Chapter 28 #3
I press my index finger to my lips, asking her to stay quiet. She nods slightly, clearly understanding what I’m asking of her. Brushing my jacket aside, I reveal the handgun in my waistband.
“Go now,” I demand.
Her eyes soften, pinkening with tears.
“Th-thank you. Thank you so much,” she whispers. Her heels clatter against the floor as she shuffles away.
Discomfort stirs in my gut at her words.
I don’t deserve her thanks, and I don’t want it.
I didn’t come here to rescue these girls.
I’m not some kind of vigilante, fighting for justice.
I’m a villain in my own right—just not the kind that traffics women and girls.
There’s only one woman in this world that matters to me, and she’s not here.
Knowing that doesn’t stop the thoughts that wriggle inside my mind.
They nag, curling around my brain, wondering, would Ava like what I’ve done here?
Would it make her proud to stand by my side?
I shove the thoughts away, cramming them into a space in my head that I’ll never reach for.
I’ll never tell Ava about the women I saved here tonight.
She’ll come to love me, knowing only the darkest parts of my soul.
I won’t lie to her by allowing her to believe that I’m the good guy in her story.
I’m not the good guy. I’m the monster under her bed.
When I look back to where the girls were standing, they’re gone.
At the soft thud that sounds through the room, I know they’ve left through the front door.
I back toward the pigs in suits, watching them quiet.
With empty tumblers in hand, their eyes flit around the room, searching for girls to harass.
My lips peel up into a grin. The back of the house can wait because these fuckers need to die.
“It’s just us now, boys,” I announce gleefully.
Their wide eyes lock onto mine, then to the gun in my hand.
Their shocked gasps echo through the empty room, but I don’t give them time to speak.
Men like these don’t deserve last words.
No, not men. Only cowards prey on the weak.
Only wretches lay their hands on children.
My father’s face flits through my mind. Suddenly, his face is all that I see pasted over their faces.
His blue eyes stare back at me through theirs, gleaming with anger. They deserve death.
So I give it to them.
Bullets spray, slashing through their bodies, ripping the blood from their veins.
It splatters against the leather couches, dying them red.
The few who try to run make it only steps before their skulls explode, spraying brain matter across their friends’ faces.
Their screams create a symphony that booms through the room, each pained sound a note that I’ve created.
Laughter weaves through each verse, separate but simultaneous.
The agonized wails of evil men are my melody, the laughter, my harmony.
It isn’t until the roar of gunfire ceases that I realize I’m the only one laughing.
My ears ring, a heavy buzzing that crashes inside my skull.
When it subsides, the room is still, so silent that I can hear my boots squelching on the blood-soaked Persian rug.
Each footstep squishes into the damp fabric as I make my way to the door.
Standing in front of the heavy, black door, I suck in a breath, letting it fill my lungs to the point of pain.
I erect a mental shield, knowing that the worst of Bianca’s business takes place behind this door.
The smell is what hits me first when I shove the door open.
The acrid stench of drugs and sweat curdles in the air.
It crawls up my nostrils and slithers down my throat.
My lips pinch together, suppressing a gag.
A long hallway stretches before me, its carpet stained with piss and blood.
Soiled wallpaper curls against the walls, its edges peeled and cracked.
Stepping into the hallway, I count six doors evenly spaced.
Six rooms where the worst of humanity get their kicks from abusing women.
Anger blooms in my chest. You were never this bothered by Bianca’s business before, a little voice nags in my mind.
I wasn’t. I always believed she was more monstrous than me, but I never got involved.
I never felt rage like I do now. You never loved a woman before either, not since Mom.
I shake my head, forcing the voice to quiet.
This is not the time to analyze the seeming reemergence of feelings in my formerly dead heart.
My fingers twitch as I reload my gun, ready for violence.
The first door cracks when the heel of my boot collides with its center.
It crashes open, slamming against the wall with a heavy thud.
A sweat-covered body kneels on the bed, pumping his shriveled dick in his fat hands.
The naked woman before him lays sprawled out across the mattress, waiting.
Her dull, brown eyes move slowly, pivoting to meet mine.
Tears roll down her sunken cheeks, pooling at her gaunt collarbones.
The pig grunts. He tugs at himself, desperate to force his limp cock into action.
Aiming at the back of his head, I don’t give him the chance to rise to the occasion.
The gunshot screams through the room as his brain explodes against the yellowed wallpaper.
His body flops back, rolling off the mattress.
His naked corpse drops to the floor with a heavy thud.
A soft sound draws my eyes back up to the woman in the bed.
Her chestnut eyes sparkle, as if they suddenly sucked life inside of them.
Her palm rests against her lips. A stifled sob tears through her, making her shoulders quake.
It isn’t until after several soft howls pass her lips that I realize she isn’t crying.
She’s fucking laughing. Her face is splattered with the blood of her would-be rapist. Shards of his skull are lodged in her tangled, black hair.
And she’s fucking cackling. For a moment, we grin at each other like idiots.
“Get out of here,” I say. “Get out of this city and never come back.”
Her spindly fingers reach out toward me and I step back to move out of her reach, a scowl pulling at my mouth.
Her eyes widen slightly in surprise before she nods once, seeming to understand that I don't want her to touch me.
It's not her fault. I just can't stand the thought of a woman's hands on me that aren't Ava's.
She lets her fingers fall, moving away from me to instead grab a dirty robe off of the floor. She wraps it around herself quickly and runs down the hallway and out the backdoor.
I repeat my actions with every door and every sick fucker inside until the stench of the piss-stained hallway is muted by the coppery tang of blood.
The floors are littered with corpses that the girls step and crawl over, seeking their escape.
The sobs slowly quiet as they leave, until the hallway is silent again.
One last door lies untouched at the end of the hallway, larger and sturdier than the others.
The door that leads to the loading bay, the first door that locks the girls in and the last they see when they finally succumb to the effects of the drugs and abuse.
The thick wood beats against me as I pound my shoulder into it.
By the time it opens, I can feel the bruises forming on my skin.
The door crashes open, revealing an open concrete room.
I blink against the harsh, fluorescent lighting, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Once they do, I almost wish they hadn't.
There's only one thing in this room, sitting at its center—a fucking cage.
Iron bars stretch from floor to ceiling with a single door latched closed with a heavy padlock.
Pressed against the bars are seven women.
They stare back at me with tired, glossy eyes.
They wrap themselves in dirt-covered arms, hiding their various states of undress.
Whatever remains of their clothes are in tatters, crusted with blood and grime.
Purple bruises speckle the shaking limbs that barely seem to hold them up.
Their frightened eyes are locked with mine, pleading with me. They search my face, asking for rescue without words.
My jaw locks, slamming my teeth together. As I stare at the injured, crying women, I think I might grind my teeth into dust. A jolt of panic crackles through my veins, lighting my nerve endings on fire. It's not Ava, I chant inwardly. It's not Ava. She's not here.
The women scatter when I raise my gun, ducking for cover at the back of the cage. They grip each other tightly, their sobs muffled between their bodies. I take aim and pull the trigger. The sound of the blast bounces across the walls, followed by the metallic clang of the padlock hitting the floor.
I pivot on my feet, turning my back on the cage to face the security camera behind me.
“Run,” I demand directly into the camera. It's not only an instruction for the women, but also a warning to Bianca. If she's as smart as she thinks she is, she'll get far away from this city and never return. If she doesn't, she'll die.