Out for Blood (The Frat Row Trilogy #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

After hours of carving him down to what’s left, we drag him into the auto repair garage.

His body bumps across the concrete behind us.

A thick trail of blood follows in his wake, streaking the concrete floor red and filling the air with the metallic scent of it.

He shouldn’t still be alive or conscious.

Yet every so often, a wet, ragged gasp chokes out of him.

His face is nearly unrecognizable now, swollen and slick with blood. What remains of his strength is long gone, but some stubborn, miserable part of him refuses to let go.

Instead, it’s just another reminder that monsters can survive far longer than they deserve.

I tower over him, head angled, with a disturbing fascination coursing through me.

Not of what I took but of what’s still intact.

He’s still breathing.

I haven’t taken that from him yet.

Tyler hauls the trafficker back, forcing him against the support pole. He cinches the ratchet strap tight around his waist, one pull, then another, the mechanism clicking, sealing him there.

The sound cuts through the garage, distinct and mechanical.

He jerks against it instantly, but he’s too weak from the blood loss. The strap doesn’t give.

“Go on,” I whisper, leaning in. “Fight it, I’ll tighten it again.”

Tyler mutters something behind him, his voice low and controlled. Then one hand clamps down on the back of the man’s neck, forcing him flush against the pole.

I thread another ratchet strap higher, across his chest this time, in line with his pectoral muscles, drawing it steadily to pin his shoulders back.

Click.

His breathing breaks, turning uneven until fear settles in, sweat already slicking his face.

Click.

The garage lights dangle and buzz, displaying strips of light across the oil-stained and scuffed concrete floor. A distinct smell of gasoline, exhaust fumes, rubber, and blood thick in the air.

I pace around him once, measured and deliberate, studying him from every angle. Satisfied, I drop into a crouch and secure the straps around his ankles.

He tries to fight me off, his hands lunging for me, but Tyler catches his wrists and yanks them behind the pole, stripping away any illusion he had of escaping. The man lets out a strangled curse as Tyler wrenches his arms higher. I rise and circle behind him, joining Tyler at his back.

“Stop” he croaks out. The word clambers from his throat in a blood-soaked gurgle.

I use another ratchet strap, locking his wrists tight.

Click.

I stand, taking my time as my eyes sweep over the straps, every point of movement contained. I stop in front of the man, my head only coming up to his chest.

Tyler double-checks all the straps, then tows a rolling garage stool and sits a few feet back.

The static in my mind stops, all that’s left is cold, perfect clarity and what comes next.

I step in close, crowding him until the pole digs into his back and he runs out of places to look.

He has no choice but to look down at me and his gaze at last drops to mine.

I don’t look away. I want him to get a good look at the person who is about to ruin his night.

“Now,” I tell him, my tone cold enough to bite, “we talk.”

His chest strains against the strap, testing its limits. Sweat is now slipping down his temple and dripping off his jaw. His eyes dance from the floor, wall, Tyler, anywhere but me.

I let the silence stick around and let him sit in it.

“You don’t look like wanderingwolf5.” I sneer.

His gaze snaps to mine. There he is.

I tilt my head, the corner of my mouth lifts in amusement, since I’ve already figured him out. Now I’m just waiting for him to figure out how screwed he is.

“Smaller,” I add. “Less impressive.”

He clenches his jaw, and a flicker of anger crosses his battered features.

“Two more,” I speak softly enough to make him listen. “I want two other sex traffickers in the area.”

“I don’t fucking know anything!”

I stroll over to the corner where I spotted a red pipe wrench, and my fingers grip the bottom of the handle.

I turn and head back toward him. Instead of lifting it, I let the wrench trail behind me.

Metal grinds against the concrete, unleashing a shrill screech that tears through the silence and ricochets off the walls.

When I’m directly in front of him again, I trace the end of the wrench along his foot and slowly slide it up to his kneecap.

Before he can make sense of what I’m doing, I surge forward, gripping the handle with both hands.

I draw back and bring it down hard. The impact explodes through the room as metal collides with bone.

CRACK.

His body folds in the restraints, as he lets out a mangled cry.

“Then scream it louder.” I draw back the wrench in my hand, my expression unchanged. “Maybe it’ll sound more convincing.”

I swing, connecting with his other kneecap.

CRACK.

He moans in agony, his body bucking against the restraints before his head slumps forward.

I press in close and snatch his jaw, my fingernails dig into his cheeks and he hisses. His eyes squeeze shut before they are forced open and locked on mine.

“They all operate under aliases,” I snarl, “Same as you. Same network. Same circles. Same depravity.”

His head moves in denial, but it’s more sluggish now.

I don’t say anything.

Walking back over to the car tools I hum to myself as I gather supplies as though I’m picking flowers for a bouquet. A can of brake fluid, gloves, and a gasket scraper.

I saunter back in front of him, an ominous smile forming.

I place the brake fluid and gasket scraper aside as I fit the latex gloves over my hands, letting them snap loudly.

His breathing dissolves into a series of strained wheezes.

“Two screen names,” My tone softens in a way that feels far more dangerous. “That’s all you’re giving me.”

“He’s stalling,” Tyler cuts in, voice low behind me.

“I know,” I murmur.

