Night Blind (The Technicians #11)

Chapter 11 - Level

Mustang considered himself to be a patient person with a level head. He’d found it difficult to find a woman he could tolerate, and he used the word loosely, that he could stomach for more than two days. By the second day, he wanted them, the underwear they were stashing all over his home, and the constant scrolling on their phones for conversation bits to be annoying. Helen was none of those things. She was calm in the face of adversity.

There was a sense of control about her, even though the current situation could go left at any moment and ruin everyone’s lives. She sat in the room, quiet but present. To his amazement, in her hands was a novel she’d picked up in the hotel lobby to read, not her phone. He knew she had a phone, as a matter of fact, she had two, her own, plus the Technician phone belonging to Cherry. She had used that phone to send confirmation of the completed task to Azreal and placed it on a charger.

It would be much later in the evening before they made their move on The Collector; however, she’d said little. It was the little that gave him cause to pause. A vibe rested between them which was pleasant and not pushy. Before it was all over, he had the distinct impression she would find a way to share his bed and currently was using this time to determine the right approach to ask. His answer would still be no, but he was interested to see her approach.

In his line of work, he’d seen too many damaged women trying to make love out of a night of hot sex. He had the war wounds to show for his efforts to start relationships from traumatic events; been there, and did that type of woman. Yet Helen spoke to him. She tugged on him in a way that unnerved him yet made him long to be her hero. He’d also played that role one time too many as well. The gate to that part of his heart had closed years ago. If he were to be a hero to anyone, it would be to himself. Hell, he felt as if he were the one who needed saving at this point. Plus, she smelled pretty, like lavender. He liked lavender. Shit, he was starting to like Helen too.

“Hey, Helen,” he said, taking a beat, “you haven’t mentioned the plan of action when we get to The Collector’s nest tonight.”

She looked up from the book. He expected her to dogear the page but instead, she took a napkin from the leftover takeout, folded it in half, and used it as a bookmark. Thoughtful . Her eyes, always surveying everything around her, were now studying his face. His handsome face, to match a strong, beautiful, muscle-ridden body that he took great pride in maintaining, had her attention.

“I’m going to walk up to the front door and ring the bell, and when he answers, I’m going to shoot him. As he lies on the floor writhing in pain, I shall shoot him again, remove the key to the cells and collar restraints from his neck, then free the women,” she said. “As he watches the captives he’s held onto as his wives walk to freedom, I’m going to shoot him in his dick and wait for him to die.”

Mustang’s eyes grew wider with every word she spoke. He’d been holding his breath after she said the first “shoot him” and by the time she ended with a bullet to the man’s junk, his mouth was also opened wide.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing hard, “and why do you think he’s simply going to open the door for you?”

“Arrogance.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, arrogance,” she said. “In that messed up head of his, he is going to actually think I am coming home to him for more of his sexual prowess.”

“Now I’m lost, and honestly, I think I would like to stay in the woods, allowing my mind to wander aimlessly, but you have me hooked, so now I have to know,” Mustang responded.

Helen held the book in her lap. Her hand rested on the cover. Neatly trimmed, unpolished nails ran along the spine of the book, and she also took a beat.

“I was chained and collared when he took me by force on the floor in front of the women,” she said. “His knowledge of a woman’s body forced mine to respond to him, making the muscles contract. Before he released me, and after he cut up my feet and breasts, his mouth was used to provide me with a going away gift from him. He is going to believe I’m coming back to him for more.”

Mustang leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Helen.”

“I’m looking at it from a feigned attempt at being mentally healthy,” she said. “Hell, it had been so long since a man touched me, ole Cinderella down there started acting up, thinking somebody was finally paying her some attention, and she was going to the Ball at the palace. Only the Prince turned out to be a creep, and she was just happy to be out of the cage. I can’t be mad at her, though; the poor baby had been dick deprived for so long, she was simply happy to be spit on.”

