Chapter Twenty-Eight
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
GEMMA
Neon lights.
Thumping music.
Distracted, drunk idiots.
All of it creates plenty of shadows to hide within.
Slipping in through the backdoor with a couple more dancers there for Amateur Night was easy enough. Getting onstage in my pink wig, fishnets, boots, and a strappy sequin lingerie set to match my half-mask was easy enough.
And spotting Rad in the crowd?
Too fucking easy.
I adjust the thin black wings strapped to my back as a bouncer leads me into one of the cages near him and his group. My stomach is in my throat when the bouncer closes the cage. I’m trying not to look too involved with watching Rad’s friends, but each time I spin or move around the pole, my eyes are on them.
I don’t recognize the rest of the people in his party.
Still… he’s the biggest tool of them all.
Rad is grinning from ear-to-ear, his arms up, two beers in each hand when he returns to his seat—a petite blonde on one arm who I presume just gave him a private lap dance. Everything about his presence makes my skin crawl. My gaze snags on the scar on his forehead, the line of missing hair.
Ripped tulle skirt, bloody blond hair smashing into a grimy sink.
And in that moment, I know for certain that I’m the one who gave him that scar.
Because he was there that night, too.
He was wearing the gamer mask.
He was the one pumping his dick over her after already—
I wince at the memory, eye twitching as it comes flooding back with more detail than before.
My Bonnie.
My rockstar.
If I think too much about this, I’ll kill him right here, right now, and there’s a special place on my mantle for his balls that I won’t be able to rip off here.
Maybe if I get his attention and get him alone, I can break a few things as a reminder.
He sits in a nearby chair and clinks his beer bottle against a friends to his left. The woman who was just on his arm gets pulled into another’s lap. I close my eyes for a brief few seconds to gather my wits, to remember the job, to lose myself a little in the pounding music thudding against my eardrums.
And when I peer his way again—upside down, my ankles locked around the pole—he’s staring right at me.
That’s it.
Remember me, you fucking bastard.
His smile is gone, his eyes somehow darker. He takes a sip from his beer as if he’s angry at it for being wet. And when he stands, when he pads across the dingy carpet in my direction, I right myself again.
He pauses a step from the cage, still staring at me as if he’s trying to figure out if he knows me or not. I squat down, hands on the bars of the cage, still moving slightly with the music so as not to draw any attention from the bouncers, then crook a finger in his direction.
The closer he steps, the more my skin feels like I could rip it off. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone the way I hate him, the way I wish the earth would open up and swallow him whole.
“Nice wings,” he says. “I liked hers better.”
Bingo .
My teeth clamp on the inside of my mouth, and a smugness flashes in his eyes that I immediately want to claw out with my bare nails.
I grip the bars with both hands, my knees spread wide. “Hello, Radlee,” I say behind the voice changer.
It’s his turn to appear surprised. “How do you know my name?”
I laugh. “I know a lot more than your name. I’ve been looking for you.”
He huffs. “We’ve been looking for you, too. Unfinished business and all.”
“Hmph,” I say, head tilting. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” he repeats.
He steps up to the bars, his face entirely too close to mine. I’d back down, worm out of his space, except he thinks he has the upper hand.
“You killed my friend,” he says.
“ You raped my girl ,” I hiss.
He chuckles. “Enjoyed every second of it.”
I lunge at the bars before I can stop myself. Rad takes a step back, his laughter growing.
Don’t let him get to you.
It’s what he wants. He wants you irrational, volatile… A danger to yourself.
You’re smarter than him.
I relax my arms, my hands, and, finally, my thighs. A slow, even breath leaves me as my chin dips, eyes staying on him.
“You’re dead, Cutrelle,” I say, knowing only he can hear me. “You and your friends.”
He shakes his head, still smirking. “I know people a lot more powerful than you,” he says.
“You see, there’s the difference between us,” I say as I sit up again, face pressing between the bars. He comes closer, and I reach out to drag a nail across his cheek.
“I don’t need to know people to overpower you. I’ll pick off every single one of your friends if I need to. I’ll leave you all alone, with no one to call, no one to beg for help. And when I finally get my hands on you, I’ll make sure you know exactly how she felt on that floor.”
His smile falters, teeth grinding. “Good luck finding us.”
Rage boils within me as he steps back toward his friends. I still haven’t moved when he grabs his phone, his keys, and his wallet. He kicks one of his friends and nods in the direction of the exit, dialing someone on his phone as he does, and by the time he turns back around to look for me, the only thing left in that cage is my wig.
It takes me less than a minute to go backstage and pull on my bodysuit, take off the voice changer mask, grab my bag, and shove the full-face mask over my head. I’m already back in the club and pulling on my knuckled, fingertip-less gloves when I hear someone ask where the dancer is for cage four.
Gone .
Rad isn’t hard to find in the crowd. He’s tall enough that I can see him pushing through the dance floor. He still has the phone pressed to his ear as he shoves some patrons out of his path, one of his friends trailing behind him. He pivots mid-stride and stalks toward a side exit when he’s halfway across the club, and I pause in the middle of the floor to contemplate my next move.
