Chapter 3

THREE

SALEM

J ames sat bound to a chair, his eyebrows creased severely in confusion as I approached, a tune escaping my lips in a low whistle.

"W-w-what do you want with me?" James cried, his voice infused with panic.

I ignored his question, the melody of my whistle filling the room as I circled him, securing the ropes with practiced efficiency. "You ever heard of the Black Dahlia Killer, James?" I asked casually, my tone deceptively light.

His eyes widened in recognition, his body going rigid. "The Black Dahlia Killer?"

I chuckled, a dark edge creeping into my tone. "Mmhmmm," I replied cryptically as I finished the last knot with a satisfying tug. I walked toward my backpack, which I had brought with me for this very occasion, pulled out a single black dahlia stem, and held it up to show him.

James's jaw hung open, his expression horrified. The realization sank in as he peered at the flower in my hands. "You won't get away with this," he spat, his voice laced with venom.

"Oh, but I already have." My lips curled into a smirk. "You see, James, I'm the one holding all the cards."

As I stepped back to admire my handiwork, satisfaction washed over me. James may have thought himself untouchable, but he was about to learn that in my world, no one was beyond reach.

"It's rather unfortunate for you," I said, my voice calm. "I have my own revenge plans, but they're taking longer than I'd like. I need to work out of the Triad's sight you see, so it's slow going. But I needed to channel my rage somewhere. So I thought, why not help others like poor Sarah achieve their revenge?"

"P-p-please. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. I won't do it again," he stammered, but I could see the lie in his eyes.

I tilted my head, a predatory gleam twinkling in my gaze. "I don't believe you," I replied softly, each word oozing menace.

As the tension in the room thickened, I moved with a fluid grace, circling him like a predator stalking its prey. "You see," I began, my voice low and dangerous, "I was recently betrayed by those I trusted. And I'll get my revenge, but it got me thinking. How many people need revenge but don't get it? People like Sarah.″

I leaned in closer, my breath ghosting over his ear as I whispered, "She trusted you. You were her boss, and yet you took your position of power and abused it. Abused her . So I've decided to take injustices like Sarah's into my own hands."

James swallowed hard. "I swear, I'll change, I'll never do it again, I'll quit," he pleaded, his facade disintegrating with each passing moment.

I paused, allowing the silence to stretch taut between us. "I think it's a little late for that," I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.

I watched with a detached amusement as James crumbled before me. His pleas were reduced to nothing more than a desperate whimper. I gathered my tools from my backpack and got to work.

Every fiber of my being thrummed with a potent mixture of adrenaline and resolve, fueling the fire and rage that burned within me.

With fluid motions born of years of practiced precision, I unleashed my fury upon my prey. The blade in my hand became an extension of myself, a deadly instrument of justice cutting through James's skin.

There was no hesitation, and no second-guessing in the heat of the moment. The time for mercy had long since passed, replaced by a singular focus on dishing out a punishment that was long overdue. Each strike was my personal reminder to those who dared to prey on the weak. A reminder that justice would always find a way.

The world dissolved into a blur of motion and violence. I slashed and carved. I stabbed and mutilated. And finally, with grim satisfaction, I stepped back from the body and placed my single black dahlia flower on the desk.

As I slipped back into the night, leaving behind the gruesome scene, I knew that my mission was far from over. There were others out there, lurking in the shadows, who would soon feel my wrath.

I sat in a corner booth of the 24-hour diner in East Harlem. The clatter of dishes and low murmur of voices provided a comfortable backdrop to my late-night dinner. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the worn linoleum floor, adding to the gritty ambiance of the place.

With one hand absently stirring my lukewarm coffee, I held the phone to my ear with the other, the familiar voice on the other end crackling with static. "Yes, that's correct," I confirmed, my tone clipped and businesslike. "I need the shipment delivered by tomorrow noon, no later."

Across the diner, a group of men in hoodies and jeans huddled over their plates, their shifty eyes reflecting the lights of a city that never slept. Amid the mundane chatter and clinking of silverware, I remained locked onto the task at hand.

As I listened to the voice on the other end of the line rattling off details of the transaction I'd arranged, my mind raced with calculations and contingencies. The black market was a dangerous game, fraught with risks and double-crosses, but it was a game I played well.

With a nod of acknowledgment, I relayed the necessary instructions before ending the call with a decisive click. Perfect. The Isoflurane, or knockout gas, was the last piece that I had been waiting on. It had taken longer that I would have liked, but it was more important that no one in the Triad found out what I was after.

Slipping the phone back into my pocket, I returned my attention to the lukewarm coffee before me. Before I could take another sip, a commotion caught my eye.

A young waitress, her tired eyes betraying the late hour, approached the table occupied by the group of men who were growing rowdy. Clutching a coffee jug, she offered to refill their cups. Her polite smile faltered as one of the men reached out and palmed her ass with a leering grin.

The waitress attempted to pull away, her eyes widening in alarm as the man felt her up. With a wave of anger coursing through me, I pushed back my chair and rose to my feet, my steps purposeful as I made my way toward the table.

The men's laughter bounced around the room grating on my nerves as I approached. "Let her go," I demanded, my voice cutting through the diner with a steely edge. "You have no right to touch her."

There was silence as the men turned to regard me, their expressions shifting from annoyance to amusement when they got a look at me. I stood my ground, but I knew what they saw. A smaller woman, alone, dressed in a simple graphic tee and jeans. I didn't paint an intimidating picture at first glance.

The man with his hand on the waitress finally released her, his sneer twisting into a scowl as he glared at me with disdain. "This is none of your business, sweetheart," he spat, his voice laced with hostility.

Ignoring him, I turned my attention to the waitress, offering her a reassuring smile as I gestured for her to step away from the table. "Are you alright?" I asked softly, concern etched into my features.

The waitress nodded, her eyes brimming with gratitude as she hurried away from the table, disappearing into the safety of the diner's kitchen. Turning back to the men, I squared my shoulders, my stance stony as I faced them down.

"Do you always put your hands on unwilling women?" I asked, my voice low and dangerous.

The man with the grabby hands sneered at me. "Mind your own business, bitch. We're just having a bit of fun."

I narrowed my eyes, unimpressed by his bravado. "Grabbing a waitress without her consent isn't fun," I retorted, my tone icy. "It's harassment."

The man's face darkened with anger before he stood from his seat. His hands spread out on the table in front of him. ″Now listen here, missy…″ Before he could continue, I picked up a knife from their table and forced it through his hand closest to me. Probably a little reckless, but I didn't want to listen to another word out of the dickhead's mouth.

The man let out a high-pitched squeal as his friends scooted back in their seats while exchanging wary glances. "Consider this your warning," I said firmly.

With that, I turned on my heel and strode away from the table, leaving the men to tend to their friend. I'd make sure the waitress was safe and wouldn't face any repercussions before heading home to prepare for tomorrow.