Chapter 8 Lucie
EIGHT
LUCIE
Chris is insisting on getting me a drink for the third time tonight and I’m at my wit’s end. He pushes the glass into my hand, already full of something clear and pungent. I don’t take it.
“Come on, sweet Luce.” I cringe at the nickname. “Have a drink with me,” he slurs, his gaze lecherous.
With the alcohol flowing through me already, I’m very close to punching his veneers.
I injured a murderer this summer, a trained killer who escaped everyone.
This guy is nothing. But damn, he doesn’t know how to take a hint.
He’s not the type I would ever be nice to.
I might be a people pleaser but I’m not a doormat, and certainly not a pushover.
“I said ‘no’, Chris. I’m not interested. And don’t call me Luce. My name’s Lucie.”
“Mina calls you Loulou. Why can’t I call you something sweet, too? Just like you.”
“Because Mina’s my friend.
“I could be your friend.”
His firm hand closes around my elbow. He uses his bigger body, his strength and mostly my surprise to pin me to the wall.
No one looks at us twice, trysts happening all around us.
We probably look like a couple making out.
Except, this is anything but innocent dry humping.
His hand paws at my tits and he squeezes.
I cry out but the music swallows it. My heart pounds in my ears, blood rushing until everything around us goes muted.
Time slows around me, but not for him. His other hand makes a swift descent between my legs.
“I know what a party girl like you wants,” he rasps, grinding his hard cock against my thigh.
I don’t know why this word, ‘party girl’, makes me angry, but it’s my saving grace.
Everything comes back rushing. Including my training.
I play along, gliding a hand to his face until I can reach the soft flesh under his jaw and press two fingers against his trachea.
He jerks back enough for me to punch his throat.
I’m sure his coughs would be music to my ears if I could hear them.
The next thing I do is a low blow.
Literally.
A knee to the dick.
Chris doubles over, kneeling in front of me. I raise his chin with a finger and slap his cheek gently. Twice. People snicker around us. They haven’t seen the entire interaction but they revel in the humiliation. Chris picks himself up and disappears up the stairs.
Is this why my father, Dante, Aleksei, Irina all crave violence? That rush into my bloodstream at hurting my enemy making me feel invincible is better than any drug. Better than being a good little sunshine.
I try to find Mina in the crowd but she disappeared, probably went home with Josh. I look down at my phone. I have an unread message from her. And missed calls from the magic trio.
Shit.
Oh no.
I sent a picture to Dante, Irina and Aleksei in my drunken stupor.
I can’t focus on this right now. One thing at a time.
I’ll call them when I’m home. When it’s silent.
I look at the picture again. Other people are visible in the background, but maybe I can weave a tale of a house party that Gemma and Milosh accompanied me to.
I wince. Asking the man to lie for me will be hard, especially after I drugged him and his wife.
I groan and open the thread with Mina.
Mina
Lucie, where are you?
Mina
I’ll be at the DJ but Benoit is in a bad shape. Jay and I might have to bring him home.
Mina
Babe, Benoit just puked on my shoes and doesn’t want to come home with Jay and I. We’re taking him anyway. Please tell me you’re okay. Send me a text when you see this and when you’re home. After we put Benoit to bed, I’ll come back to get you. Should be 30 minutes.
It’s the first time a friend has sent me so many messages when we lost each other in a party.
And the very first to tell me they’d come get me.
It shouldn’t make me emotional but somehow, that small token of friendship, something that should be expected and freely given, makes me feel all gooey and happy.
A late night ramen is going to be the cherry on top of this epic night.
Me
Sorry Mina, my knee had a run-in with Chris’s limp dick.
Mina
What the fuck did he do?
Me
Groped me, probably would have tried more if I didn’t kick his ass.
Mina
That’s my girl! I’ll come get you. Stay in the ladies’ room.
Me
Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’m going home. My feet are killing me.
Mina
Text me when you’re safe behind your door.
I’m too tired to remind myself that people always leave me in the end and bask in this new-found friendship, a real smile on my face as I make my way to a pile of coats discarded on the floor in a corner of the large basement.
I take mine off the pile, praying no one has puked or spilled their beer on it.
As I pass a dark corner, a familiar shape grabs my attention.
