Chapter 51
Ineed a hunt to distract me from them. They are overwhelming me, and if I’m not careful, they will smash through all my walls and take over my life.
I don’t plan to let that happen. I’m still Karma.
I still have a job and responsibilities.
I won’t be their trophy, and they accept that, which I’m glad for.
A man came to me last week, said he was out of options and heard from a friend that when everyone else failed, I would be there.
The whispers on the streets told him that.
When you’re out of options and desperate, come to me.
All it took was one look at his dead eyes to know he needed me, and when he told me why, I immediately got to work.
Research was key for this one, as was planning.
This isn’t just a rival gang member or a theft, this is so much more, and I want to give this man the justice he deserves.
Leaning into my bike, I glance down at the picture on my phone then back at the man.
It’s definitely him. I followed him a few times last week to get his schedule down.
The idiot sticks to it like it’s written in stone—gym, breakfast, then home and work.
Starting my bike, I squeeze into traffic a few cars down from his imported British car and follow him home. When he pulls into the fancy gated driveway of his big house, I park down the street and wait to give him enough time to get inside.
I could take him away and do it elsewhere, but I want them to find him here. I want them to see what happens when the law fails.
Five minutes later, I stroll down the driveway to his front door and ring the bell.
Not a minute later, he answers, still sweating from his workout.
He’s in his late forties with graying hair.
I would have considered him attractive if I didn’t know what he was.
He’s in a suit in all the photos of him online, which as a CEO of a major pharmaceutical company makes sense.
They’ve had him at home recently since the case was leaked online to contain the bad press, but he smiles when he sees me like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and that annoys me more.
“Delivery?” he asks in confusion, looking me up and down.
“Of a sort.” I grin before I slam my fist into his face. He stumbles back with a shout, his nose broken. I step over his body and kick the door shut as I grab the neck of his shirt and drag him down the hallway to his sitting room.
His wife isn’t here right now. She’s on a spiritual retreat in Cabo—more like to get away from it all.
There’s no way that woman didn’t know what she married, yet she stayed, protecting a monster like him.
She’ll get her own justice, I made sure of that, but he’s my victim today, not her or the others who failed everyone.
His shock finally gives way when I throw him into an armchair. Pulling my bag around, I grab ropes as he recovers and goes to tackle me. We hit the floor, and I roll us then press my knee to his neck. Within seconds, he’s out cold. He isn’t used to fighting with adults.
I take my time to find a good chair. It’s a metal one from the kitchen, not wooden.
I’ve had someone escape from them before, but not this time.
I haul his heavy ass up and bind him. “All that time spent at the gym for muscles, and you still got taken down by little old me, idiot,” I mutter before strolling into his kitchen, filling a glass with ice water, then heading back and throwing it into his face.
He wakes with a sputter and yelp, tugging at his bindings as he screams at me. I let him get it all out. They have to conclude they are captive on their own, and breaking their hope is the best part. I let him rant and rave.
Anger.
Placing my bag down on the sofa, I open it, letting him watch as I lay out my tools on the perfectly organized cushions. That’s when his anger starts to give way to fear. “Please, please, what do you want? Money? I have lots.”
Bargaining.
“So do I.” Lifting a knife, I let it catch the light for him to see.
Mental torture is sometimes more successful than physical.
“However, you couldn’t pay me enough to stop this.
” I cover the short distance between us and stand close enough to smell his sweat, tapping his cheek with the sharp edge of my blade.
“I’m here on behalf of every single child whose innocence you stole.
That’s what you did, didn’t you? You hurt them.
You’re a pedophile, and you thought you’d get away with it. ”
His eyes widen as I press the knife to his throat.
“I know everything, and there’s no one to save you this time.
No money. No connections. No one is coming for you.
It’s just you and me and my bag of toys.
I’m betting you have one of those. It will be a little like that.
Did you tell them it wouldn’t hurt much?
I bet you did. You probably even told them they might like it.
