Chapter 2

TWO

SALEM

I slowly blinked my eyes open. Fuck me, my head was killing me. The remnants of last night's festivities still lingered in my mind. I dragged myself out of bed, my limbs heavy with exhaustion as I stumbled toward the kitchen.

I ran my fingers through my tangled mess of black hair, pulling it up into a messy bun atop my head, strands escaping to frame my face. The oversized tee I wore hung loosely on my body, the fabric soft against my skin as I shuffled across the floor in my fuzzy socks. Making my way to the kitchen, I caught sight of my brand-new coffee machine sitting on the counter, a recent indulgence I treated myself to.

I stocked the machine with freshly ground beans, their rich aroma filling the air as I prepared for my morning pick-me-up. As the machine whirred to life, steam rose from the spout, and I poured myself a creamy latte. I relished the familiar ritual that promised fuel for the day ahead. Coffee was life, after all.

With my latte cradled in my hands, I took a moment to go to the window and look over the streets of Harlem below. The warmth of the cup seeped into my palms, comforting and familiar, a welcomed respite from the cold realities of the world outside. I closed my eyes and brought the cup to my lips, savoring the creamy texture and robust flavor with each sip.

As the caffeine coursed through my veins, invigorating me from within, I turned my attention to my next task. I gathered ingredients from the refrigerator, checking expiry dates as I went. I was ashamed to say I had let my love for cooking go over the last few months, opting to instead go out or eat instant ramen. It was a far cry from my usual. Today, though, I'd decided to cook myself a decent breakfast, a feast fit for a queen. After all, I deserved it after my successful kill last night.

The sizzle of bacon in the skillet echoed around me as I cracked eggs into a bowl. With learned precision, I whisked them together, adding a pinch of salt and pepper for flavor. The sound was soothing, a familiar melody that set my soul at ease.

In no time, the kitchen was filled with a mouthwatering aroma. With deft movements, I poured the eggs into the skillet, watching as they began to set around the edges, the scent of buttery goodness wafting up from the pan.

With a flick of my wrist, I expertly flipped the omelet, the edges crisping up perfectly under the gentle heat of the skillet. I watched with satisfaction as it transformed into a fluffy masterpiece.

As I carefully plated the meal, serving the omelet alongside the crispy bacon and a generous serving of buttered toast, I admired the feast before me. It was breakfast fit for royalty, a testament to my skill and dedication in the kitchen.

Sitting down at the table, I picked up my fork and knife, ready to dive into my first home-cooked meal in months.

As I took the first bite, the flavors exploded on my palate, a symphony of tastes and textures that danced across my tongue. The eggs were light and fluffy, the filling bursting with the bold flavors of herbs and melted cheese.

As I continued to eat, the stresses of the outside world drifted away, replaced by contentment and satisfaction.

The morning sun had filtered through the curtains as I finished my breakfast. I moved the dishes to the sink just as the familiar chime of my phone pierced the silence, pulling me back to reality. With a feeling of dread, I glanced at the screen, my pulse quickening at the sight of Fallon's name. Her message was short and to the point, a subtle threat along with her concern. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I read her words, the underlying message clear: she was done letting me avoid her. With a heavy sigh, I set my phone down and contemplated my next move.

Despite my gut feeling that Fallon wasn't involved in my brother's death, I couldn't shake the unease that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. The thought of facing her filled me with anxiety. I didn't want to lie to her, or betray the bond we shared, yet I couldn't bring myself to reveal the truth either. I knew she would try to dissuade me from making plans against her brothers and the other heirs, and I couldn't have that.

I washed up quickly before drying my hands and tried to forget about my predicament with Fallon. Seeking a distraction, I turned my attention to the spread of documents and photos that lay on my dining room table.

Each item held a weighty significance, detailing a trail of perpetrators who I had marked for death. For the last four months, I had been collecting names. Names of those who had targeted the innocent and who had escaped the supposed justice of the law. I guessed I had always been taking scumbags off the street, but up until now, I had stuck to targets who had some link to the criminal underworld or to the Triad. But I was expanding. I had all this rage, and New York City had plenty of shady individuals I could take it out on.

I reached for a photograph, my fingers steady as I traced the faces of the men captured within its frame. Four of them were already marked with a cross in red Sharpie. This particular photo was of a nasty bunch of businessmen who had raped and tormented Sarah, an intern at their company. When it was her word against theirs two years ago, her case was thrown out.

As I picked up a Sharpie, the familiar scent of ink mingled with the lingering aroma of my breakfast. With a smile on my face, I crossed out another man in the photograph, deliberately marking him as dead.

With a feeling of satisfaction, I set the photograph back down on the table. Only one more to go.

The penthouse in downtown Manhattan stood before me—a towering structure of brick and glass that was home to the last man in the photograph, James Bower. James was the last piece of the puzzle, the final target in my quest for justice for the intern, Sarah. I had saved the worst for last. James had been the ringleader behind Sarah's attack, and I had something special planned for him.

