Chapter 8

" S am!" I say as I run toward him. "You came back for me." I'm glad to see him, but I'm equally surprised he didn't leave me to my own devices. I curse myself for being happy to see him at all. He fucking left me to deal with two armed men on my own. Would he have cared if I died?

He's pinned the man beneath him. He grabs my pistol from his waistband and throws it toward me, and I aim it at the stranger.

"I knew you'd get into trouble here." He shoves his chin toward me, then reaches down and grabs the other two pistols, tossing them at my feet. "You're unarmed, dickhead."

"Then kill me already," Knox snarls.

"That will happen soon enough. When you're begging for death," I say. I pluck handcuffs from my belt and help Sam restrain him.

"You're kidnapping me?" Knox asks.

"Bit too old to be kidnapped," I say with a smirk as I squat in front of him.

His masculine scent rises to my nose, and I'm suddenly aware of every rippling muscle beneath his dress shirt. Messy, dark hair falls over his mask, but I want to see his face. I rip the mask away, revealing haunting gray eyes.

He's the man from the parking lot. The one who stepped between me and Sam.

The humanity beneath the mask catches me off guard. How could he have been a kind person mere hours ago, then turn into a savage who kills defenseless homeless people? He looks normal. Handsome, even. He doesn't look like a monster or have some grotesque disfigurement he's hiding beneath the latex and plastic.

But if they aren't monsters beneath masks, how could they have done such a horrible thing to my father?

My eyes scan Sam's face for signs of recognition, but I see nothing. How could he forget the face of someone who got between us to keep him from punching me? How much did that rage blind him?

Knox's eyes roll up to mine.

"Hello, karma," he whispers.

A chill rakes my spine. We both recognize each other now. That's very clear.

Hello. Karma.

We get him up on his feet and walk him toward the alley. I'm surprised he hasn't yelled for his friends, since I'm sure there are more of them. Without a peep, he walks with his arms behind his back and his gaze on the ground.

After a while, Sam pulls ahead of us. I keep glancing at the man. I still can't believe it's the same guy.

"I should have let him do what he does best," he whispers beside me.

"You're right. And you probably should have run." I'm glad he didn't, in a way, but he should have taken off when he had the chance.

"Curse my conscience," he says.

"If you had one of those," I say, "you wouldn't be out here."

"You're out here, aren't you?" he says, his gray eyes forcing their way into mine.

I tighten my lips. We're not the same. I'm trying to protect people!

A little voice in my head hums.

No, you want vengeance.

No, I want both.

A piece of me wants to give him grace for stopping Sam's attack on me this morning, then stopping his friend tonight. My mind clouds with ideas of how him being out there has to be a mistake. Someone can't be kind and horrible at the same time. But wolves don't always attack, and that doesn't make them any less dangerous.

This man is a part of whatever larger organization altered my brain chemistry with what they did to my father. His momentary kindness doesn't negate what needs to be done. It can't.

After I force as much information as I can out of him, then kill him, I will have avenged my father's death the best way I could. In the only way I know how. An act of violence shaped my teenage years. It was in the back of my mind every single day as I grew up. It's a ball of negativity, growing and darkening inside me. It's why I could kill the man who was suffering. It's why I could kill Knox's rapey fucking friend.

But it wasn't enough torture for me or my dad. And that's where this guy comes in.

The need for revenge meets opportunity.