Chapter Four

Noise filtered through her consciousness, luring her from the peace of sleep. She stretched and pain flared in her side. In that moment her memory of Peterson came rushing back. She sat up, immediately noticing that she no longer wore her dress, and pulled the blanket up her chest. Looking around, she had no clue where she was. In a strange bed in a strange loft, Keres took a few deep breaths to settle the panic threatening to engulf her sanity.

“You cost me a lot of money, you know that?”

Keres gasped and looked to the right where a man leaned against a metal, weight-bearing column. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t seem to place him. His arms were crossed over his chest, the black t-shirt molded to powerful muscles. His light green eyes contrasted sharply against his darker skin tone. Then it hit her. She’d seen him at the club as she stumbled from the men’s restroom, after killing Peterson.

Fear filled her, and for a moment, she was thrust back in time. Caged and helpless. That weak girl once more. Was he going to turn her in? Blackmail her? Rape her like the bastards she’d killed? It took almost every bit of strength she had to push that terror aside and look for a weapon of some kind, of any kind, but came up blank.

“W-where are my clothes?” she asked, proud that her voice wobbled only a little. “Why am I here?”

“You collapsed in my arms,” he replied. “I’m a Good Samaritan.”

She highly doubted that.

“If you think you can rape me, I’m going to warn you right now you won’t like how I strike back.”

“Oh, I’ve seen your handiwork, and believe me, I’m a fan.”

She blinked. Um. What?

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Where are my clothes? I need to leave.”

At least the windows revealed it was still night. Darby had to be freaking out.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you killed the three Deathmen.”

Defiant anger blazed through her. Who did this man think he was?

“I’m not telling you jack shit, Mister. Now where the fuck are my clothes?” He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Rolling her eyes, she wrapped the blanket around her body and rose, ready to search the studio loft from top to bottom.

“If you don’t tell me where they are, I may start tossing things in my search.”

She marched up to him and she stared him down, surprised at how tall he was. She stood five feet ten in her bare feet, and he had a few inches on her. Not intimidated at all, he just watched her, not budging. If he wanted a standoff, she’d give it to him. It dawned on her she should be afraid of him, or at least intimidated because he was a complete stranger, but she doubted he would’ve dressed her wound if he wanted to cause her harm.

“Okay, clearly you want answer s— ”

“You think?” he interjected.

“— and I want to get dressed and leave. So. I killed them to avenge my friend. They raped and murdered her.”

Some of the ice in his green gaze thawed a little.

“That explains the dicks in the mouth,” he muttered. “I was hired to kill them.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re a hitman?”

“Among other things. You’re not a hitman?”

“No,” she replied, tilting her head. “Is it a lucrative business?”

“Only when someone isn’t sniping my bounty out from under me. If you had waited, I would’ve done the dirty work for you.”

“I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me. I’ve come too far for that. Now, I told you my reason, time for you to give me my clothes. I have someone probably freaking out.”

He narrowed his eyes. “A man?” “None of your business. Let me get dressed and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“I can’t.”

“What the fuck do mean, you can’t?”

“They were covered in blood, yours and Peterson’s. It was prudent to burn them.”

She disliked that he made sense. “Very well, then give me some of your clothes. I’m not going home naked.”

“No, that wouldn’t be very smart. A beautiful woman like you would bring a lot of attention, and I’m thinking you don’t like attention.”

“I’m sure neither do you.”

“Touché. By the way, I had someone clean up your DNA in the bathroom and alley.”

“What?”

“You bled a lot over the bathroom. I have someone on my payroll that cleans fuckups. You’ll never be linked to Peterson’s death.”

He walked over to a closet and grabbed some clothes, holding them out as he brought them to her. “None of my stuff will fit you, obviously. This is probably as good as it’s going to get.”

“Thank you,” Keres said softly, inspecting the t-shirt and basketball shorts. “For the clothes. And for the clean-up.”

“Bathroom is through there.” He nodded toward a closed door.

She marched over, still wrapped in the blanket, only dropping it when the door closed behind her. Keres inspected her wound, appreciating that Mr. Hitman cleansed it and stuck butterfly bandages on the sliced skin. Luckily, it didn’t seem too deep. Dressing quickly, she rolled the band of the shorts down to keep them from falling. The only thing she had on her mind was to get out of this place and let Darby know she was okay.