He prowls behind me, and I can feel his hot breath on the side of my temple.

“You’re trying to decide if they’ll hurt you more than she will.” Tyler implies.

His throat works, but no words come out.

Tyler runs his fingertips along the back of my neck, pushing himself into me. He whispers so that only I can hear, “You’re enjoying this.” I slant my head up at him, eyes lingering a fraction too long on the curve of his lips.

“Wrong calculation,” Tyler challenges the man and pecks me on the lips, taking my breath away then returns to his seat.

I collect the gasket scraper, and stalk over to him. I seize the front of his shirt and slash upward to the neckline. The fabric splits apart, falling away to reveal his bare, hairy chest and stomach, as the ratchet strap leaves shredded material dangling from his body.

I pause, giving him one last chance to speak. He doesn’t take it. Then I begin.

With one decisive pull I lift the gasket scraper and plunge it into his right upper chest above the strap, well past the surface in the dermis, so I can get to work.

A startled, strangled shout tears from his throat.

As I start butchering his chest, blood drips down, and flesh rips away.

I’m halfway done when he roars, “jackinthebox149, you crazy fucking cunt!”

Tyler is on his phone sitting at my back. “Got it. He’s real.”

“One more.” I taunt him, waving the gasket scraper in his line of sight.

He hesitates, and my hand tightens around the tool again as I drive it into his chest, blood spilling over, his screams filling the garage.

Just another day at the office.

After I finish, I survey my canvas with satisfaction.

A frustrated sound breaks from him.

My hand wraps around the bottle of brake fluid.

“Wait, wait,” he pleads. “The - the - themonsterinyourcloset868”

Tyler exhales. “That’s two. I’ve got them.”

I tip the can, allowing it to trickle out, tracing each letter carved into his chest. He screams in utter agony as the amber fluid meets each laceration. It halts the bleeding in seconds, the blood turning dark, tacky and drained dry under the brake fluid.

On his chest it reads: Rapist

The restraints take his weight as he slumps, breath hitching as his body writhes.

I toss the can and unsheath my knife on the side of my vest.

I stoop to his ear, voice smooth. “This is for them.” His eyes flare with fear as the blade glides across his throat.

Blood swells from the wound, spilling over him and splattering everything in its path, including me.

He gurgles as blood clogs his throat, his body jerking weakly.

I watch without looking away as the fight leaves him and he takes his final breath.

I’m not sure how much time passes as I watch him hang, slack in the restraints. Blood drips in a steady rhythm, each drop striking the concrete with a muted tap, the only sound in the garage.

I don’t move.

Tyler stands beside me, our shoulders touch without either of us thinking about it.

“We got everything,” he utters.

“Yeah.”

I blow out a breath, still staring at the dead man, but my mind is somewhere else.

Tyler shifts slightly, his hand brushing mine then settling there, warm, holding me in place.

“Are you okay?” he implores, concern in his voice.

I squeeze his hand once, leaning into him.

“I am.”

He watches me anyway. Through the worst parts of it. He always does.

“You didn’t push too far, did you?” he murmurs.

A small huff slips free, somewhere between a sigh and a tired laugh.

“You would’ve stopped me.”

“Yeah,” he states matter-of-factly. “I would’ve.”

Eventually I meet his eyes with my fingers already interlocked with his. I nod once, anchoring myself to him.

“Good,” I manage.

He studies me, seeing me underneath all the blood then lifts his free hand, caressing his thumb lightly along my jaw like he’s pulling me fully back.

“You’re still here,” he confirms.

My face seeking his touch without realizing it.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m here.”

After a moment, his hand drops, but his fingers stay threaded with mine.

“We should go,” he whispers.

“Yeah.”

I cast one final glance at the garage and turn my back on it. Tyler matches my pace. By the time we reach the car our hands separate.

He opens the passenger door for me, a small act of care that has become habitual.

I pause, peering up at him.

“You know I can do that myself.”

“I know,” he replies, a smile tugging at his mouth. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.”

Warmth blooms in my chest as I shake my head and don’t argue, sliding into the seat.

Tyler closes the door and rounds the car, then gets in, shutting his door as well.

It’s quiet again but different now. Safer.

He starts the engine, the low rumble vibrating the space.

Tyler reclines in his seat, angling his head in my direction.

“You did good tonight.”

I look at him, one eyebrow quirks.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice softens. “I’m proud of you.”

The words strike deeper than I expect. I glance away, blinking once as I give myself a moment to get my emotions back under control before I meet his eyes again.

“Don’t start getting sentimental on me.”

He snorts.

“Too late.”

Despite myself, a small smile emerges.

“Home?” he asks.

I nod; he shifts the car into gear.

“Home.”

His hand finds mine again, resting between us, familiar and sure.

I lace my fingers with his without looking.

We pull out onto the road together.

The city stretches ahead, roads nearly empty and the streetlights glowing.

Tyler’s thumb strokes my knuckles absent-mindedly.

“You’re not done,” he says after a moment.

It’s not a question and I don’t pretend like it is.

“No.”

“You’re out for blood.”

I keep my eyes on the road.

“All of them,” I breathe out.

The past doesn’t stay buried.

It waits.

And then it comes back for blood.