Chapter 5
Daisy
My blade slices into my first victim like they’re a stick of butter. Dragging it across their throat, I sever their vocal cords and rip apart their trachea. With such a powerful blow and tug, I go so deep that my knife hits a vertebra and nearly gets caught on it.
Gleefully, I yank my weapon free. My laughter is soft, hardly louder than a whisper, but still full of delight.
Killing those who’ve committed sin against others is just so damn fun.
I know Drake said not to kill anyone before he does a property inspection of what we’re up against but how am I supposed to resist when the guy was right here? It’s not my fault he walked directly in my path.
Warm blood sprays everywhere like an unmanned hose with too much pressure pouring from its spout. As the armed man drops to the ground, the lights in the shipyard flicker out. I grin beneath my mask, I’m proud of Owen for figuring out how to cut the power swiftly. Just as everything goes dark, I hear Drake’s signal.
The sound of a rifle going off is loud in the dark.
The loud booms come in quick succession, one right after the other.
Shouts of alarm and orders immediately follow. I can hear the hurried footsteps of booted feet as the hired security attempt to follow orders, but they’re struggling to get their bearings in the dark.
I don’t have the same issue. The dark and I are friends. In its presence, I'm the strongest I’ve ever been. My eyes adjust swiftly as I prowl forward. I’m more comfortable in the shadows than I have ever felt in the light, and it shows as I confidently stroll across the grounds of a place I’ve never been to before.
Dark figures slink along on either side of me, taking out armed men just as easily as I had just done. Kingston and Wyatt are efficient killers, moving like dancers putting on a performance of a lifetime as they slash and stab. I shiver in delight at the sound of pained wheezes and the rattling of death that whooshes out from their victim’s lungs. If there was time to stop and appreciate the way they killed, I’d take it.
Unfortunately, there’s not. We’re in a time crunch. Soon, people will be here to steal away the women being held prisoner. If we don’t get to those women first… I don’t want to think about what could happen to them.
I’ll miss King and Wy’s deadly dance tonight, but there’s always next time. There will always be a next time.
Adjusting my blade in my hand, I trot swiftly up to my next victim. I must’ve made a noise because they whirl to face me just as I’m close enough to strike. Their gun lifts just a hair before it drops, clattering to the ground as my blade sinks into their open mouth. The tip of my knife punctures all the way through the throat, and I giggle at the absurd sight. When I try to pull my blade free as my victim sinks to his knees, it doesn’t bulge. Crap. My giggle subsides as I prop my foot in the middle of the dying man’s chest and try to pull my knife free.
Still, it doesn’t move.
“Here,” Owen says, appearing out of the darkness, startling me. “Sorry, I would’ve whistled to let you know I was here but?—”
“You and I both know you can’t whistle,” I point out, interrupting him.
His flustered huff causes me to giggle again. “What I was going to say is that it’s hard to do it in a mask when my fingers can’t reach my lips. I can definitely whistle, Daze.”
“Uh huh, sure,” I counter as I drop my hand away from my blade.
Owen grabs the hilt, and with a hard heave, dislodges it from the dead man. As he hands me my weapon, I don’t miss the shudder racing down his spine.
“You ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, moving away from me. “Let’s go.”
I’m glad it’s dark and that I’m wearing a mask or else Owen would see the smirk on my face. Out of all my men, Owen’s the most squeamish. He kills just like the rest of us, but he’s not a fan of using a blade. It's something he’s just never gotten used to. Unfortunately, hitting people with a car isn’t an option tonight for him.
Around us, the others have fanned out, killing with speed and bloody proficiently. Owen and I join in, taking men down one by one. Each one sends a jolt of excitement through me. My shit-eating grin goes unseen and that’s probably for the best. The guys take care of me the best they can, and for the most part, I let them.
But when it comes to killing? There’s no fixing me. I am the justice system—deadly and unstoppable. If there’s something wrong with destroying those who would otherwise get away with hurting others, then I don’t want to be right. I’m doing more than the law could ever do.
