“Why don’t you let me worry about that.” I only need the briefest grasp of information. That’s all it will take to make another connection. Another lead. “Do you know his name?”
“I can’t remember.”
Liar.
“Think, Danny.” I drop the photo and lean forward to grip his junk. “Think hard.”
He winces, but the severity of my hold isn’t evident in his features. The drugs must be providing a numbing effect.
I squeeze tighter and twist, achieving a grunt.
“Zander. Zeke. Zack. Fuck. I can’t remember. Last name was Vaughn.”
“Are you sure?” I point to the photo. “You’re telling me this guy goes by the name Vaughn?”
“Yeah,” he grates. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, bitch.”
My heart pounds, the inspired reverberations ebbing all the way into my stomach. I can work with a name. That’s all I need to inch another step closer to Jacob.
I release his dick. “If you’re lying to me…”
His head lolls back. “Too fucking tired to lie.”
“Okay. Good.” Tingling optimism makes me believe him.
“Are you going to let me go now?” His blinks are slow. Sluggish.
I’m running out of time. “We’re just getting started.”
He scoffs, opens his mouth, and yells, “Help.”
Jesus. I slam the heel of my palm into his nose, cutting off the call, then lunge for the bed. In seconds, I’ve retrieved the gag from under the pillow and have it pressed to his mouth.
His head thrashes, and he yells through clenched lips as I increase the pressure, banging and smacking the hard ball gag until he relents and opens for me with a growl.
“Good boy.” I tighten the strap behind his head, then come back to stand in front of him, admiring my handiwork. “Revenge is such a pretty picture.”
He’s yelling, mumbling, whimpering behind the gag. Rage glares back at me, but it’s a wavering emotion. A sleepy anger that dissipates. He no longer tests his bonds, the mind-numbing drugs making the situation more acceptable.
That won’t last long.
“Now that we have the photo out of the way, I want you to know I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” I hope to reignite his fear or maybe a bit of panic. Instead, he looks straight through me. “You enjoy hurting women, don’t you?”
He releases a half-hearted chuckle, his eyes twinkling the slightest bit.
“Beating them. Raping them.” I grab his hair and yank. “You prey on those weaker than you.”
His eyes brighten in bliss. In memory. He’s reliving what he’s done in that twisted mind of his. Even with his life at my mercy, he’s enjoying his accomplishments. But then his eyes close.
Oh, no, he isn’t going to take a nap on my watch. It’s time to fast-forward the festivities.
“Hey.” I slap him. “You’ve gotta stay awake for this.” I’m hell-bent on retribution, but I’m not going to beat the unconscious.
He mumbles, over and over, the same cadence, the same indecipherable syllables. I’m curious enough to lower the gag and give him a chance to confess his sins.
“What’s your name, bitch?” he slurs, his eyes still closed. “I want to know what to whisper in your ear when I’m raping you raw.”
“Oh, honey.” I reposition the knuckle dusters, pressing them lower on my fingers. “Threats don’t work well with me.”
“You touch me again and I kill everyone you love.”
“I wish you the best of luck.”
His eyes open, but he’s not there. Not really. I doubt he’ll remember any of this tomorrow. He’ll only have the physical pain to taunt his unclear memory.
I run the cold metal on my hand along his jaw. “Maybe I should cut out your tongue to stop your sweet-talkin’ ways?”
He spits at me, the projectile not making the distance. “You’re dead.”
“Not yet. So, while we’re both alive and kicking, I’m going to give you a refresher on the lives you’ve ruined.” I shove the gag back in place and clench my fist. “Cassidy Trelore, twenty-six, broken ribs, broken jaw.”
I cock my arm, my limbs heating with approaching euphoria. Then I swing, launching my fist into his ribs. A muffled grunt is my reward.
“Melissa Taylor, twenty-eight, swollen lip, two black eyes, and eight facial fractures.” This punch I aim at the middle of his face, cracking cartilage and distorting his nose.
He yells.
Everything inside me tingles in celebration while rivulets of scarlet blood seep from his nostrils toward his mouth.
I continue, naming the women he’s assaulted, along with his long list of offences. Each time I land a blow harder than the last, until his face is a masterpiece of reds, maroons, and puffy, swollen skin.
Bree Foster. Carla Kane. Zoey Day. Amanda Scupin.
“Do you like feeling vulnerable, Dan?” I stand in front of him, cupping his clean-shaven cheek in my palm while I run the steel down the other. “Do you like knowing I’m hurting you, the same way you hurt those women?”
His eyes roll, and my stomach swells with disappointment. He’s tapping out. Already. Weak fucker.
Then again, I did give him a healthy dose of powdered goodness.
“That’s the downside of the drugs.” I sigh. “That, and the unlikelihood you’ll remember this tomorrow. But I want you to try, Danny boy. I want you to try real hard. Can you do that for me?”
His head slumps forward, a barely conscious affirmation.
I lean in, place my lips near his ear, and close my eyes as I breathe victory deep into my lungs. “Good, because I never want you to forget the night karma finally caught up with you.”
3
Her
I leave Dan tied to the chair, drool seeping from around the gag while he slumps forward in unconsciousness. Every inch of me that was numb and emotionless the day before is thrumming with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader at a pep rally.
The buzz spurs me on as I slip through the bathroom window with a pack of my belongings strapped on my back, and strut my cheap fuck-me heels as far as they will take me.
My journey home lasts longer than my magical moments with Dan. I walk a lot of miles, catch two different cabs, and slink down numerous dark alleys to dispose of every item of my costume in a different location.
By the time I reach the bar across the street from my apartment, I’m dressed in my favorite pair of denim jeans, a tight, long-sleeve, plunging top, and my strappy stiletto heels.
The lack of warm clothing isn’t appropriate for the January chill, but that’s what adrenaline is for. Right? That, and the promise of a stiff drink once I get inside.
I open the door to Atomic Buzz—a drinking hole with nowhere near the edginess or allure of its name—and Brent, the owner, grins at me.
“You’re lucky, Steph. I was thinking about closing early.”
I glance around, my attention skating over the two elderly guys playing poker near the front window, then around the soulless room to the couple whispering sweet nothings at a table in the far corner.
“And ruin the atomic buzz you’ve got going?” I ruffle the long blonde strands of my hair, trying to work out the stiffness left from the nasty wig. “It looks like you’ve doubled your clientele since I was here last.”