Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Gideon
The tires screeched as I took another sharp turn, glancing at the GPS navigation in my SUV to see I still had a few more miles to go until I reached my destination. Every second felt like an eternity as my mind swirled with scenario after scenario about where Imogene could be.
“Lester Vargas,” Henry’s voice crackled over the car’s speakers. “Former cop. Got booted for excessive force. Went into bounty hunting. It was the same story there. His license was revoked for repeated complaints of excessive force.”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. That didn’t bode well for Imogene. If he so much as hurt a single hair on her body, I’d make sure he regretted it for the rest of the short time he had left on earth.
“Connections?” I asked, swerving around slower cars on a street lined with shopping plazas and car dealerships.
“None that I could find,” Henry replied. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Guys like Vargas don’t exactly leave clean paper trails. If he’s working for someone, it’s probably a cash deal.”
There was a pause before Henry spoke again, his concern evident.
“Look, I know you’re not going to wait for me to land?—”
“You’d be right,” I interrupted.
“Just be careful. You’re not bulletproof.”
“Neither is he.”
“This is just a job for him. You, on the other hand?—”
“I’ll be fine,” I snapped, ending the call and focusing on navigating through intersection after intersection until finally pulling onto a narrow residential street.
The house wasn’t hard to spot — a small, one-story structure tucked between other aging homes with the same van from the surveillance video parked out front. Except now, the rear license plate was back on.
I pulled my car down the block and killed the engine. Popping the glove box, I retrieved my weapon, checking the magazine and chamber with practiced efficiency before tucking it into my waistband. After scanning the street for any movement, I slipped out of the car and made my way toward the house.
The sun had set, casting everything in a shroud of darkness, the street lamps the only source of light. The neighborhood was a collection of forgotten dreams, houses in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, fences sagging with the weight of neglect. It smelled like stale grease and overripe trash, a stench that clung to the air like a foul perfume.
I kept my head low, scanning for movement. Each step I took echoed, my shoes crunching over dirt and grime. A dog barked in the distance, its warning growl cut short by a command from its owner.
As I crossed the street toward Vargas’ house, the weight of what I might find tightened my chest. The faint hum of an air conditioning unit buzzed in the background, nearly masking the distant murmur of a television. A gentle breeze blew around me, making a scrap of newspaper skitter across the concrete like a ghost.
The curtains in his house were drawn, but a flicker of light seeped through the cracks. My fingers brushed against the cool metal of my gun as I moved toward the side of the building, keeping to the shadows.
His house was no different from the others — a one-story box with peeling paint and a roof patched with mismatched shingles. The grass was yellowing, weeds sprouting through cracks in the concrete walkway leading to the front door. A faded lawn chair sat near the garage, its webbing frayed and sagging. The smell of cigar smoke lingered in the air, sharp and pungent.
Slipping through the broken gate and into the back yard, I surveyed my surroundings once more. It was in worse shape than the front. Scattered beer cans, a barbecue grill rusted beyond repair, and nothing but dust where grass once grew.
As I reached the edge of the house, I heard a creaking sound followed by footsteps. I froze, my hand instinctively tightening on the grip of my weapon as I carefully peered around the corner. Vargas stepped outside, his height and build matching the man in the surveillance video, a cigar clamped between his teeth.
As he leaned against the doorframe, he took a long drag from the cigar, the ember glowing red. He exhaled slowly, giving off an air of arrogance, as if he thought no one could touch him.
He was about to learn how wrong he was.
I waited until he turned his back before making my approach. The click of his lighter echoed as he reignited the cigar, oblivious to the predator closing in.
When I was close enough to see the shine of sweat on the back of his neck, I struck, grabbing him from behind and slamming him against the stucco siding.
His cigar tumbled to the ground as I twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him inside. He cursed and tried to resist, but before he could make a move, I had him pinned against the wall, my gun pressed to the side of his head.
“Where is she?” I growled, my voice low and menacing.
“Who the hell?—”
I slammed him harder against the surface, cutting off his words. “The girl you just took. Where is she?”
He grunted and struggled against my hold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
I delivered a harsh blow to his sternum, leaving him gasping for air long enough to allow me to drag him to a nearby chair and secure him to it with zip ties. Every fiber of my being wanted to put a bullet in him right then and there, but he was my only lead as to where Imogene could be.
I needed him alive.
But the second I knew where she was, he would die.
And I would enjoy every minute of it.
As he tried to catch his breath, I scanned the messy living area. Takeout containers were stacked on the counter, beer bottles littered the table, and dirty dishes caked with food sat in the sink. But amidst the filth, there were expensive electronics. A high-end TV, multiple gaming consoles, a state-of-the-art sound system. Probably stolen.
“Let’s try this again,” I said once his wheezing stopped. “Where’s the girl?”
“I told you. I don’t know. I?—”
Before he could utter another syllable, I pressed my gun to his knee and fired, using his own body to muffle the sound.
“All right!” he shouted, pain etched on his face as blood soaked the tile floor beneath him. “I was hired, okay?”
“By who?”
“No idea.”
“Wrong answer.” I grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter and thrust it into his open wound, eliciting another cry of agony.
“I swear! I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know who it is.”
“Then how did you get the job?”
“An unmarked package arrived on my doorstep one day. It was a burner phone.” His eyes briefly darted toward a drawer in the kitchen before returning to me. “It rang, and the man said he could help me get back on the force if I did something for him. So I agreed.”
I removed the knife from his bullet wound and approached the drawer, opening it to find a flip phone inside.
“Is this the burner?” I held it up.
Vargas hesitated, then nodded.
