Chapter 27
LILY
It’s the sound of Asher leaving my bedroom that stirs me awake. I can’t believe I was actually able to fall asleep after everything that happened, but Asher’s arms are like a cloud of safety and contentment.
Utterly addictive.
So when that security blanket disappears, I’m wide awake.
I’m also angry. Furious. Not at Asher. He’s done nothing wrong. But Alexander is at the top of my shit list, and if I’m being honest, I’m angry at myself, too.
I should’ve told the twins the moment I found out about Melanie. They deserved to know. For some reason I didn’t think it was my secret to tell, but now I see that wasn’t right at all.
The moment I found out about her, it became my problem because her existence affects my boys, and anything that affects them, affects me.
I should’ve told them, damn it.
Unfortunately, I know all too well that I can’t change the past. Only have a say in what happens in the future, and I’m going to make damn sure the twins aren’t lied to anymore.
But now I’m lying to myself. I can’t tell them about my family. One of the biggest organised crime families in Australia. I can’t tell them about the Crimson Angel, and how I learnt how to kill when I was young.
I can’t tell them or anyone else.
Ugh! I could scream right now!
The urge to kill is coursing through my veins, so I open the dark web app I use to communicate with Barrett about jobs.
He’s sent me some intel, which is surprising since he wanted me to lie low. But he knows how important it is to find the MacKenzie brothers.
The intel is a lead to an ex-employee who used to clean for the MacKenzie brothers before they went off the grid.
I contemplate if sneaking out is the best option here. Asher might come back. Maybe he’s gone to the toilet or something, but the moment that thought crosses my mind, I hear a noise outside.
Darting to my window, worried I’m about to have another hit make themselves known, I peek through the blinds to see the shadow of a man pushing Asher’s motorbike down the driveway. Letting my sight adjust to the night beyond my window, I take in the familiar figure, realising it’s Asher.
Where is he sneaking off to?
Maybe he’s going to see the twins and didn’t want to wake me.
My chest tightens at the thought of my boys tonight. How angry they were with me. How I think I even saw hate in their eyes. Like the real kind of hate that destroys souls.
Shit.
I spin from the window, knowing only one thing will help me get this anger from my system, so I throw on some clothes and quietly leave my house.
I have no idea where Asher went, but I can’t think of him right now. The best thing for him is if I get this anger out of me so I don’t point it towards him.
I drive to my warehouse, sneaking in through the dark entrance and making my way to the vault. It’s a metal room that has all my goodies in it. Like my supply of black latex suits, weapons, tools, and items required to make bodies disappear without a trace.
Once I get changed, I take the car I keep inside the warehouse and drive across town to the lesser neighbourhood where carrying a gun is advisable if you have the means to get your hands on one.
I park two streets over, weaving through the yards of properties instead of taking the path. If anyone sees a woman walking up the road in an outfit suitable for Catwoman, they get noticed, but unfortunately, it’s essential to keep other people’s DNA off me since things tend to get messy.
I climb over the back fence of the property my target resides in, the yard easy to navigate because it’s basically grass and dirt with a fence around it.
People in this neighbourhood don’t spend money on landscaping, and the houses are so close together that there’s barely a metre between the two structures.
It’s a little annoying as there’s more chance of someone hearing the cries of my victim, but since there’s already the heavy beat of music coming from a number of houses, it won’t hurt to add more to it.
I’ve only been to this area of Hedgwick a few times, and each time was to visit Asher’s mum. She lives on this street. Across the road, in fact. A house that she thought was suitable for raising her son in.
I’m not trying to be a snob. I know not everyone has the privilege of living in a large home with landscaped gardens and fresh paint every few years, but there are many in this neighbourhood that still give their family a safe place to live.
Asher’s mum never even did that.
Approaching the back door of the nearly dilapidated house, I notice it wide open, which is odd given the chill in the air.
I don’t know why someone in this area would even consider leaving their house open like that, especially at all hours of the night.
It does make things ten times easier for me, though, so I step over the threshold, closing the back door behind me with a gentle click.
The glow and low tone of a TV reaches me from the front of the house, which must be the living room. It’s turned down low, like it’s merely background noise, and a moment later, I pick up the steady rumble of snoring.
Walking through the rest of the tiny house, I check that the two bedrooms and one bathroom are empty before going to the front door and clicking it shut, too.
Seriously, it’s an open invitation leaving doors open like that.
Once I’m convinced we won’t be disturbed, I approach the chubby guy sleeping in the armchair, his head tipped back, and mouth parted while truck-like snores fall from his lips.
He’s wearing a t-shirt that’s five sizes too small for him that says ‘Great vibes’ across the front, his round belly exposed, and I cringe at his poor fashion sense before I give his knee a shove with my foot.
He doesn’t stir.
For fuck’s sake.
I rear my foot back and kick him square in the nuts.
His eyes fly open as a choked gasp lodges in his throat from the combination of shock and pain, his hands moving to his junk on instinct as he wheezes.
“Hi Gilbert.” I flash him a smile as I pick up the remote and turn up the volume to max on his TV while he starts coughing, another wheeze sounding in his chest. “I’m your wet dream and worst nightmare bundled together in a package full of rage,” I tell him, loving the fear in his eyes. “And tonight, you’re the lucky winner.”
Gilbert coughs again before choking out, “W-winner of w-what?”
“The winner of being carved up by the Crimson Angel, of course.”
He goes to scream, but I lunge forward, pressing my blade to his throat.
“Uh-uh, Gilly. Screaming is a no no until I at least give you a little cut.” I glide the side of my blade over his cheek, loving the whimper that falls past his lips.
“But if you want to make me happy, which really is something I recommend, then you should tell me where Julian and Stuart MacKenzie are hiding.”
He whimpers, “I d-don’t know.”