Mustang fell back on the couch, his eyes wide in disbelief. “For the people in the cheap seats, who in this scenario is Cinderella?”

“My vagina,” she said, looking at him with a straight face.

“Sis, I don’t know whether to laugh or to hug you,” he said solemnly. He opened his mouth to follow up the statement, but a chime rang out in the background followed by the sound of a cash register ringing a sale.

“What is that?” she asked, looking around. Cherry’s Technician phone was charging on the table. Helen raised it slowly in her hand. The green bubbles indicated two messages from an unknown texter. “Should I open it?”

“Yes,” he said, waiting to see how she would react to the new bit of information she would learn about what they did for a living. The reaction on her face registered no response as she read the first message. It was the second message which made her look up at him.

“It appears that the second asshole I aerated was a high-value target The Company has been trying to nail down. It would seem as if there is a bonus given on top of the normal payout for the assignment,” she said, looking at the figures. She’d never seen that dollar amount, not even on a W2 at the end of her work year.

In one night, the one assignment made enough to cover her living for an entire year and then some. Helen knew of families of four to six deep who survived on a third of what the assignment had made in an evening for ridding the world of two creeps. Tonight, she planned to rid the world of one more.

Mustang was taking notice. “Your quietness can be unnerving.”

“Evidently, not unnerving enough,” she whispered. “Let’s get some kip before we roll into The Collector’s camp. I need to get my head right.”

She picked up the book she’d been reading and flipped open the pages to continue Chapter 11 of the novel. Currently, they were staying at an inn an hour and fifteen minutes away from The Collector’s doll house. The plan was to arrive at 11:30.

Mustang’s plan was to have the police arrive at 11:42.

****

Helen didn’t dress in all black. On the contrary, she wore a low-cut white dress, high heels, and a push-up bra which showed off the deep cuts in the flesh of her breasts given courtesy of The Collector, one Stanton Rogers. The full lips, painted a garish red, were shined up, appearing lacquered in the finish. In her left dress pocket, she stored Cherry’s favorite micro-Smith and Wesson 9mm, and in her right, a bottle of wine.

She walked up to the front door of the home with burglar bars, a wrought iron locking glass screened door, and lots of locks on the front door. The same pungent smell of sour meat and cabbage crept through the crevices of the doors as she rang the doorbell. She heard locks tumbling open as he opened the door wide and stared at Helen in disbelief.

“Hello, Stanton; missed me?” she asked, leaning forward a little to show off the breasts where the scars showed from his cuts.

“My Chocolate Queen?” he asked, his mouth wide, the bulge in his pants growing.

“Are you going to let me in so I can take care of that for you?” she asked, looking at the bulge and licking her lips. “I must admit, there were nights I thought about you, realizing sadly, a sister didn’t cum like that for nobody else before or after you.”

She grabbed the handle of the door, yanking at it hard and jolting him from his trance. She pulled it, almost salivating as she looked at the erection in his pants. She pressed her breasts to the wrought iron. The coolness of the contact with the frosty glass made the nipples erect.

“Stanton, baby, are you telling me after all those visits to my house, leaving me presents on my pillow and wanting to be inside of me, now that I’m here, you’re not going to let me in?” she asked, pulling hard at the door. “Come on, Stanton. You know you want a mouthful of this chocolate muffin. Can’t you almost taste me?”

He swallowed hard. His eyes were wide. “Is this a trap?”

“Do you see anybody with me? Okay, fine,” she said, turning to leave. “I thought you missed this tight little body and making me cum so hard for you. I even took a bath in bleach water to wash away the ickies before coming back to you. Damn it, Stanton, I’m wet as hell too. I just knew. I just knew you were going to welcome me home.”

Helen took three steps toward leaving the porch when she heard the lock on the glass door turn. “My Chocolate Queen,” he said, hoarse, his throat dry. “I looked for you. I couldn’t find you. I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

“Listen, when a man makes a woman cum like that with little to no effort, a lady has to come back for more,” she told him. “I can’t wait. What you did with your mouth and fingers, good grief, it keeps me up at night.”

