Chapter 1
Thea
What the hell was it with kids these days? I watched another one blow out a huge cloud of vape smoke and wondered what the point was. They were slowly killing themselves, and it didn’t even get them high. A total waste of their lives.
Then again, I guess kids were always stupid.
When I was in my twenties and I went to a bar, it didn’t even matter whether or not you smoked, because everyone else did.
I used to have to go home at two in the morning, take off my clothes, leave them in another room, and shower before I could even go to bed, because even my hair would reek of cigarette smoke.
I sighed as some guy’s hand brushed my boobs as he walked by, refraining (just barely) from smacking him into the nearest wall.
I was too old for this shit.
Luckily, I didn’t look too old for this shit. My hellhound genes meant I looked like I was still in my twenties, despite those days being long behind me. Unfortunately, that was mostly all my hellhound genes were good for. Although I guess that wasn’t really fair. I was just a little bitter.
It was a long story, but basically some guy named Wilder had introduced me to a whole pack of hellhounds who wanted to adopt me as a little sister.
They were all built, muscular, tall, sexy as fuck men.
(Although, ewww, I did not want to fuck any of them.
They were like brothers to me.) Meanwhile, I was short, curvy, and had a little extra padding (even if I was very happy with my body, because my padding was in all the right places).
The point was, I definitely didn’t look like I lived at the gym. Although I guess that was in my favor, because just like my hellhound “brothers,” I had the joy of being able to kill very bad people.
Yay for me.
I hadn’t known what I was for most of my life; I’d just figured I was a serial killer or something. Although at least I was a serial killer with morals, because I’d only killed shitty people. I’d focused on people who hurt others.
Recently, Wilder had found himself a mate—Josh.
He was a really sweet guy. He liked legos and documentaries, and he was actually kind of good at reining in the idiocy of all the hellhound guys—because when you got a bunch of brothers together, they were bound to do stupid and juvenile things, even if they were hundreds of years old.
I don’t know why. It was like some kind of unwritten law of the universe.
Men.
Don’t get me wrong. I liked men. I also liked women. But that was another story, and that was not tonight’s focus.
No, tonight’s focus was revenge.
You see, Josh was a sweetheart, and he had a shitty ex. Like, a really shitty ex. The kind of shitty person who thought it was okay to rough someone up. The kind of shitty person who thought it was okay to tear someone down over and over until they felt like shit about themselves.
Basically, his ex was an abusive asshole.
And for some unfathomable reason, the guys had decided not to kill him.
Okay, I knew why they’d decided not to kill Rick the Dick.
He apparently wasn’t actually hellbound yet.
There was this whole free will thing. People could change.
They had to do something really irreversibly and irredeemably terrible and so awful that there was no way whatsoever to come back from it in order to be hellbound.
And hellhounds couldn’t kill people who weren’t hellbound.
Blah, blah, blah.
Josh was such a sweet guy that he actually didn’t even wish his ex any ill will. Wilder and his boys weren’t quite that sweet, but they followed the rules, and apparently hellhounds didn’t kill people who weren’t hellbound.
Which brought me to my current status—hanging out in a club that had a whole lot of younger people, wearing a corset top (which very nicely showed off my boobs) and a leather skirt (which had too many guys “accidentally” brushing up against my curvy ass).
My brown hair was down, and I even had on make-up.
Did I mention I was too old for this shit?
I stalked over to the bar to order another rum and coke.
I’d always been able to hold my liquor, and now I knew why—hellhound genes, apparently.
I patiently waited to order and thought about Rick the Dick.
A few weeks ago he’d been stabbed by some cult lady (long story), but she hadn’t killed him.
He’d been raving about supernatural beings and shit, and his brother had collected him and brought him home.
I’d hoped he’d have him committed or something, but nope.
(Liam wasn’t the only one who was decent with computers.
It was pretty easy to hack into his therapist’s records—she had no skill at all protecting her data.)
Rick assumed the cult lady had been giving him psychedelic drugs all along, and he thought he’d been played. Of course none of it was his fault. Of course it was all Josh’s fault, and then the cult lady’s fault. So Rick the Dick had come home and just resumed normal life.
I’d been checking up on him, for Josh’s sake.
Ok, fine, I’d been stalking him. But just a tiny bit.
I’d been following him around, popping up to keep tabs on him on weekends and a few weeknights.
It was easy; the guy was predictable. He went to bars or clubs, he drank and laughed and seemed fun, and he talked up cute guys. Sometimes he met up with dates.
Which brought me to my current spot at the bar. A hand grazed my ass, and I had to resist the urge to turn around, grab it, and bend the owner’s wrist backwards. I blew out a breath. I could keep my cool. I would not break anyone’s bones.
The bartender came over, and I placed my order. He seemed like a decent guy and not a rotten soul. At least I thought so. I was still sort of figuring all that out. I got feelings about people, sure—I had for my entire life, but they didn’t really smell. They gave me feelings.