I tilt my head to the side, pouting. “Wrong answer, Gilly.” I turn my blade over and start slicing the sharp edge through the greasy, open-pored skin on his cheek.
He cries out, and I tut.
“Really, Gilly. That was nothing. Just a paper cut, really.” I pull the knife back to show him the blood, and his wide eyes flick to it before he starts trembling. “Now, let’s start again. Where are Julian and Stuart MacKenzie hiding?”
“I-I…”
I dig the blade in again and he hisses, trying to pull back, but he has nowhere to go. I have him trapped in his armchair.
“Make sure you give me the answer I’m looking for, Gilly. You don’t want to upset me now, do you?”
He shakes his head as he pants and whimpers, and the stench of urine hits me.
I sigh. “Did you just piss your pants, Gilly?”
He nods frantically. And I screw up my nose.
“That’s not very nice. Is that any way to behave around a guest?”
This time, he shakes his head frantically as tears pool in his eyes.
Sighing, I lean back a fraction to give him some space, and also relieve myself from the stench of his breath. It’s enough to make a girl hurl. Honestly, it’s not that hard to keep up with good dental hygiene.
“Alright, Gilly. Let’s cut to the chase.” I press my foot against his piss-soaked jewels and apply a little pressure. “Tell me exactly what you know about the MacKenzie brothers’ whereabouts, and I’ll go easy on you.”
“I-I.” He takes a big gulp before continuing. “T-they left quickly. Said I was no longer needed. B-but I overheard t-them talking on the phone, a-and they planned to m-make it look like they left the country, b-but they were going to stay in England. Close by.”
I remove my foot from his junk and flash him a smile. “There. You see. That wasn’t so hard. Was it?”
Gilbert shakes his head.
“Do you know anything else useful? Like when you cleaned for them, did you ever see or hear anything you weren’t meant to?”
His lower lip starts trembling, and he nods. “T-they used to talk a-about a place called The Vista. About new shipments being sent there.”
“Good, Gilly. That’s good information.”
“Please don’t k-kill me. I ain’t done nothing wrong,” he pleads, and I roll my eyes.
“Now, Gilbert. You know, and I know, that’s a load of hogwash.” He pales, shrinking back in his chair. “Your rap sheet says you’ve had a very eventful life of forcing yourself on women. In fact, Julian MacKenzie hired you because you know some very creative ways to subdue a woman. Don’t you?”
He starts crying, snot flying from his nose as unintelligible words spew from his lips.
Ugh.
The best thing I can do for this country is to rid it of this loser.
Gilbert doesn’t even see the moment I strike, my swing fast as I jab my knife into his ear canal, sinking deep into his brain. His cries mute instantly, and relief washes over me as he slumps.
Unfortunately, though, killing him hasn’t done what I’d hoped it would.
I’m still angry. Still frothing to shed more blood.
Wiping the blade of my knife on Gilbert’s pants, I stand back, a little disappointed that there isn’t more carnage from my kill.
Have I lost my touch?
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I glide my gloved finger through the blood oozing from his ear and draw my angel wings with the halo above it on the wall next to the chair, leaving my call sign.
Once done, I stand back, studying my artwork, and feeling nothing but disappointment.
This wasn’t satisfying at all.
I decide it’s time to up the game with the MacKenzie brothers, so I rummage through Gilbert’s kitchen drawers, finding a pen and notepad, and scribble out a note for the detectives to find.
MY NAME IS GILBERT AND I’M A RAPIST.
I WORKED FOR JULIAN AND STUART MACKENZIE
WHO ARE ALSO RAPISTS.
THEY ARE SEX TRAFFICKERS AND ARE CURRENTLY HIDING FROM THE CRIMSON ANGEL BECAUSE THEY ARE GUILTY MOTHERFUCKERS AND KNOW THAT WHEN SHE CATCHES UP WITH THEM, THEY WILL SUFFER FOR WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO EVERY SINGLE VICTIM. TEN THOUSAND TIMES OVER!!!
Happy with my note, I hold it to Gilbert’s chest and keep it in place with the pen, stabbing it through the note and his skin.
Standing back again, I admire it for a moment, deciding to snap a picture of this for myself. If this doesn’t get leaked to the press, then I’ll send them this photo myself. Anonymously, of course.
Heat on the MacKenzie brothers is essential right now.
Until I can find them myself, I want them to know I’m coming for them, and for the public to spread the rumours about their extracurricular activities.
I’ll fuck with their reputations, and if I can’t find them, they will eventually come out of hiding to come after me for ruining their standing.
Smirking, I nod to myself, feeling better about this kill now.
Yes. Maybe it was quicker and less gory than usual, but this should send those fuckers a message loud and clear.
Turning my back on Gilbert, I turn the volume back down on his TV and make my way to the front door to open it again, wanting to leave the house open, like I found it when I came in.
If no one stumbles upon Gilly, then the stench will reach the street to alert the neighbours soon enough.
As soon as I have the front door open, I hear the sounds of a scuffle outside, and I can’t help myself. I take a peek.
In the shadows just outside Gilbert’s house are two guys. One on the ground being held by the scruff of his shirt, while the other beats the living crap out of him.
What makes this so intriguing to watch is that the guy throwing the punches is extremely familiar to me. The broad shoulders. The menacing stance. The shadowed silhouette of a man with passion, heart, and a helluva lot of fight.
“You tell Monty that if he lays another hand on my mum, or even tries to fuck her again, I’ll do worse than this to him,” he rasps, his tone laced with a promising danger that ignites heat deep in my core.
Asher.
He sneers in the guy’s face, shoving his head hard to the concrete path with a sickening crunch before stepping over his still form, and without a second glance, Asher strides off down the street.
Well, fuck. Not only is Lily salivating for that man, but the Crimson Angel just fell in love.