2. Laszlo
It’d been two days since an angel looked down upon me.
She was dressed in an ill-fitted skirt and a pink halter top. Her golden hair was so long it was unbelievable, like spun silk. Thick thighs hid her panties from me, even from my vantage point on the ground. Her eyes were wide and clear blue, and very beautiful.
She asked me if I was planting a bomb.
Now, how would a young beauty know something like that?
I wasn’t a man who made mistakes. My plan was carefully crafted over the last year, and I jammed the city lights, making the street go dark. It would’ve taken me thirty-six seconds to place the bomb and remote detonator under the driver’s side of Nikolas Alexander’s car.
She wasn’t part of my careful calculations. Her reactions, even less so. I had expected her to scream and run away once she realized what I was doing. Then she had to be so damn intriguing by keeping my secret.
I couldn’t risk killing Nikolas openly anymore, or sending the message I originally wanted to.
My carefully laid plans were… recalibrated.
I would make it look like an accident instead.
Then, once I killed Nikolas and took his job, I would see her again, and I’d ensure her silence.
If she was clever enough to figure out I had a bomb, she was clever enough to piece together who Nikolas was.
She saw my face, or what wasn’t hidden by the Balaklava at least.
She’d told the byki she worked at the Vasilyev Bratva bar. Bodrov, the local Bratok, frequented the place with his brigade. It was a legit business, one they laundered money through, so it was as clean as any place connected with organized crime got.
But first, I had to take out my target.
The moneyman for the Bratva could afford a decent hotel, along with the bribes he’d need to pay staff to look the other way.
Even before I siphoned off most of his bank accounts, financially destroying him, he took his child trafficking victims to this abandoned house.
Called in a few favours from Bodrov’s men to help him procure victims, keep watch for the cops.
Zach was one of Nikolas’ frequent victims. The night before, when I was staking the place out, I spotted him escaping from a boarded-up window. I offered him a roll of bills, and he told me the kids used it when they needed to escape. When the men got too rough.
He was only twelve-years-old.
A bit younger than I’d been when my entire life was fucking destroyed.
He told me everything I needed to know about the layout of the interior, and I told him that I would be back the next night.
Zach had given me a look like he didn’t believe me.
Every adult in his life had let him down, disappointed and hurt him.
It was the same look I wore all through my teen years, and wouldn’t be assuaged by words alone.
I would prove it to him by my actions tonight by freeing him of his tormentor.
The rain held off, but the fog was icy, still holding some of the chill of a brutal winter. The trap house Nikolas used was on the edge of the industrial side of town, close to the unhoused encampments and a source of victims.
A red-haired man leaned against the wall next to the front door. I recognized him from my research. Jimmy “the Crab” Chernyk, a low level baklany with a domestic violence allegation that was dropped before it reached the courts.
He was smoking weed and talking on his phone. The streets were quiet, and I could hear his words. “Naw, man, you know I like big ol’ titties. Plus, she has hair like one of those religious freaks. But then you look at her face and it’s like, damn… I wanna ruin that.”
Her. He was talking about her.
My angel.
The fury was boiling too hot. I sucked in a sharp breath. Fantasized about stabbing him in the eye and feeding him the goop that came out.
The mission had my nerves on edge. That was the only explanation for my sudden desire to protect a woman I didn’t even know. I wasn’t some valiant hero, and I couldn’t afford to be reckless, so I swallowed it down and focused on the task at hand.
Most of the lampposts were shattered on this side of town, and I crept through the alleyway in the shadows. A bigger man would have struggled to slip through the boarded-up window, but I’d always been slim. I removed my overcoat, lifting myself up and into the house.
Loud music reverberated through that awful place, masking the sounds. I could smell it, though. Vomit. Piss.
Terror.
There were footsteps in the hall on the other side of the closed door. I palmed my black blade and bided my time until they were gone. This was my best shot at making this death look accidental, but if a byki caught me, I’d adapt.