Besides, Death and I are friends. With how often we flirt, we’re practically friends with benefits. I have some fucked up desires that only Death can satisfy.
It takes time, too much of it for my comfort, but slowly the four of us make our way inward. Bodies drop left and right. The more that fall, the harder it is to keep from letting the rush of the kill get to me. My body warms with each slash of my blade until I’m trembling from desire, rage, and delight. It’s a strange combination. Still, the conflicting emotions drive me on, fueling every move until I’m nothing more than a blur—an instrument of death blazing a path of destruction straight to the source of the problem.
By the time I step into the stream of high beams coming from a swanky looking SUV, I’m covered in blood and laughing. The sound is distorted beneath my mask but not muffled. Not with how loudly it rings.
“Hey! Get back!” A man dressed in all black orders as he steps in front of me with his gun raised.
My laughter doesn’t stop at the sight of the barrel pointed at me. If anything, it causes me to laugh louder and harder.
As he raises it higher, something flashes in the bright light as it moves through the air. A second later, the man crumbles to the ground with a knife lodged in his throat. There are three more cries of warning around me. Their bellowed commands and guns don’t frighten me. They only make me laugh harder until my stomach hurts and I’m bent in half, forced to hold in it in fear that my stomach might just tumble out of me.
By the time I get my laughter under control, the ground is littered with bodies, and only two are left breathing. Before I can react, my men step up beside me. They’re heaving hard. I can hear it behind their masks, but they’re ready to see this through.
“Stop!” one of the two men cries out between sobs. “Please, just stop !”
I frown at the voice before taking a curious step forward and my guys move with me. As one, we approach. Both men scramble backward, their backs hitting the grill of the SUV. They split apart, each one attempting to round the vehicle to climb in.
My guys move, launching forward as a unit. I watch as they grab the two guys and drag them back, away from the vehicle.
“Are you the ones in charge here tonight?” I ask as they’re thrown to their knees in front of me.
I know at once they’re not. These two, they’re just boys. They can’t be older than eighteen, judging by the way they’ve yet to fill out. One sobs pathetically, snot oozing from his nose as he cries. His brown skin is dark, almost as dark as the night around us. I can barely see the fear in his eyes given how watery they are. His friend is somber. He stares up at me with a hard press of his mouth. I think, if he wasn’t so terrified for his life, his fair skin would have a nice glow to it, like he’s been hanging out in the summer sun a lot. His hair is slicked back, styled in a way that tells me he’s trying to be a man, not a child. His eyes, an indistinguishable color in this lighting, stare up at my mask. I can feel his terror through his gaze, but he remains stoic and still.
Kids. They’re just… kids.
Unease blankets my killing high as I study them. Both are dressed in tailored suits. An expensive outfit for a night like tonight. Who are they and why are they here? They’re not even armed. Who sends kids to oversee something like this?
“You’ve been asked a question,” Owen snarls when neither child answers.
Swallowing hard, the pensive boy looks to his friend that’s in the process of practically curling in on himself like an armadillo, then back up at me. He shakes his head.
“N-no, we’re not in charge,” he mutters. “We’re just here to facilitate the transfers of goods.”
The hand holding my blade tightens around the hilt while the other balls into a fist.
“Goods?” I repeat coldly. “ Goods ? Is that how you see human lives? As ‘goods’?”
The boy blinks rapidly, his mouth pulling down into a frown while his brows furrow with bewilderment. He looks around at my guys, then back at me before shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“ Liar ,” I hiss, taking a step toward him, my blade rising as I contemplate killing them right now. “You know exactly what I’m talking about! Exactly what you’re overseeing in this transfer!”
The boy shakes his head as his friend wails louder beside him. “No! I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Peter’s dad demanded we wait for him while he went to go get his clients. He was going to introduce us and help us network. There should be…Ah, actually I don’t know,” he looks down at his friend. “Peter, what does your dad do for work? What does he sell?”
Peter rocks forward and back, sobbing. Beneath him, a dark puddle is forming.
“Peter! Come on, man. Tell them! What does your dad have in there?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know ! He doesn’t tell me anything,” Peter wails. “Just leave us alone! Please! Please!”
