19. This is gonna be lit
Chapter 19
This is gonna be lit
TOMER
“ Y ou sure about this, T?”
My fists clench, digging into the tops of my thighs as I stare out the windshield of the SUV. The inky night sky is dotted with a smattering of flickering streetlights, most of which are burnt out in this shitty neighborhood.
After exhaling forcibly, I answer, “I need to do this.”
Because I fucking need to do something .
Shep nods, resigned to help me. Or at least, not stop me.
Before I go home to Lettie and continue watching her suffer, I need the satisfaction of a single act to keep me sane. To quell this boiling fucking rage.
Savin needed me to come here. Well, here I am.
Might as well make my trip count.
Shep’s not up for breaking the law, given he’s got a pending adoption on the books. I’m on my own for this. Doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s my preference.
After a final visual sweep of the street for potential witnesses, I slip on a pair of gloves. “We need to shut off our phones so towers can’t put us in the area.”
Shit . Bit late for covering our tracks since we’re already here with our phones on. Fan-fucking-tastic.
In my defense, my head is entirely fucked up, and Shep distracted me by spending most of the drive from the safe house attempting to talk me out of it. By the time we left the gas station, he’d given up.
Pissed at myself, I mumble, “Never mind. We’re too late to turn off the phones. I’ll have Mia wipe the cell data.”
He nods. “That’s old hat for her.”
“Here’s how it’s gonna go, Shep. After we pass the house, slow to a roll, and I’ll exit. Don’t stop. Cut the dome lights now so no one sees inside the vehicle when I open the door.”
He immediately accesses the settings on the console to comply. “And once you’re out?”
“Proceed to the stop sign at a steady speed. Make a right, then a right again on the second street. Find an inconspicuous place to park about half-way down the block. Given the drug activity around here, it shouldn’t look odd for someone to park and not get out. If you need a secondary location due to pedestrian activity, go farther north, street by street. I’ll find you once it’s done.” I check my watch. “Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll try for less.”
My neck throbs with a surge of heat as my pulse ratchets up.
“Contingency?” he asks, his tightening grip on the steering wheel catching my eye.
Despite sounding calm, he doesn’t fool me. Being party to a crime tends to have that effect on people like Shep.
Nonetheless, he understands why I need this.
Considering Kri and Val were abducted at the direction of the same monsters not too long ago, he wants justice of his own. If my overall plan for busting up the ring comes to fruition, he’ll have his chance soon.
“If we haven’t rendezvoused twenty minutes from now, notify Mia or Klein, then come find me. Give it ten minutes, and if you can’t locate me, bug out. I’ll find a way back.”
“The good old save yourself approach.” He taps the clock display on the dashboard, non-verbally confirming he’s noting the time. “For evidence, what about cameras on the nearby houses?”
“On the night of the rescue, we found very few. They’re either too poor or don’t want proof of what happens here. I’ll search the cloud tonight to be safe.”
“Neighborhood watch?”
Huffing, I shoot an annoyed glare at him. “Do you think they have an HOA, Shep? Look the fuck around.” I spread my hands out in front of me, gesturing around the car to all the dilapidated houses surrounding us. Cars on blocks. Broken fences. Mattresses on the curb.
“Easy, man. Just thinking through potential fuckups.”
Rolling out my neck, I fill my lungs, then huff it out. “You good?”
“Affirmative.”
After tugging my ball cap low to help conceal my identity, I reach into the backseat and heft the gas can off the floorboard. “Drive.”
He shifts into gear, proceeding down the street as planned. As I catch sight of the house, an armless fist surrounds my innards and twists. The discomfort casts my resolve in stone.
“See you in fifteen.”
I swiftly exit the car, step silently onto the pavement, and gently close the door behind me.
Without hesitating, I cross the sidewalk and stay in the shadows as I approach the structure, keeping my footsteps light to avoid leaving noticeable tracks. The liquid in the gas can sloshes around audibly. There isn’t shit I can do about that.
The lack of working streetlamps in this area is a blessing. More than likely, the criminals damaged the bulbs to conceal their activities under the cover of night. Carrying unconscious women into this house at all hours would raise alarm eventually.
Sick fuckers.
Circling the front of the property stealthily, I scan in all directions. No one in the vicinity on their porches or in driveways. A quick peek over the fence into the backyard reveals it’s empty. No signs of movement inside the house either.
I’d imagine the traffickers abandoned the place immediately after they were freed from the bindings we left them in on Monday night. Idly, I wonder how far away their new prep house is. Could be right next door.
These monsters will never quit hurting people.
Until I stop them.
My act tonight won’t deter them. But that’s not why I’m doing it.
This is for me. For Lettie.
And to send a message to Lenkov and his men that their days are numbered.