When she rejoined her captor … rescuer … what-the-hell-ever, she placed a hand on her hip. “Just hand over my stuff and I’ll go.”

“What stuff?”

She blinked. “My weapons.”

“You didn’t have any weapons.”

“Liar. I had knives strapped to my thighs and a spare in the lining of my dress. There’s no way you overlooked them.”

They stared at one another, each not moving an inch. Giving no quarter at all.

“Maybe there were knives,” he relented. “You can have them back if you tell me your name.”

“My name is none of your business.”

“Then I guess you’re not getting them back.”

Indignation swept through her. He was just another man using something against her, when she didn’t want anything to do with him.

“Fine,” she said, turning and heading toward what she assumed was the door. “Keep them. I can get more.”

“Let me take you hom e— ”

“No,” she snapped, spinning back around. “Thanks for patching me up. Hope I never see you again.”

She yanked the door open, glad to see it was indeed the way out. Without looking back, she hurried to make her escape. Since she didn’t have any money, she’d have to make her way on foot. It took a moment to discover where in the city she was located, and then once she got her bearings, took off back to her part of the city.

It took about half an hour to finally make it to the gym. She walked up to where the hidden camera was and waved to get Darby’s attention. A moment later, the door opened and he yanked her into his arms, hugging her tightly. His body shook and she hated that she caused him so much anxiety.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded.

Keres looked around. “Let’s get inside and I’ll tell you everything.”

When the door closed behind her, Darby reset the alarm and led her upstairs to their apartment. He had offered her the spare bedroom when he discovered she had no family, and since she didn’t want to be alone, she agreed.

“What happened?” he asked the moment she sank down on the couch. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“Peterson had a little energy left to fight back, and he managed to stab me.”

“What the fuck?” Darby burst out. “Damn it, Keres. Let me see.”

She held up a hand. “It was superficial. I’m okay.”

“I’ll make that determination. Now, show me.” Reluctantly, she lifted her shirt, and he frowned. “Did the owner of these clothes bandage this?”

“Yeah. As I was saying, the paralytic finally kicked in and I managed to make Peterson regret his life choices.”

“That doesn’t explain where you’ve been for the past couple of hours.”

“Would you believe this city has another Good Samaritan?”

He scowled at her. “What does that mean?”

“Some man found me hurt and I guess he took me to his loft, bandaged me up, and I left. Took me a while to walk home, though.”

“You’ve been compromised.” He ran a hand over his face. “Fuck. That’s it. No more.”

Keres leaned forward. “We can’t stop, Darby. We killed the men who hurt me and Abigail, but not the one responsible for Jonathan. We have to cut the head off the snake.”

“Not if it means you could get hurt again.”

She took hold of one of his hands. “We can’t let them continue hurting innocent people. The justice system failed us, and there is no one else who’ll take care of the monster. It’s up to us, even if we get hurt. Even if we die.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “Even if we die,” he agreed.

Keres kissed him on the cheek and then headed to her bedroom. Gathering her shower caddy, she went to the bathroom to wash and brush her teeth. It had been a long night, and she was ready to crash, but as soon as she closed her eyes, the nightmare came again. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t save herself while the men held her down and violated her. She jolted awake, panting, with tears coursing down her face. Wiping them away with her palms, she knew there’d be no more sleep for her. At least, not until she exhausted herself. Rising, she dressed and headed downstairs to the punching bag. Methodically wrapping her knuckles, she got into stance and began punching. Thoughts raced through her mind of the demons that needed exorcising.

She refused to be a victim anymore. Refused to be a slave to fear. She’d made herself a promise as she laid in the hospital, recovering from all the injuries inflicted on her body and mind, that she’d rise above every sin forced upon her. As she punched the boxing bag over and over, the tape on her knuckles began to fray. The skin underneath split and blood smeared on the leather. In her head, she reminded herself she was a phoenix, rising from the ashes. She lived for a reason … for vengeance. She was her name, a death spirit waiting to send them to hell.

For hours she kept at it. Punch, duck, weave. Over and over, until her muscles hurt. Until she collapsed, vaguely aware of Darby picking her up to take her back to her room. This time, she didn’t dream. The horror stayed away, patiently waiting for the next weak moment in her dreams.