The less distraught teenager shakes his head and looks back up at me. “Look, his dad has his hands in a lot of pots. I don’t know exactly what’s in there but?—”
“What’s your name, boy?” I ask, cutting him off coldly.
The kid’s bottom lip trembles but he juts his chin out and answers, “Maverick… Maverick Sutherfield.”
“Well, Maverick ,” I start, bringing my knife up so that the tip of it rests just beneath that proud chin of his. The blade is dripping with the blood of his security team and smears against his skin. “I’ll show you what Peter’s dad has in this container.” Without looking around at my guys, I ask, “Where’s Dre?”
“I’m here,” Drake announces, jogging onto the scene. His backpack and rifle hanging on his shoulder bounce as he joins us.
“Here, let me help,” Wyatt offers, stepping forward to take Drake’s bag.
“Get the bolt cutters out for me,” Dre mutters.
Wyatt does as he’s told, and Drake hands the rifle to Owen. Wy hands jerks the bolt cutters free of the backpack and hands them to Dre. Kingston stomps over with Drake to the shipping container, ready to be there to help if needed.
“Turn around and watch,” I order Maverick.
After visibly gulping, Maverick shuffles on his knees to face the metal container. When Peter doesn’t move from his armadillo stance, I pull my foot back and kick him in the rib. He lets out a pathetic whine and curls up tighter.
“LOOK WHAT YOUR FATHER HAD YOU PROTECTING!” I screech, fury locking up my limbs.
The kid only sobs louder and rocks faster.
“Look up, Peter!” Maverick hisses, shooting me a nervous glance. “She might kill you if you don’t. Come on, look! This is all going to be some misunderstanding. A mistake. There’s nothing, you know, bad in these containers, right?!”
Peter gasps repeatedly, loudly, as he drops his hands away from his head before sitting up on his heels.
“I don’t fucking know, Rick! You heard Father’s instructions and none of them even hinted at what was inside of this thing!” Peter reaches up and grabs the roots of his dark, tightly coiled hair. “You know as much as I do!”
“You have to know something !” Maverick insists, almost desperately. “How do you not know what your dad?—”
“Shut up and watch,” I demand, cutting him off.
Drake uses the bolt cutters to break the padlock holding the door to the container closed. It takes a second and a great deal of force, but Drake manages the feat. The lock drops to the ground with a loud clatter. Dre steps back so Kingston can open the door. The metal hinges whine in protest as the door swings open.
I can smell the women before I can see them.
Days, maybe even weeks, in a shipping container doesn’t make for a hygienic experience. But the stench radiating from the container is nothing compared to the sight of the people inside. Bile climbs in my throat as they begin to appear. One after another, they poke their heads out, staring around at us with fear and trepidation. The women are young, scared, and malnourished. That much is clear.
Seeing them and their gaunt appearance sickens me and drags my thoughts back in time. Screams of pain, exhaustion, and hopelessness echo in the back of my head. They don’t belong to me. The sounds of suffering come from the victims I witnessed at the hands of the Butcher of Briar Glen. Their suffering haunts me to this day.
I couldn’t save those women. But these ones, I can.
“Run,” Drake snarls at them, pointing in the direction we’d come. “Run now . You don’t have time to waste. People are coming for you. Look for the break in the fence and take off down the road, but stay off of it ! That’s the only way in and out of this place, so there’s no choice but to use it. Flag down a cop car once you hit the highway.”
The women stare at him, either too frightened of the masked man staring back at them or not sure if this is some sort of sick trick.
As Drake tries again, voices at my feet drag me back into the moment.
“W-wait… What the fuck? Who are those women? W-why…. Peter, why are those women in that container?”
I look down to find Maverick, mouth gaping and face paling even further as he witnesses the crime he’d been taking part in.
Peter shakes his head wildly. “I don’t know!”
“Have they been in there the… the whole time?” Maverick asks, his voice growing louder, more panicked. “Their hardly older than your sister! What the fuck would you’re dad be doing with them?!”