An empty room was across from me, and to my right, a closed door.
The handle was jammed. I took out my lock-picking kit and set my phone in my front pocket with the light on as I rubbed the rust away. It was old, and the keyhole was corroded. I scraped until I felt the tines, and pushed out everything else, concentrating on the mechanical pressure points.
It yielded to me, and I turned off my light and pocketed my tools. I’d rather eat a bullet than confront what was behind the door, but I wouldn’t allow my trauma to turn me into a bystander who allowed a man to violate a child. I wasn’t like my parents.
But I also wasn’t a hero, and murdering this serial rapist wouldn’t make me a vigilante. I was creating a job opening for myself. My goals were selfish, fixated upon my own revenge. But all the rage I had nursed over the decades would be temporarily sated when I killed this child rapist.
The door creaked when I pushed it open. It didn’t matter. The moneyman was distracted in the worst possible way. He grunted, rocking on a dirty mattress. The grotesque sight of his tiny ass and sweaty, hairy back heaving was repellant, because beneath him was an unconscious body.
Fear, inky black, dripped down my spine. I swallowed the bile in my throat. The scent, the sounds all threatened to yank me into my past, triggering memories I never wanted to relive. Decades old anger poisoned my blood, and I let that rage motivate me to action.
I closed the door, locked it again, grabbed a half broken chair and propped it beneath the handle so that no one could interrupt what I was about to do. My fist gripped the end of my long, electric cattle prod, and I crossed the room in three strides.
“Not a fucking word,” I hissed as I pressed the metal tip to Nikolas’ spine.
He tensed up, all movement ceasing.
“I have money… lots of it!” That was a lie. I’d already stolen his money and donated most of it to a charity for victims of child abuse.
Besides, there was no amount of money that could save his life.
I jabbed the prod into his back harder, not yet releasing the electricity into him. I couldn’t risk hurting the girl.
“Get off her,” I rasped. Every word took a great amount of force, restraint.
All I wanted to do was beat this fucker to death with my bare hands, but it had to look like an accident.
If the Pakhan or Avtoritet investigated, they’d want witnesses.
I wouldn’t leave them anything that would lead them to finding the kids.
If they did, they’d question them and then kill them to ensure they’d never talk to the cops.
I wouldn’t let anything more happen to Zach or this girl.
Nikolas obeyed, stood, backed away from the bed. I glanced at his victim, noticed she was still breathing, her eyes fluttering as if she were sleeping. Her dreamy expression did nothing to calm the fury raging in my soul.
“On the floor.”
He tried to look at me. I pressed the prod into his back, firmer, disavowing him of the notion. He knelt, hand on his head, as if I were a common robber.
“My wallet is over there,” Nikolas said, gesturing to the pile of clothes on a chair. He was already panting, ruddy and coated in sweat. There was a package of blue pills on the nightstand. He’d had to pop some dick pills to violate a child.
It gave me an idea.
“Start doing push-ups.”
His shoulders slumped, head tilted.
“What?”
My switchblade was in my left hand, the sound of it opening enough of a threat to drop him to the ground. I lowered the knife down until he felt the tip of the blade scraping on his balls.
Motivation.
He hadn’t worked out in many years. His arms shook, his large body wobbled as he attempted to do a push-up. “Derganaya ebanashka,” he swore, his face crimson as he forced himself to keep going.
The pills were doing a number on his already strained heart, and he was struggling. I stood and pressed my expensive leather boot on his backside until his dick was rubbing on the dirty wooden floor.
“Don’t stop. I want to see your technique. Fuck the floor.”
“I… I can’t—”
He deserved to suffer, and disobedience came with a cost. Instead of my switchblade, the cattle prod pressed to his saggy balls. A jolt of electricity jumped through his body. The sizzle of flesh and burning hair gagged me.
He crumpled forward. His wheezing breath was ragged and sour, sweat pouring down his face. His body was failing him, his heart straining against the torture.