If Kade were here, he’d tell me to leave. He’d tell me to get out of there and drive home. Don’t do anything stupid.
However, Kade isn’t here.
I’m thumping with adrenaline, Rad’s words on repeat.
I hastily advance after him.
The door opens into an alley. There’s a car speeding off when I run out. I quickly focus my eyes on the license plate number—a Connecticut plate, six numbers and letters.
Connecticut… Shit … if he’s still talking to any of Damien’s remaining crowd, this won’t end well.
I take my phone out to write the plate down, bare thumb bruising on the screen. Fuck . I had him. Why did I hesitate? I shouldn’t have hesitated. I let Kade get in my head. I second-guessed it, and now if he shows up or calls again, it’ll be even more my fault—
Gravel scratches beneath a boot behind me.
My ears perk. I throw my phone onto the ground and twist just as someone comes at me with a rope. My foot leaves the ground, boot plunging into my attacker’s stomach, and I grab the rope between his hands as he starts to fall backward, keeping him upright just to slam that same heel into his groin.
And when I turn around, I find two others approaching me.
I laugh and push my bag over my head, tossing it to the side. “Aw, this is cute,” I say before setting up and whipping the rope a few times. “Who’s first?”
They run at me at the same time. I throw one end of the rope out toward the one on my right. It strikes his stomach, forcing him to double-over as I wrap the other end around my hand to create a loop. The guy on my left swings at my face. I duck. He’s a big guy—slow, I realize. Much slower than Liam. I punch him twice in the gut, and when he howls, I circle the rope around his neck, pull him toward me, and my forehead smashes into his nose.
A cry sings through the air. The other’s arm wraps across my throat, squeezing hard enough that I’m forced to gasp. I kick, trying to throw him backward. Still, he’s steady. Guy Left is straightening. I grab Guy Right’s forearm and set my feet. Every muscle in me groans as I whip him over my shoulder. He’s in the air, feet flailing. He accidentally kicks his friend in the face before landing on his back with a scream.
Free of his grasp, I blow out a breath and pause. Blood sputters from Guy Left’s nose. Guy Right groans, writhes, and fails to get up. I swallow and pace a few steps as I look between them.
“Aw, boys… Not giving up so easily, are you? That was child’s play,” I taunt.
Guy Left glares and spits blood onto the ground. He reaches into his pocket, revealing a small knife in his hand when he sets his feet.
“Men and their little toys,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s okay to use them in a fight, right? In the bedroom, they’re your enemy, though, aren’t they? So sad. Sounds like a fragile ego problem.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he grunts.
“Ooo. So tough . Let’s go, big guy.”
He lunges. I block his throws. Left. Right. Shoving back and forth. It’s a scramble of strength. Pushing and grabbing. My back eventually catches the wall. The jagged building scratches my arm, discombobulating me enough that his next swing gets too close. The blade slashes my forehead. I cry out at the sting, the blood dripping down my face, and the feeling of it renews my spite.
I take a chance as gravity drags his hand down with the force of his swing. It’s enough time to lift my foot and strike him in the dick with my chunky heeled boot. He cries out in anguish. The blade drops onto the ground. I grab it before he has a chance to, and as he starts to gather his wits, I grip him by his hair, yank his head back, and thrust the knife into his side.
His eyes widen and stare up at me, hands latched onto my forearms so tightly that my bones feel as if they’re being crushed.
“You should choose your friends better,” I say before slamming his head into the wall beside us.
I hear his bones crack, and as he slumps onto the ground, I notice his friend pushing up to his hands and knees.
I cross the space between us. My heel plows onto his fingers, shattering his joints. He grabs my foot as he screams and attempts to peel my shoe away. Even so, I’m only focused on the sound of his pleas, the mind-numbing noise of his gargled cry…
“Stupid bitch —”
“Count your favors that you’re not the one I want tonight,” I say.
“Whore—”
My other boot collides with his face, and with the strength of the blow, it cracks his face, and he flattens onto the ground without another peep.
Fucking idiots.
Another car pulls up—a beat-up sedan—and pops the trunk open. I realize in that second that the trunk was meant for me, the rope they had was supposed to have tied me up already. I don’t know who they are or why they’re helping Rad and his friends, but I’m going to find out.
Right now.
The person in the driver’s seat of the getaway car catches my eye, and my stomach drops to my knees.
Fuck yes.
I try not to look like I’m scrambling too hard. I walk over the last attacker’s back—making sure to put all of my weight onto his spine as a final jab—then grab my phone from the ground and my gun out of my open bag. I see the driver’s eyes widen when he realizes both of his friends are on the ground. He puts the car into drive, hands shaking, and I launch into the passenger seat before he can hit the gas. The moment I close the door, he slams on the brakes. I press my gun to his forehead, and the sniveling squeal that leaves his throat sends the most perfect chill down my spine.
“Hello, Lance,” I say, recognizing the blubbering miscreant immediately.
He’s just as pitiful as he was that night.