I take a step forward. A guy has his hands inside a girl’s panties, her dress bunched around her waist. When I snap my eyes to her face, her head is lolling to the side like she’s seconds from passing out.
I march to them and push the man off of her. He stumbles. And I recognise him.
“Fucking hell, Chris, get the fuck off of her.” I’m pushing at his chest with both hands but his surprise is short-lived.
“You’re a fucking ball-buster, you know that, bitch?”
My heart lurches to my throat at the clear threat in his posture but he must think we’re not worth it and he moves on, disappearing again into the crowd.
I turn to the girl, who’s now on the floor, head bowed into her bent knees.
She’s scrawny and I have no problem sliding a shoulder under her arm and carrying to the bathroom, where I rally other women to find her friends.
It takes twelve minutes. Relief surges through me when two blondes hug their friend to their chests.
They’re drunk, too, but not as bad as the one with the sparkly dress.
“Oh my God, thank you, Lucie. Thank you.”
I didn’t even know they knew my name.
“Bree, where have you been?” one of them asks their friend who mumbles incoherently.
“You should take her home. Chris assaulted her. She’ll need to go to the police tomorrow.”
They look at each other, something passing between them.
“Word of advice. Just avoid him.”
Then, they’re gone, carrying their friend with them.
The way they said it sounded like it’s not the first time one of the girls has had a run-in with Chris, and it makes me want to get the gun I left in London and shoot him in the fucking face. If I could hit the man who took Dante, I could easily take him. And he deserves to pay.
Rage simmers low in my belly. Then, I shake myself.
This is behind me. It must be the alcohol talking. That’s not how you take care of people who hurt others in the real world. I’m not in the mafia anymore, I can’t keep dealing with problems like this.
I promise myself I’ll contact the girl tomorrow and decide to finally walk home. The stairs stick under my shoes as I climb them up to street level.
When I turn the corner, I freeze. Two people are close together against the wall of the university. The lamp post is far enough that they’re half in shadows. Yet, the blood is unmistakable.
One man is crumpled to the ground, whining, face beat up and bleeding, already swelling.
He clutches his two hands to his chest, his fingers bent at unnatural angles.
The other is massive, standing over him in dark jeans that cling to his muscular thighs and a white tee-shirt taunt against his broad chest. His fist is raised, knuckles broken and dripping to the pavement underneath.
My throat dries. I shouldn’t be here.
“Lucie! Call the cops, Lucie. He’s a psycho,” the man wheezes and I realise it’s Chris.
When the stranger turns his focus to me from the man he just pummelled to a pulp, my breath hitches.
He’s wearing a dark, slick helmet, his face completely covered, yet I can feel his eyes on me, intent and relentless.
The same, familiar feeling of being watched settles over me.
My shoulders drop. I want to take a step towards the stranger, something I can’t name pulling me forward but my feet don’t obey.
My brain must recognise the danger before I do.
“Lu—”
“Don’t fucking say her name,” the mysterious stranger barks, his voice muffled under the helmet. Then, he raises Chris against the wall with a single hand around his throat.
My eyes widen at the sight of Chris’s attempt at dislodging his attacker.
He flails. Soon, his strength diminishes.
The muscles on the arms of the masked man bulge with the effort and I wet my lips.
This is no small feat. Strangling a man to death with only one hand takes strength but also dedication and precision.
And why I am admiring the stranger’s strength and murder abilities? Manslaughter is happening in front of my eyes.
I blame my upbringing for the sense of righteousness coursing through me at seeing a man punished for his crimes.
I wasn’t the only one he touched without permission.
This piece of shit is known on campus for molesting women, so much so that they warn each other about him.
What the man with the helmet is doing is a favour to all women on campus.
The stranger turns his attention back to me. I’m pinned under his stare. Slowly, he releases Chris from his hold. With his attention on me, both his massive hands take hold of Chris’s jaw and twist with a sickening crunch of bones.
I gasp.
His victim crumples at his feet. I’m frozen, too taken by the aura of the man. Something must be wrong with me.
The stranger straightens up again, moving with a grace the bulk of his body hides. A true predator if I ever saw one.