I turned around, leaning against the bar and surveying the club, spotting my prey across the room. He was laughing loudly, an arm draped possessively over a young guy who was staring up at him as he talked.
I’d seen him with this same guy for a few weeks now. No, they weren’t exclusive, because I’d still seen Rick out with other people, but this guy seemed pretty far gone. He had stars in his eyes for Rick.
That was not a good sign.
And the guy was a cutie. A little younger than Rick, a little nervous.
You could just tell he was a little nerdy and shy, but in a totally adorable way.
I’d eavesdropped on a few conversations between them, and Rick was super sweet to him, but there was this…
underlying tone. This menace that I knew the guy wouldn’t recognize.
Little hidden, veiled comments. It seemed like Rick was looking out for him, protecting him.
Listen to me, let me watch out for you. I know what’s best. You’re so innocent, and I’ll protect you. You’re so cute, and you need someone to tell you about the world. Aren’t you such a cute little thing. Just listen to me and everything will be alright.
Yeah, I knew the type.
Just slowly fucking chipping away at them. Making them think you were so smart, so worldly, so big, so wise. You were the protector they always wanted. Finally, someone who would love them just as they were.
I didn’t care if he wasn’t hellbound; I couldn’t let him do to this guy what he’d done to Josh. Because this guy, he wasn’t as strong as Josh. I could see it. He was younger, and he didn’t have the support system.
Rick would break him, and I couldn’t let that happen.
I felt an urgency about tonight. I wasn’t sure why.
Maybe it was the way Rick’s hand was curled just a little too tightly around the guy’s arm, squeezing possessively.
Maybe it was the other guy that was leering at Rick’s date—one of Rick’s close friends, who he was often out with.
They were with a group, but those two were crowding a little too close to the cutie.
I don’t know, but something was off. I was getting bad feelings.
I’d always planned on getting revenge, and tonight seemed as good a night as any.
I turned back toward the bar, slipping open my cross body purse, which left my hands free to do what I needed. And total side note here—on one hand, I was really thankful for purses, but on the other hand, why the fuck couldn’t more women’s clothing have functional pockets?
Anyway, I took out a little vial of liquid I’d been saving for this special occasion, poured it into my drink, and then slipped the empty vial back into my purse.
It was easy to sort of stagger my way over to Rick the Dick. (Although it was not easy to ignore the multiple groping hands I had to deal with on the way. Seriously—what the fuck was it with people thinking a drunk person was fair game for groping?)
“Oh, my gosh!” I slightly slurred, knocking into him just a bit, my hand hitting his, my drink sloshing into his drink as I reached my other hand out to steady myself on his arm. “Did you see that guy just push me?” I said, turning my head to look and sloshing a little more of my drink into his.
“Are you okay?” the cutie asked.
But I was already pushing off of Rick, my face still averted, a final slosh of my drink spilling into his.
It was all too fucking easy.
As I staggered away I could hear the cutie saying he’d get Rick a napkin for his wet hand, but no one even commented on his drink. Why would they, after all? I was just some random woman. Why would I ever drug his drink?
I made my way outside of the bar after that and hoped that luck was in my favor.
I didn’t think I had Rick pegged wrong. The bathroom line was long, and he would begin to feel dizzy, hot, and vaguely ill within a half hour.
He wouldn’t want to appear weak in front of his newest prey just yet, so I was betting that he’d come out alone.
There was always the possibility that he’d come out with the friend, but I could take care of them both if so. I didn’t exactly get good feelings about that guy, either. He wasn’t rotten, but he wasn’t a nice guy.
I stood off to the side of the building, and before long I saw Rick stumbling out.
Perfect.
I walked over toward him like I was heading inside, looking at him as I passed. “Hey, man, are you okay?” I asked, like I was concerned. “You don’t look so great. Do you need to sit down or something?”
He sort of groaned, and I reached around him, pulling him into my side and guiding him away from the entrance and toward the back of the parking lot. He was a heavy weight leaning on me, but I was way stronger than I looked.
He sort of stumbled and tried to protest.
I just kept walking, leading him along. “Dude, come over here and sit down for a minute. You look like you’re gonna puke or something.”
It wasn’t long before we were at my car. I leaned him against the car next to mine, looking around to make sure we were alone. He was looking at me, squinting and swaying a bit.
“Hey,” he slurred. “You’re that girl…”
I popped open the trunk, said, “Yup,” and then punched him in the face, catching his body before it fell and throwing him into the trunk.
I shut it and walked around to the driver’s side, climbing in and shutting the door. I started the car and jumped when music blasted at top volume through the car.
“What the fuck?” I yelled, turning the volume down as quickly as I could.
“Looks like someone couldn’t just let it be,” a voice said from the back seat.
I realized two things simultaneously—it was the Beatles playing on the radio, and it was Jude’s voice.
I looked in the rearview mirror to see his smiling face in the backseat, and I groaned and banged my head down into the steering wheel.
Fuck my life.
Couldn’t a girl kidnap and torture someone without a man needing to come along and try and help?