“My Queen,” he repeated, pushing the door wide. His arms splayed open for her to come to him, his hand moving low to rub the eagerness throbbing in his pants. “I want you to start with this. Get in here. Get in here now!”

Helen stepped inside the door, walking into his embrace with her left hand kept low, hidden in the folds of the dress. From the pocket, she slipped her hand inside, her finger on the trigger. He barely had time to react as she pulled the trigger, placing a bullet in his leg. Shocked, he reached for his leg with one hand while the other grappled for her, only to receive a bullet in the opposite leg. He went down on the floor, writhing in pain.

Quick hands locked the front screen door, knowing Mustang had placed the order for backup. She didn’t have much time. The butt of the weapon came down hard on his temple, knocking The Collector unconscious. Her hand slid down his shirt, freeing the keys he kept around his neck. She wouldn’t take any chances with the slippery bastard, dragging him across the floor to the dining room where she knew from being his captive that creeps were creatures of habit. A trail of crimson left a blood-soaked path to the dining room where the table had been set for dinner for six. Her eyebrows arched at the number of place settings. Yet the rest was the same as the other location near the lake where he’d held her captive.

The dining room table had chains bolted to the floor with open shackles to hold his victims in place. The open cuff went around his ankle, and she secured the lock. A dog collar went around his neck, which she also locked into place. Now, to free the women. The table was set for six, which meant he’d added another doll to his collection to match the other four. Well, today was her lucky day.

This house had a similar layout to one near the lake where he’d held her and the other women. She prayed silently as she walked down the hall, flipping on lights and heard the sounds of chains moving as voices called out, “Hello? Hello? Who’s out there?”

A door on the left, reinforced with metal plating, had a deadbolt lock on the outside. The key on the ring opened it, and she cracked the door, praying to find one of the women who had helped her escape. She opened the door to find China, who gasped at seeing Helen standing in the doorway.

“Hey Girl,” she told China, “Are you ready to get the fuck out of here?”

China wept with joy as Helen went to the next room, freeing Irish, then Mexicali, and finally Italy, who screamed when she saw her. “You came back! You came back for us! Where is he? Where is that bastard?”

Helen placed her hand over her mouth, miming for Italy to be quiet, but she wouldn’t be as if she were letting The Collector know they were being freed.

“Bitch, are you trying to get everyone caught?” Helen asked, looking at her.

“No, I’m not,” Italy said, staring at her with a bit of anger in her eyes.

“Listen, if you want to stay here, you can, and we all will leave,” she told her as Mexicali pulled on her arm, gaining her attention while pointing at another door. Mexicali could not speak. The Collector had cut out her tongue, cauterizing the edges to prevent massive bleeding. She made noises that sounded like a seal when she tried to speak, and Helen held up her hand to stop Mexicali from trying.

“He found a replacement for me?”

China said softly, “No, he found a trainee or a helper. However, the helper doesn’t want to be here either.”

Hesitantly, Helen went to the door. She glanced at her watch, still holding the Smith and Wesson low, and tapped on the door. “Hey, I’m going to free you, but don’t come charging at me. I have a gun.”

The hinges creaked, and the room was dark, devoid of light as if the room was once a closet. Behind the door was a boy no more than ten. Thin arms and legs, sunken eyes, and a sheer will to fight off any demon that would come his way covered him as he stood at the door, ready to swing. Helen held up her hands and the weapon. She tossed him the key to free himself from the chains, which more than likely weighed more than he did.

“Let’s move,” she told them, coming down the hall. Stanton Rogers had come around, his eyes were open, and he sat chained, bleeding on the floor. Italy ran to him, trying to stop the blood. In the distance, sirens could be heard rapidly approaching the home. China and Irish were disgusted by Italy’s response to seeing their captor bleeding. Italy ripped off portions of her shirt to apply pressure to the wounds to slow down the steady trickle of life juices eking from his disgusting body.