When he reaches me, my breaths are coming out in small pants, condensation escaping my mouth with how cold the night has become. Blood rushes in my ears.
Slowly, his hands move towards me. He takes the two sides of my jacket into his fingers, careful not to touch any part of my body. And zips it all the way up. Warmth engulfs me. And calm sets in.
I can’t see his eyes, my distorted refection the only thing looking back at me in the visor of his helmet. Yet, I know he won’t hurt me.
A burst of laughter disturbs our strange connection and I glance back. When my head turns straight again, the stranger has taken a step back and I almost miss his presence.
Fuck.
A corpse lays at our feet.
And what do you do with a random corpse?
My training kicks in. Not the one where I run. No, the one where I find a solution to a very annoying problem, like my dad taught me. Not that he had a lesson about finding murderers on the streets and helping them cover up, but we did cover the topic of clean up.
I should call an ambulance, the cops, report a crime. I really should. But I don’t.
I don’t need that kind of attention on me and my family. The goal was to keep a low profile, not attract more trouble. And an ambulance is useless now. Reporting this means my family will triple my security detail. I’ll never be free again.
“You’re by motorbike?” I ask the stranger who nods once, undisturbed by his dark deed.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What sort of killer doesn’t plan for clean up?
” My voice borders on hysterical. “Or do you plan on getting caught? Fucking hell. Did you just think you’d let the body rot to be found by the first drunk student coming this way? ”
My temper surges, so violent and free it knock the air out of my lungs. I have such a tight control on my emotions, usually. Somehow, the masked murderer, who I’m pretty sure has been following me for weeks, is a safe enough container for my rage. I’m losing it.
I pick up my phone and dial Dante, who answers on the first ring.
“What the fuck, Lu? Where are you? Where are Gemma and Milosh?”
“I’m okay. I—”
“That’s not what I asked,” he yells, frantic.
As much as I appreciate his protectiveness, it makes me feel like a child and I resent him for it just a little bit. The sensation floods me at the same time as guilt does. Gemma and Milosh are going to lose their jobs. Maybe worse.
I close my eyes. Blood rushes to my ears.
Before my mind starts to spiral, the stranger’s rough finger trails on my cheek in a slow stroke.
My eyelids fly open, a breath caught in my throat.
Fire erupts where his finger glides slowly down my jaw, helping to ground me to the present moment. I swallow hard.
“I have a situation,” I tell Dante.
“What kind of situation?”
“Do you happen to know a burial site in Scotland? Like, close by?”
“What the fuck happened? Where the fuck are you, Lucie? I’m gonna kill Milosh and Gemma. Are you safe?”
I sigh. I’m never going to hear the end of this.
“I just killed someone. And I need clean up.” Lying has always been easy.
I don’t usually do it with my words, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s second nature and somehow, for reasons unknown to my psyche yet, I want to protect the killer who’s still standing at attention in front of me, like he’s waiting for my orders. And I… like it?
“You did what?”
“He tried to assault me. And another girl on campus.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
“I’ll destroy his entire family,” Dante seethes over the phone and I hear Irina and Aleksei grumble on the other end of the line, as well. “Tell me his name.”
“Focus, cugino. He’s already dead, and if I don’t get rid of the body and find an excuse for his disappearance, I’m going to jail. I love pink too much to go to jail.”
“Venturas don’t go to jail, Loulou. Send me your location, I’ll send someone to pick up the body. Don’t be there when they arrive, no one should see you. I own a pig farm across the border, we’ll dump your victim there.”
“I always knew you had it in you,” Irina chimes in. “Well done. But you’re grounded.”
“I’m twenty, Irina.”
She chuckles.
They hung up and silence descends in the darkened alley.
While I was on the phone, the stranger has moved closer to me again, only a few inches separating us.
Heat wafts off his body, his cologne more intoxicating than the alcohol I consumed today.
Something familiar hits my senses but the adrenaline inside my system cuts the memory attached to the smell.
“Go home,” his rough voice says under the helmet.
With a last glance at the body behind him, I nod and turn around. My feet pick up speed until I’m running, all the way to my flat, cheeks heated despite the cold morning air. My feet burn in my boots. My lungs seize.
I look for the sensation of someone watching me, but it’s not there.