Advancing quickly and silently, I leave the gas can on the ground and scale the fence. Landing in a low squat in the backyard, I cause only a slight thumping sound. I repeat the process of scanning the house from the rear to ensure I’m alone.
All clear.
Returning to the fence, I quickly disable the lock, retrieve the can, and close the gate behind me.
I approach the house from the rear porch. The back door isn’t locked, which means I need to be prepared for squatters. After unclipping a flashlight from my vest, I flick it on as I pass the threshold.
Once inside, I set the can just inside the doorway, rise to my full height, and scan the open space.
It’s a struggle to keep the bile from rising in my throat. It smells precisely the way I remember—rancid. As if the horrors committed here have their own scent.
Padding silently through the kitchen into the living room, I sweep the flashlight beam in smooth arcs. Room to room I go. Nothing. No one.
The shithole is abandoned.
Despite knowing it’s better this way, a wave of disappointment hits me. I wish Lenkov’s fuck faces were here. I’d like to acquaint them with the inside of a pine box sooner than later.
Guess they get to live a few days longer.
Since the house is clear, I check my watch.
I’ve got a few minutes to exorcise some demons.
Stopping briefly in the living room, I plant myself in the spot I stood that night. The very same place where I was when I first saw her. Alive.
Closing my eyes, I call up the memory, letting relief cascade over me the way it did when it happened for real.
Being in this place—Lettie calls it the nightmare house—is bringing forth mental images I wish I could scrub from my brain. For a moment, I stop fighting them and let them come. All the while, reminding myself she’s not here anymore.
She’s at home.
Safe and warmed.
But what she suffered here will follow her for the rest of her life.
It’ll follow me as well.
My pulse thrums wildly in my throat as I recall what it was like to hold her in my arms. The feel of her frame clinging to mine. The bittersweet joy of finding her.
Blinking away the memories, I stalk through the house to the bedroom.
I know which one it is—the windowless one in the interior of the structure.
This is where that vile recording was made.
I enter the room for the second time tonight. Because I’m no longer ensuring it’s free of occupants, I see the deplorable conditions with fresh eyes. A few toddler-sized mattresses and mats on the floor. That’s about it.
Considering these monsters don’t view the women as humans, it’s almost surprising they provide that much luxury.
Without warning, a vision slices through me, so painful my knees buckle. I almost fall to the floor, but I catch myself.
Once I’ve steadied my legs, I focus on what I saw.
No, no, no. Not saw.
That isn’t quite right. I didn’t see it.
I felt it.
Curious to decode this, I fixate all my mental power on those feelings—emptiness, loneliness, and shame. As I do, images take shape.
Me.
As a boy.
In a room not much different than this.
Cold. I’m so cold.
Looking around for . . . something.
This isn’t a random thought. It’s a memory. Not entirely the same as the nightmares I often have, but similar.
Of all times for a trip down memory lane, why now?
What was I looking for?
As if I could find it now, my body moves me in circles and my vision searches everywhere. Only I’m not back in my childhood room. I’m here in this fucking cesspool where the love of my life was violated so painfully.
I don’t have time for this. My childhood trauma can fuck right off.
Shaking my head to free myself from the haze, I attempt to focus on the other reason I came into this room. I need to locate the item Savin said will help us take down Lenkov.
My gaze scans the stained walls and drops to the floor. Dust balls in the corners. My eyes are drawn to one area in particular. Near the closet.
I squat down for a closer inspection, shining my flashlight on it.
My heart drops.
It’s not dust. It’s hair.
Blond hair.
Not a wig or a large bundle of locks. Nothing to indicate it was ripped out or cut. It’s just a little clump, likely what would gather in a house that hasn’t been cleaned in a while. A little more than I find in the tub after Lettie takes a shower. This could be hers or one of the many females who suffered inside these walls.
I’m unclear why it bothers me so much. But it fucking does.
Everything about this place is repulsive. Yet this tiny corner with a few strands of hair... feels so much fucking worse.
I’m not the type to let a puzzle go unsolved, so my mind naturally tries to connect the dots. Not about whatever I was looking for as a kid—because fuck that—but about what’s in front of me here and now.
Perhaps this wad of hair embodies the spirit of what happens here.
Inside these walls, pieces of these women are left behind.
Taken from them without their consent. Ripped from them. Then discarded and crumbled in the corner.
When they leave here, pieces of them remain. And although more hair can grow, the strands left behind can’t be restored.
These women will never be the same.
My sugar bear will never be the same.
A ball of rage uncoils inside me, shooting outward. Unable to quell the onslaught of fury, I bash my fist into the closet door, driving a hole right through it.
Again and again, I pummel the wooden door, fracturing it until it falls from the track. When it lands against the back of the closet, I pick it up by the sides and throw it behind me, slamming it into the wall in a fit of wrath. My chest vibrates with ferocity.