Mexicali went for Italy, yanking at her hair and causing a tussle between the women. The real surprise came from the boy who walked over to Stanton, socking him in the face with a tiny fist. Helen didn’t have time for any of it.

“China, Irish, out the door,” she commanded. “Mexicali, take the boy. Italy, if you don’t want this bullet, you need to move out of the way.”

“No,” Italy wailed, “he’s, my husband.”

“And I’m Pope Benedict; now get the hell out of the way!”

“He’s my legal husband,” she cried, leaning over him, “I’m Marjorie Rogers, his wife.”

Helen stood for a second looking at the woman who had taken part in her husband’s sick sexual fantasy gone awry. The women, now free, opened the front glass door Helen had previously locked, exiting the home and running towards the approaching sirens. The disgust she felt grew seeing Italy leaning over the man, frantically trying to save his miserable life.

She raised her weapon to end them both only to hear a voice call to her, “No, don’t do it. If you do, it changes everything and it will change you.”

The words came from Mustang. He stood in the doorway waiting for her to come to him. He held out his hand, beckoning her forward, but pain kept her rooted to this spot. Hatred for the man named Stanton Rogers who fancied himself a collector of human dolls to live in his house of horrors, outweighed any rational thought. God only knew what his plans were for the boy, or what he’d already done to the child, and for that, he needed the bullet in the weapon she’d kissed with the hot red lipstick she wore on her mouth. That bullet was meant to be his kiss of death.

“He deserves this bullet,” she told Mustang.

“He deserves to spend the rest of his life in a cell,” Mustang said.

“And when they take him to the hospital, and he manages to escape to get free and torture other people, whose conscience will that be on? Not mine. He dies now,” she said, pointing the weapon.

“If he dies, so will the humanity inside of you,” he told her, “Your call. I’ll be in the truck.”

He walked away, leaving the weight of a decision she’d been waiting to execute for five long months. Each time she closed her eyes at night, the torture and pain he had inflicted on her life resurfaced. Mustang wanted to take this moment away from her. He wanted her to be the better person and not kill for the pleasure of watching the light leave Stanton Roger’s eyes. As far as she was concerned, Italy needed a bullet as well.

“Listen to your man, Bitch,” The Collector said. “I know there was some truth in what you said to me. You loved how I made you cum, you whore. No matter where you go or who you’re with, the fact that I made that tight little snatch respond to me says who you really are.”

She used the butt of the weapon to hit him in the mouth. Heavy footfalls of men coming through the door, yelling “Police! Freeze!” stopped her from doing what needed to get done. The minute of hesitation was enough. The police officers arrived, coming to her, but the weapon in her hand was now safely tucked in the pocket of her dress. She silently prayed that the safety was on as she moved away from the ass wipe bleeding man laying on the floor. Emergency services entered the home, surrounding Stanton as Helen slipped out the door.

She used the side exit of the porch to meet Mustang at the edge of the sidewalk. Social services were on the scene for the women and boy, and Helen nodded to the women as she moved to the Ford F-150. China waved to her, placing her hands in a prayer position, and giving a kowtow. Helen provided a mock salute as Irish prattled on to the lady in the overcoat about the horrors they’d all endured. The boy, under the protective arm of Mexicali, waved at her as well. She gave a small smile, wondering, but allowing the idea to wane. It was time to go home. The drive home was six and a half hours. The time was nearing two a.m., and emotionally, she was spent.

“No need to try and drive it tonight; we have a hotel room for another night in case the officers need additional statements or information from us,” he told her, plugging the information into the GPS. “Let’s bring it down a bit before you return home.”

She cut her eyes at him. Helen reached into her pocket, freeing the weapon in the layers of fabric. The look she gave him was filled with daggers. Acid-filled words were held as she drove to the hotel, hoping it had more than a mini bar in the fridge. Tonight, she needed a fucking drink.