From the outside, the penthouse exuded an air of opulence and grandeur, but I knew better than to be fooled by appearances. I slipped through the shadows, my senses on high alert as I approached the entrance. I could hear the faint hum of security cameras and the soft murmur of voices from within. Good. I loved a challenge. There was no doubt in my mind that James knew someone was coming for him. He had beefed up his security since I murdered his fifth buddy in the photo. Luckily he had chosen more slimeballs for his protection, so there was no need for me to feel guilty about taking them all out.

With practiced ease, I disabled the security system, my fingers moving swiftly over the keypad as I bypassed each layer of protection. The door swung open soundlessly before me, revealing a lavish interior bathed in soft golden light. But there was no time to admire my surroundings; I had people to murder.

I moved with purpose through the penthouse, my footsteps silent against the plush carpeting that lined the floors. I heard the faint sound of voices drifting from a nearby room, the muffled tones of conversation punctuated by the occasional burst of male laughter. I crept closer, remaining vigilant for any indication of danger.

As I rounded a corner, I came face to face with one of James's men, his eyes widening in surprise as he caught sight of me. Without hesitation, I struck, delivering a swift blow to his neck with my knife. He crumpled to the ground in a heap. I moved on, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of my target.

I came to the kitchen and was met by another man, his imposing figure blocking my path. Before I could react, he lunged forward, his massive frame poised for attack.

Instinct kicked in, and I dodged his blow with a quick sidestep, but he was relentless, his movements fueled by the decision to protect his employer. I danced around him, ducking and weaving as he launched a flurry of punches in my direction. Each blow came dangerously close to me, testing my agility and reflexes as I fought to gain the upper hand.

After a few seconds, I saw an opening—a split-second opportunity to strike. With a swift motion, I delivered a powerful stab to his midsection, sending him staggering backward with a grunt of pain. But even as he stumbled, he recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination as he prepared to launch another attack.

I knew I couldn't afford to let him get the better of me. With a surge of adrenaline, I pressed forward, each movement calculated and precise as I sought to outmaneuver him. He was a big bastard and a formidable opponent. His strength and skill matched my own with every step.

We danced around each other in a deadly game of cat and mouse. He struck out and knocked my blade from my hand, the steel clattering as it hit the floor. The wall of muscle moved to tackle me at the waist. I seized the opportunity, pulling my spare blade from my sleeve and slamming the knife into his side and twisting. His body fell limp at my feet. I pulled my knife from his side, leaving him to bleed out while I grabbed my other fallen knife from the kitchen floor.

Breathless and bruised, I allowed myself a moment to slow my gasping before pressing on. I crept stealthily down the hallway to my right. I knew it was only a matter of time before the rest of James's men sensed my presence.

I managed to take out two more of them before I heard the sound of raised voices, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps growing louder with each passing second. My heart raced as I braced myself for the inevitable confrontation.

Peering around the corner, I caught sight of the men exiting a large space at the end of the hall, their forms silhouetted against the overhead lights. I realized that the time for subtlety had passed. It was time to take decisive action.

As the men drew closer, their voices growing louder with each passing moment, I swiftly unholstered my favorite pair of Ruger Mark IV pistols, my fingers curling around the cool metal with practiced ease. Adrenaline flooded my veins, sharpening my senses as I prepared to face the remainder of James's men.

With steady hands and unwavering focus, I took aim, the weight of the guns reassuring in my grasp. In one fluid motion, I fired off precise shots, each bullet finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The men staggered, their movements slowing as the bullets pierced their flesh until they finally toppled to the floor in a motionless pile.

Breathing heavily, I surveyed the scene before me. Blood was beginning to seep into the luxury carpet, and the penthouse was eerily quiet.

As I approached James's office, the tension in the air thickened with every step. I swiftly incapacitated the guards outside the door, their bodies slumping to the ground in a spray of blood as I slipped into the room.

James's eyes widened in disbelief as he took in my presence, his initial shock quickly giving way to a steely resolve as he looked me up and down. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice laced with barely concealed anger.

Ignoring his question, I leveled a cold stare at him. "You know damn well why I'm here, James," I retorted, my voice firm and unwavering. "It's time to answer for your sins."

He scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Sins?" he echoed mockingly. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think I do," I shot back, my tone dripping with disdain. "You see, I've had a nice chat with Sarah. You remember Sarah, don't you, James? Pretty blonde who turned your advances down?"

I could sense a flicker of fear in James's eyes, a crack in his armor that betrayed the facade of invincibility he had carefully crafted.

But I wasn't about to let up. I pressed on, my accusations cutting through the air like a knife. "You thought you could get away with it, didn't you?" I continued, my voice low and dangerous. "But I'm here to hold you accountable. Just like I did to your little pals."

James's facade faltered, a glimmer of uncertainty flashing across his features before he regained his composure. "You don't scare me bitch," he spat, his voice loaded with defiance. "You won't get away with this."

I narrowed my eyes, my resolve hardening with each passing second. "Maybe," I conceded, my voice a deadly whisper. "But they haven't caught me yet." With that, I raised my guns and shot out his kneecaps.