A wave of emotions starts at the base of my spine and surges upward, ejecting itself from my throat in a guttural wail. With each breath and every ounce of damage I inflict, my heart beats freer.
I’ve been tamping this shit down for too long.
There’s still more to unleash.
I barrel over to where the door landed and stomp it with my boot. The way I drive my foot violently through the splinters triggers an image of poor Lettie, huddled on the ground, with one of those monsters over her, kicking her in the ribs while she tucks herself into a ball. Burning anew, the hatred I harbor for those fuckers rattles through my bones.
My vision darkens as I punch holes in the wall, imagining it’s the face of her tormentors. The six of them who were here when we freed her. Another punch for Davidov. And another for Yev.
Eventually, the rancor leeches out of me, leaving me spent. I bend at the waist and gasp for oxygen.
I count to ten, attempting to regain whatever composure I can muster.
Opening my eyes, I survey the damage, feeling oddly satisfied. My vision catches on the inside of the closet where a panel is askew.
Jackpot.
I creep into the closet, shining my light into the crawl space behind the wall to see what’s inside. A pillow. A blanket. A small reading light taped to one of the wooden studs.
What the fuck is this hole? It’s eerily reminiscent of a solitary confinement space, but the comfort items don’t mesh.
Where’s Savin’s motherfucking box? He said it would be behind the panel, but I wasn’t expecting everything else.
A quick check of my watch tells me I don’t have time for a fucking scavenger hunt. Frustration spikes again, and I pound my fist into the pillow. Something crunches beneath it. Brows furrowing, I toss the pillow aside.
And there it is. Yes .
Without wasting another second, I swipe the box. Expediently, I return to the back door, place it on the floor, and then pick up the gas can. After unscrewing the cap, I splash fuel around the kitchen, living room, and down the hallways.
When I return to that windowless room, I pour a bit more than probably needed.
Seems justified, though, given what transpired in here.
Not that it matters if there’s evidence of the gasoline used as an accelerant. Since the house is abandoned, the fire investigators will assume arson from the get-go. And with no trees overhead, only a slight wind tonight, and a decent amount of space between houses, the risk of the fire jumping to a neighbor’s home is minimal. The only thing I need to do is ensure there’s nothing to tie me to it.
The patsy Lenkov has on the deed won’t be filing an insurance claim or pushing law enforcement to find the culprit. And the authorities have bigger problems to deal with than a former crack house turned trafficking prep facility burning down. In short, no one will give a fuck.
On the way out of the house, I grab the shoe box and pour gasoline behind me as I go. When I get far enough from the house, I’ll light the trail and watch it burn.
Keeping my head on a swivel, my retreat is as covert as my arrival. It’s doubtful anyone is looking since nobody gives a fuck around this neighborhood, which is why it was perfect for the depravity that occurred here. Plenty of other fucked up shit probably happens in the surrounding houses.
My feet grind to a halt at the edge of the property. I face the house and drop into a squat. After wrapping my hand around the lighter, I picture Lettie’s battered face and hear the sound of her sobs.
One last cleansing breath, and then I light the motherfucking gasoline stream.
My pulse spikes higher with each inch the flame crawls.
When it finally reaches the house and catches, it’s exactly as magnificent as I envisioned.
I only wish Lettie were here to see it.
She doesn’t want me to hurt anyone, but I believe she’d be okay with this. Maybe she’d even feel a twinge of satisfaction watching it turn to ash.
Yet the thought of her coming near this place again makes my veins ice over.
As the structure quickly becomes engulfed by flames, a wave of mixed emotions floods my system. Vindication blends with disgust. Anger with relief.
My entire body feels lighter.
Although nothing could burn away the atrocities, the remnants of their suffering are going up in smoke.
The echoes of their screams held in those walls.
Their blood stains on the floor.
Their tears embedded in the carpet.
Gone. Released into the night sky.
Once their physical wounds heal, all that remains will be scars that will fade over time but never disappear.
The heat from the fire causes the perspiration dotting my forehead to drip into my eyes. The sting catapults me back into action mode.
Before I go, I snap a few pictures of the inferno.
For Lettie.
After tossing the empty gasoline can toward the house, where it’ll burn with the rest of the structure, I tuck Savin’s box under my arm and head toward the rendezvous point. With each step, I lock the memories of the nightmare house deep in my psyche. In a box of their own.
It’s the closest I can get to incinerating them.
When I get into the car, Shep tosses a plastic shopping bag in my lap before quickly driving us out of the neighborhood.
As I fasten my seat belt, I ask, “What’s this?”
“I had a few minutes to hit the nearby convenience store. Got you a present.”
I remove the contents. “Very funny.”
Marshmallows.
When I glance at the proud look on his dumb face, I laugh with him.
I just fucking laugh.
And it feels . . . really fucking good.