I opened it, wishing Henry was here. He’d be able to figure this thing out in a heartbeat. I hadn’t operated a flip phone like this in ages. But I wasn’t desperate enough to remove Vargas’ restraints so he could do it for me.
Finally, I stumbled on the contacts, finding only one saved.
“Mom?” With a raised eyebrow, I clicked on the contact.
“What are you doing?” Vargas asked, clearly panicked.
I smirked, keeping my weapon trained on him. The metal glinted in the dim light of the room, a sharp contrast to the fear in his eyes.
“What do you think? Giving your mom a call.”
“That’s not how it works. I don’t call him. He?—”
I silenced him with a hush when the ringing cut off, a voice barking out, “This better be important.”
“Where is she?” I demanded.
There was a pause. Then a low chuckle. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the man of the hour. I wondered when you’d show up.”
“Tell me where she is, or I swear to God?—”
“You’ll what? Kill Vargas? Be my guest. I’ve got plenty more like him.”
The indifference in his tone was infuriating. It almost made me not want to kill Vargas.
Almost.
But he was responsible for what happened to Imogene.
For that, he would pay.
“Where. Is. She?”
“She’s an interesting subject, isn’t she?” The man’s tone turned contemplative, almost amused. “The daughter of a serial killer, yet so determined to be good. It’s fascinating, really. I’m curious how much pressure it would take to break her. To see if she’s truly her father’s daughter.”
My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. “She’s not.”
“How can you be so sure? Haven’t you ever wondered about the line between nature and nurture? Between good and evil? For instance, what turns someone like you, a man who once claimed to value life, into a killer? On the flip side, what makes a woman like Imogene, with that dark legacy of hers, cling so desperately to the illusion of innocence? I’ve always been curious about what drives human behavior. I’ve spent decades creating environments to test those limits. As you’re well aware. After all, you spent nearly four years in several environments I created.”
I blinked repeatedly, his words like a punch to the gut as the realization dawned on me.
“The fights…” I exhaled, the rage bubbling inside of me growing with every passing second. “That was you?”
“I prefer to call them experiments,” he purred.
“You ruined my life,” I growled. “And for what?”
“Ruined?” The man sounded genuinely perplexed. “I did no such thing. I gave you clarity. Stripped away the pretense, the delusions of morality, and showed you who you really are. Then I released you back into society as one last experiment. How would the killer I forged fare in the real world? Would you thrive? Or would you crumble under the weight of what you’d become?”
The room spun, and I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself as his words sunk in. All this time, I thought I was just a pawn in a twisted game for the wealthy elite’s amusement. Instead, I was part of an experiment. What I thought was my escape wasn’t an escape at all. It was planned.
Had this man been watching me all along?
“I killed because it was the only way to survive,” I bit out harshly.
“Really? How much of your life lately has been about survival? How many of the lives you’ve taken since I released you have been about survival? Or have they been about something else?”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because not a single life I’d taken in the past year had been about survival. They were because of a hunger for blood, pure and simple.
“I planted the seed,” the man continued, “but you watered it.”
“I’m not that man anymore,” I protested, but I could hear the doubt in my words.
“You’ve always been that man,” he countered coolly. “I just gave you the appropriate environment in which to indulge your killer instincts.”
I clenched and unclenched my fist, every word out of his mouth making me angrier and angrier. A part of me wondered if he was right. If I truly was a monster.
“But as you may or may not recall, I’m not an unreasonable man. I’m willing to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” I asked hesitantly.
“You for her. Surrender yourself, and I’ll let her go. No harm will come to her. You have my word.”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Your word doesn’t mean shit.”
“I guess you’ll just have to take a leap of faith then.”
Every instinct inside me screamed that this was a bad idea. To never trust this man who’d used and manipulated me in ways I couldn’t even begin to fully wrap my head around.
But did I really have a choice?
I didn’t see how. Worse, this asshole knew it. Knew Imogene was my weakness.
For years, I’d learned to show no weakness, as it could be used against me. I foolishly thought I was free, only for him to reappear and use my biggest weakness against me.
The bastard had planned everything. Every hellish fight, every scar, every sleepless night — he’d orchestrated it all. And now he had Imogene.
I needed to do everything I could to save her from the same fate I endured… Even if it meant sacrificing myself.
“Where?” I demanded.
The man chuckled softly. “That’s the spirit. I’ll send you the location. No tricks. No reinforcements. Come alone, or the deal is off. I could be wrong, but I doubt she’ll last as long as you did in that cage.”
The line went dead, leaving only the hollow echo of his words reverberating in my mind. A surge of rage overtook me and my vision blurred at the edges. I glared at Vargas, a pool of his blood staining the tile beneath him.
I erased the distance between us in two long strides and pressed my gun to his temple.
“Give me one reason,” I growled, my face inches from his. “One reason I shouldn’t decorate the wall with your brain right now.”
“I swear, man!” Vargas cried, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know he was this twisted. I just needed the money, man.”
“So her life was worth…what? A couple of grand?”
“Five,” he squeaked out.
“What’s that?”
“What he paid me. Five grand.”
I tightened the grip on my gun, my mind a blur of fury and grief. Then the man’s voice echoed in my mind.
I planted the seed, but you watered it.
God, I wanted to kill this bastard. Wanted to pull the trigger and end this worthless excuse for a human being.
But that would only prove him right. Prove I truly was nothing more than a killer.
I refused to give him the satisfaction.
“You’re not worth it,” I muttered in disgust, lowering my gun, albeit reluctantly.
Vargas hung his head in relief, blowing out a long breath. “Thank you. Thank you, man.”
“Don’t thank me,” I snapped as I turned toward the door. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Then I hurried out of the house, determined to save Imogene by any means necessary.