I can still see him crawling across the tile floor, his nose bleeding from my fist, pleading and whimpering as he makes for the door—
“Please! I didn’t touch her—I didn’t— Let me out—”
I’d been so focused on Bonnie vomiting at my feet that he’d escaped my grasp.
The memory makes my eyes flutter.
His hands rise by his head, and it’s barely a second before a strong smell enters my nostrils. One look at his crotch, and I gag at the sight of his piss spreading over his jeans.
“Jesus fuck, you need to see a doctor about that,” I mutter, thankful that I can pull my voice changer mask up to block some of the smell. “It’s nice to finally see you again, Lance .”
“Who… What…”
“Aw, don’t hurt my feelings. You know exactly who I am,” I taunt.
He gulps. “I haven’t done anything,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t touch her that night. I was just there—”
“You were just there with your dick out?” I say, remembering what he was doing when I burst through the door. “You were just there trying to put your cock in her mouth while she choked on her vomit?”
“I… I was just doing what they were doing,” he blubbers.
I shudder and take a breath before I kill him too early. “Where are they, Lance?”
“Where is who?” he asks, tears falling.
“Santa Claus and Jack Frost,” I snap as I push the gun further into his forehead. “You’re not that fucking dumb, Lance. Rad and Trevor . Where are they?”
He sniffs, eyes narrowing on me. “What are you talking about? That’s who I was coming to get.”
“Which one?”
“Rad,” he says. “What did you do with him?”
I huff. “Clearly, he left before I could catch him. Otherwise, I’d have my gun up his rectum and not against your overgrown forehead.”
He winces when the barrel shifts with my talking hands, and as he begins to sob, his lips curving downward, I grimace.
“That’s enough. Pucker up, buttercup. Where can I find them?” I ask, swiping away one of his tears.
“I don’t… I don’t know.”
I flick the safety on the gun, and he begins blurting out a string of restaurants, cafes, streets, and—
“—they’ll both be at that music festival next week—at Radio Eleven.”
I still, jaw tensing. “Both of them? Together?”
“Y-yes,” he says, his eyes shut tight.
I reach over and give him a taunting pat on his cheek, and he nearly collapses when I touch him.
“Please… Please don’t hurt me,” he begs, slobber leaving his lips.
“Shh…” I coo, stroking his head. “Sit up. We’re almost done.”
He’s dribbling with snot. Every plea that leaves his lips reminds me of those I heard her whispering, the letters she couldn’t get out, the appeals that were swallowed by the drug.
My eyes unfocus when I look at his mouth. I remember him kneeling over her, dick in his hand, her lips parted…
“Open your mouth,” I say.
“What—”
“I said open your goddamn mouth ,” I hiss, gun to his lips.
He slowly obeys, and as I push the silencer barrel into his open hole, I hear his teeth chatter against the steel.
“Now, wrap those pretty little lips around it like a good boy and suck,” I say, voice hoarse, yet demanding. “Suck the way you wanted her to.”
He blows out a shaking breath through his nostrils as he does as he’s told. I shift the barrel in and out deliberately, the fear in his eyes reflecting the fear I saw in hers the following day.
“Do you remember how she pleaded for you to stop?” I ask, my breaths shortening.
He squeaks, a realization in his eyes like he knows what I’m about to do.
“Do you remember her tears? The puke she choked on as you four laughed over her… That’s it. Suck my dick , Lance. Make this one come like your pathetic ass wanted to. Just like that… You’re doing so well .”
He tries to resist when the barrel goes further, and I tut my tongue at his disobedience.
“I didn’t say you could stop,” I tell him. “Keep going.”
“Please,” he whispers, peering at me with blown, tear-filled eyes.
I grab the back of his head and push the gun between his teeth again, this time hitting the back of his throat. He chokes and sputters, but I hold him steady, continuing to fuck his mouth.
“Is that what she said?” I ask. “Did you stop? Did you for once think that maybe the barely conscious girl on the floor didn’t want this? ”
Muffled wails leave him. I’m shaking so badly that I don’t know how to stop. I’ve lost control of how far I should go, of when to go—
My own tears are falling as I see her lying on the ground…
“Are you ready for my load, Lance?” I ask him. “Are you going to take it like a good boy?”
He screams around the steel, and in that second, I completely stop feeling.
“Give a fuck you to the maker for me.”
The gun goes off, and I barely wince as the back of his head blows on the windows.
For a moment, I sit there. I sit in what I’ve just done, and at the very moment emotion begins to pile on top of this rage, I shove him off of me and begin to thrash. Irrational fear moves through me as I kick the glove box, slam my hands on the console, and elbow the window. I can’t take my mask off here, I can’t let go of all this while I’m sitting in this car. I’m imploding from the inside out, unsure of what the fuck I just did, and terrified of what I’m going to do once I have the other two within reach.
Get out of here.
You have to get home.
You can’t sit here.
I want to scream.
I’m still shaking when I lean over Lance’s dead body and draw a smiley face in the blood on the window, then use his shirt to wipe off my gun.
Two down.
Two to go.