Don’t worry, you won’t like this at all, but I will. ”
Tears roll down his face as he shakes and fights his bindings, terror removing rational thought when faced with his own mortality. This is my favorite part—the moment the mask is stripped away, revealing the animal underneath.
“Did you touch them with these hands?” I ask as I hold the knife up.
“Please, it was wrong. I can make this right. I’ll turn myself in,” he argues.
“Not what I asked.” I grab his chin, force his mouth open, and shove the wide edge of the knife in until he’s choking on it. When he’s about to pass out from panic, I pull it out. He coughs and gags as I step back. “Answer the question. It will make this easier for you.”
“Yes, yes,” he sobs. “I touched them. I’m sorry.
I couldn’t stop myself. They were just so pretty, so perfect and small—” I smash the knife into his face before he can carry on.
I don’t want to hear it. Flipping the knife, I stab it into each hand as he screams and writhes.
As I pull it out, I make sure to twist the blade so his fingers will no longer work, and then I get to work with bolt cutters.
I take every single finger off until his hand is just a stump.
He passes out a few times, but I always bring him back—Willow made me a perfect concoction of drugs that will keep him alive and feeling all the pain, which I injected the second time he passed out.
While he’s still crying, I get creative. I cut off his clothes so he’s naked. It’s a mental warfare trick, leaving him vulnerable and off-balance. He cries like a child. “Look at you, pathetic. Did you take pictures of your victims?”
When he doesn’t answer, I slice off a nipple, and he howls. “Videos, digital.”
“Of course,” I snarl as I grab the camera and take one. I make sure to use my voice modulator just in case as I move it close to his red, snotty face. “Cry for me like your victims did.” He sobs harder as I run the camera down his body. “Beg like they did.”
“Please, please, I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me,” he whines.
He broke quicker than I thought he would, but most predators do.
They are used to being the strongest, most dangerous person in the room, and their victims are young and helpless.
When they are faced with someone who can look after themselves, they don’t know what to do.
They prey on the helpless.
I keep recording. “Tell me what you did to them.”
“I hurt them. I’m so sorry—” Fisting his hair, I lift his head and shove the camera in his face.
“No, tell me what you did.” He doesn’t get to escape this time.
“I raped them. All of them. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Where?” I demand.
“Here, upstairs, a secret room,” he admits, looking at me through the camera. “Please, call the police. I’ll go to jail. I’ll admit it all.”
“No, jail is too good for you.” Putting the camera down, I move back. “You like both boys and girls, correct?”
His eyes close as his head falls. “Yes,” he whispers.
“Do you know some of them will never recover from what you did? Not just mentally, but physically? Their bodies will never be the same from what you forced them to endure, and now neither will yours.” Heading to my bag, I pick up a long poker as fury unlike anything I’ve felt before guides me.
The slats on the metal chair give me a good angle as I step in front of him, kicking him until he’s face down on the carpet.
He struggles, begging and crying, but I tune it out as I shove it into his ass.
He screams and bleeds, but I don’t care.
I keep it buried in him as I lift his chair again until he’s sitting on it and facing the camera.
He’s passed out. Grabbing Willow’s next concoction of drugs, I inject it straight above his heart like she told me to. When I described what I needed, she didn’t even question it. He’ll stay alive and conscious.
He jerks awake with a gasp then screams. “Shut up,” I bark, and he falls silent. “Tell me about the room.”
“Hallway between my bedroom and office. The panel is hidden there.” I kick the chair slightly, and it must move the poker because he starts screaming again. I video it once more before getting annoyed. He’s giving me a headache.
Grabbing a huge knife, I show it to him before I get to work carving off his manhood.
I wear gloves, not wanting to touch him, and when I’m done, he’s losing too much blood.
I blowtorch the edge of the blade and cauterize the wound.
It won’t hold forever, but just for what I need.
I shove his bloody member in his mouth for him to gag on.
It silences his screams, and I point in his face.
“Don’t die yet,” I admonish as I grab the camera and stalk up his staircase to the second floor to find this room.