Before I can brace myself, he leaps to his feet. I tense, ready to slice him to ribbons. But rather than attack me, Maverick steps toward King and Dre.
“Run!” He shouts at the woman stumbling out into the fresh air. Most look a bit dazed, as if they can’t really believe they’re free. “Run now! These guys are right! We’re expecting your transportation unit any second. Go! Go! Go! ”
“What are you doing?” Peter hisses, clearly panicked. He shoots me a terrified look before reaching up to grab the bottom of his friend’s suit. “Mav! My dad will kill us if he knows we were involved in any of this!”
“Let him try!” Maverick snarls, glaring down at his friend. “I’m not scared of your dad. He needs to be scared of us, Peter! What the fuck is this?” He waves his hands at the women who are beginning to understand the enormity of what’s transpiring. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see them scurrying into the night. “If he thinks we’re just going to sit back and let him get away with this, he’s got another thing coming to him.”
Peter winces but slowly gets to his feet. He looks at the women, his expression pinched with dread and horror before he looks at me. Peter doesn’t know it, but our eyes lock as he stares into my mask.
“I-I-I really didn’t know they were in there,” he says. Fat tears stream down his face. His bottom lip trembles along with the rest of his frame. “I swear it.”
“Neither of us would’ve been onboard with this if we’d known,” Maverick adds, his voice strengthening. He looks at me, his shoulders stiff with tension and his fists clenched at his side. “You have to believe us.”
“We don’t have to believe shit,” Wyatt growls behind his mask. “We should kill them, Daze. If one of their dads is in charge of this, they could be lying.”
Owen nods once. “It would send whoever is in charge a clear message.”
“No! Please, don’t!” Peter cries out, stumbling back away from us. “D-don’t kill us!”
Maverick looks from his friend to my guys, then finally looks back at me. “Look, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t really do much, but I swear to you, I swear , I’ll do what I can to take down Mr. Woodrow. This isn’t ok, I won’t let it happen. My dad, he can help me.”
I feel… conflicted. Wyatt and Owen are both right. We should kill them. I don’t really care about sending a message, though. This is just what we do. These two were helping traffick women. How can I allow them to go free?
Yet, there’s something in Maverick’s eyes that makes me hesitate. There’s a strength to this one that radiates from within. I can feel it as it washes over me. He’s scared. I can see it in the slight tremble running through his body, but there’s conviction in his voice and something else. Is it?—
“Headlights! We’re out of time!” Drake bellows. “Let’s go!”
Owen and Wyatt grab my arms and yank me away. My feet stumble over themselves when I try to get them beneath me. As I’m torn away from the chaotic scene, I can’t help but stare after Maverick. He doesn’t look away either. As the five of us melt into the darkness, following the women we’ve freed, he calls out,
“I promise! I’m going to make sure this never happens to another woman again!”
I don’t know if I believe the kid and, as I turn and run with my guys, I wonder if we should’ve just killed the two boys.
“It’s ok, Daisy,” Owen says in a harsh whisper as we duck behind leftover containers on the dock. “If they think we won’t hunt them down and come back, they’re wrong. We have their names. They’ll be easy to find. Peter Woodrow and?—”
“—and Maverick Sutherfield,” I mutter.
There’s something about him, Maverick, that gives me a mental pause. As Drake, Kingston, Owen, Wyatt, and I run, I realize what it is. The steely conviction in his voice, and the courage it took to look me in the face while blood rained down around him… it reminded me of the five of us and how we stood with one another when we were kids. In another life, I have a feeling Maverick would’ve fit into our little family. He has the drive, the passion, and the resolve. I can feel it.
It's with that knowledge the unease clinging to me melts away. As we slip into the woods, I smile. Whatever Mr. Woodrow had planned with those women, Maverick is going to make sure it never comes to fruition. Not tonight. Not ever.
This evening, we won in more ways than one.
We freed the women trapped in that container. And I’m pretty sure we just gained an ally. In the years to come, I have a feeling we won’t be alone fighting against the injustices in this world.