the end of the month. Her meds will be up, and I’ve got rent on the first.”

  “He must’ve forgotten. I’ll take care of it. Sorry, Lili.”

  My dad’s accountant had probably overlooked the monthly payment he’d agreed to send, to cover groceries, rent, Lilia’s pay as a fulltime nurse, and the medication copays. Not as if my dad would’ve reminded her, if she had, and I truly hated having to ask him directly, but I would. I promised.

  “Hey, nothing to be sorry about. Thanks for staying, sweetie. Everything kosher?”

  Frown still in place, I brushed Jo’s hair from where it lay plastered on her forehead, as she sat staring off toward the picture of a bright orange sunset hanging on the wall. “Think she had another nightmare last night.”

  “She’s been having those a lot lately. Maybe some of the TV shows subconsciously staying with her, or something.”

  I knew it wasn’t a TV show giving her nightmares, because I’d heard her scream her son’s name in the middle of the night, but considering she hadn’t suffered that variety of nightmares in years, I didn’t bother to tell Lilia.

  “Something. I read her a book. Nothing exciting.” I chuckled and straightened the blanket set across Jo’s lap. “Criminal justice,
but she seemed to like it.”

  “She likes the sound of your voice. I think it reminds her of home.”

  “Not my home. Nothing pleasant about that place.”

  Lilia smiled, emptying the bags of fruit and veggies onto the counter. “Well, it’s probably more of a comfort than here, sometimes. No memories in this place.”

  With a solemn and knowing nod, I planted a kiss on Jo’s forehead and strode toward the door. “See you next weekend. And I’ll let you know about the deposit.”

  “Thanks, honey. Be careful. I hate the thought of you out driving around the city this late.”

  “I will.”

  Quickly shuffling out the door, and toward the Volkswagen Jetta parked at the curb, I tried not to mentally dwell too much on Jo’s nightmares, when I had my own to deal with. Not even the dark, empty streets of the surrounding neighborhood could freak me out quite as much as the texts I’d gotten the day before.

  I slipped inside the driver’s seat, tossing my bag onto the passenger’s. The September air had grown cooler at night, chilly enough to crank the seat warmers and toast my ass.

  As I lifted my gaze, a monster’s face, half blown into torn flesh, flashed in the rearview mirror.

  I gasped and spun around to the empty backseat, certain I’d seen him that time. My heart kicked up, slamming into my chest, and I spun back around, gripping tight to the steering wheel. A wave of nausea set my hands trembling, and I choked back the acids that’d risen to the back of my throat.

  He’s not there. He’s dead.

  I breathed through my nose, counting back from ten, and worked up the nerve to peer into the rearview mirror again.

  Empty.

  I hadn’t seen him in a long time, but considering I’d been pretty creeped out all weekend, it made sense.