“Fuck the floor,” I seethed, enunciating each word for emphasis.
He placed his hands on the floor, trembling. He was a weak man. Weak of flesh, weak of will, weak of character. This man has harmed countless people. Abused them, used them up, and discarded them. He was heartless, a sociopath, but he could experience pain, and I rejoiced in that.
I felt not an ounce of guilt for enjoying his suffering as he did more pathetic little push-ups, heart racing, about to burst out of his chest.
Each new exhale was a loud sputtering, spittle flying from his thick lips. I shoved down on his ass again, making him fuck the hard floor each time he rose. He squawked and choked out pained sounds in response, but kept going.
“Pills… heart… pills.” His face was red, and he reached towards his clothes, towards his pills.
“Here, let me give you a boost,” I said, and I turned up the voltage on the cattle prod and blasted painful electrical shocks to his taint. Even if there was an autopsy, they’d just think he was into some kinky shock play in sex and got carried away.
His mouth parted to scream as he jerked, but nothing came out. He spasmed in soundless agony.
As he crumpled onto his back, staring up at me with those wide, glossy eyes, I tilted my head.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you. Something lodged in your throat?” I mocked as I pushed that long rod into his mouth and hit him with another jolt.
I made it last as long as I could.
His victims deserved to know that for once, he suffered. For once, there was an adult who protected them. For once, someone shared in their justified rage. I forced myself to be present, to resist the urge to disassociate and hide inside the quieter parts of my mind. I unleashed my wrath on him.
His heart couldn’t stand it.
Soon I was prodding a dead body, watching his muscles spasm. The sizzling flesh made me sick, but I wouldn’t take a chance of him surviving this. If there were an ounce of pain I could inflict on him, I would. I hoped it followed him into hell, even if I didn’t believe in it.
Staring into his vacant bug-eyes, I knew he was gone. I checked his pulse to be certain.
He had no visible marks on him, other than the scratched-up dick from being made to fuck the floor. When his guards found him, hopefully they’d think he slipped, trying to get his pills.
I went to the bed, swaddling the girl in the sheets and lifting her. She had dark hair, just like Lilien, but this girl, I saved. Not in time, not before damage was done, but maybe it would be enough.
There was a shattered window in the room, and I swept out the loose glass, taking Nikolas’ most recent victim outside. Zach looked at me with an unreadable expression.
I wasn’t na?ve.
The fury in his youthful body would never let me think I was a saviour. I was a man on a mission, not some hero. I’d saved them from one man, but there were others. They were vulnerable to predators, desperate to survive a world that should have been protecting them.
If I sent them to the police or hospital, they’d end up running away from the abusive ‘care’ system again, and be right back where they began.
I’d put the two of them in a long-stay motel, somewhere people knew to mind their business. Get them some support. There was a local service that understood how to help young runaways, operating outside of the typical systems.
“Come with me.” I held the tiny and frail girl close to me, patting her back, my clumsy attempts at soothing her still sleeping body. “I’ll set you up with a place. Have a doctor check on you both.”
Zach was protective of her, and his face warped into a glare. “In exchange for what?”
“In exchange for having killed your benefactor.”
Understanding churned between us. He was relieved that I wasn’t another idiot adult who didn’t know that kids would do what they had to for survival. That for them to be in this place, they were running from something worse.
“What should I tell Clara?” Zach asked, his tone turning softer, on the edge of breaking.
Fuck. I wanted him to tell her it was all a nightmare, that nothing happened, but the body remembers the pain. I sucked in the cold air, letting it sting my lungs.
“Tell her you’ll look out for her. Mean it. And I’ll look out for both of you. Deal?”
He considered, and saw something in me. Something he didn’t see in other adults. It was a shaky trust, but he nodded. My muscles relaxed. He was another witness, one I’d have to take care of, and I would. They would have food, security, and autonomy.
And one day, maybe they’d have what I spent my entire life seeking.
Vengeance.