Chapter Six
Vik
If I close my eyes, I can still hear her voice.
She loved to sing, and because of that, there was always music in the house. The ethereal sound of her singing filled our home with songs from a long-forgotten age. It made our home feel warm, bright and full of life.
At least when we were alone. Which was often.
My father had a habit of disappearing on “business” trips. One night here. A weekend there. He was rarely home when I was growing up.
Until the night they took her from me.
It was summer. I woke in a pool of sweat. Even in the stifling heat, something felt wrong. The air itself seemed charged, wrapping itself around me like a blanket of dread.
Later, I wondered if it had been some kind of warning. A voice telling me to stay where I was. But it’s easy to invent signs after a tragedy.
I slipped out of bed and crept quietly through the house.
Ma never liked me wandering after bedtime, but every now and then I’d sneak out anyway. Sometimes I’d listen to my parents talking in the living room. Other times, I’d overhear them arguing in those hushed whispers parents think children can’t hear.
I’d found her crying before. Never when Dad was home, though. She had too much pride for that. But on the nights when it was just the two of us, she’d stand at the kitchen sink and quietly weep.
At those times, all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around her and tell her everything would be okay.
I would have done exactly that if I had found her in the kitchen that night.
Fate had other plans.
I heard shouting coming from the living room. My young mind did not recognize it for what it was. I thought maybe she’d found another box of old photographs or videotapes. Another desperate attempt to hold on to happier times.
She screamed the moment I stepped into the room.
She begged me to run. To leave. Never look back.
I think those screams were what alerted the neighbors. They also signed her death warrant. Two men held her by the arms while a third drove a dagger into her stomach.
It had a rosewood handle. A black blade.
I watched the light leave her eyes, heard her final breath.
Then I cried.
When they turned to me, they didn’t use the knife. Instead, one of them drove the jagged end of a broken beer bottle into my chest.
I should have died with her that night.
Sometimes, I wish I had.
But someone up above—or perhaps someone far below—had other plans. Whether by accident or design, the killers spared my life and fled the moment the sound of approaching sirens began. It was the greatest mistake they ever made.
In a matter of seconds, they stole my hopes. My future. Any chance I had of living an ordinary life.
I’ve spent the last twenty-seven years hunting them.
Preparing.
Training.
The past twenty-seven years have turned me into something this world will never be ready for.
I’m not a monster. I’m not some demon driven by revenge. I’m worse.
Much, much worse.
And the men who stole her from me are going to learn exactly what that means.
***
Last night, I met Jerry Lancaster. Stout, limping and full of piss and vinegar. His reclusive nature made him a hard target, but I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. Our short meeting taught me three things about the pompous Brit.
The first was that he had a family.
The second, he’d part with all his wealth for one more day with them.
The last, a name. Mark Anderson.
Whereas Jerry lived in obscurity, the same couldn’t be said for Mark. He flaunted his ill-gotten gains for all the world to see. He drove a flashy car, wore expensive watches and drank only the finest top-shelf liquor money could buy.
It’s surprising his name hasn’t crossed my desk sooner. His rap sheet is longer than I am tall, and he acts as a middleman for a host of different criminal organizations throughout the city.
He’s clever, too. He conducts his business in plain sight to avoid suspicion. It sounds foolish but no one expects a criminal to commit a crime where everyone can see it.
So, that’s how I’ve ended up here in his club, nursing a warm beer while I watch him drift through a sea of drunk bodies.
It’s a nice place. Good music pours from the DJ’s booth, while neon lights splash color across the room. It feels like the eighties’ idea of what a cyberpunk nightclub might look like.
But I’m not here to have fun. Not while my mask burns a hole in my back pocket, begging to be worn.
A young brunette makes her way to Mark’s side. She leans in close and whispers something into his ear. His skin turns a sickly shade of white and the corner of my lip curls upward.
I tail him from the bar and watch him disappear into a VIP booth on a secluded platform. I snap a few pictures with my phone, mostly to capture the men waiting for him.
Every step brings me closer to the truth.
Even if these men have nothing to do with the people I’m hunting, I’d still be cleaning scum off the streets by taking them out.
I edge closer for a better look. Their cheerful expressions make me feel sick.
They’re smoking cigars, drinking expensive liquor and plotting God knows what while pretending to be respectable businessmen.
It takes every ounce of my restraint not to reach for the mask.
“Need a drink?” The voice catches me off guard.
I was so absorbed in watching Mark that I hadn’t realized how close I’d drifted to the bar.
I turn towards the timid young bartender.
“I’m—” The words die in my throat.
Hannah.
She’s standing at the far end of the bar.
I raise my beer to show the bartender I’m fine.
What the hell is Hannah doing here?
She’s with three other people. Two men and another woman.
One man’s hands are wrapped around her waist. Rage rolls through my chest. I have no explanation for it. Nor for the bitterness that floods my mouth when I swallow another sip of beer.
Stick to the task.
Hannah doesn’t know I’m here, and she won’t unless I make myself known. I force my attention back to Mark. Nothing has changed at his table. And that’s exactly the problem.
Ever since I met Hannah in the diner, I haven’t had full control of my own thoughts. No matter how hard I try, they always drift back to her.
She was responsible for my mistakes last night, and this morning enough truth had slipped out to awaken her curiosity.
Why did she have to come here?
I take three more photographs before slipping my phone back into my pocket. If I move closer to Mark’s table, maybe I’ll overhear something useful.
That was the plan.
Then I look back at Hannah. One last time. They’re standing up now. The same man still has his hand around her waist. She’s laughing as she playfully pushes him away. He pulls her straight back.
Something inside me snaps.
I abandon Mark and head for the dance floor.
Hannah and her friends are hovering on the edge of the crowd, and slowly disappearing into the moving sea of bodies.
God...
She looks incredible in that simple blue dress. It rides high enough to reveal her pale thighs. No wonder she’s attractive to every vulture in the room.
The man’s hands are still on her when I reach them. I’ve watched exactly where they’ve been. He’s lucky they don’t wander any lower than her waist.
Having to interrupt my plans has put me in a foul mood, and now I’m just looking for an excuse to vent my anger and frustration.
Hannah still hasn’t noticed me. She’s dancing with her back to me. The man she’s with is shorter than I am, so I lean down until my mouth is beside his ear.
“You’d better move along,” I murmur. “And don’t look at her again.”
I pause.
“Next time, I’ll take your fucking eyes.”
“What the—” He peers over his shoulder and finds me standing at my full height, puffing out my chest.
The man wisely decides to back away from a fight he can’t handle, and he steps aside. Hannah turns to see what happened to her dance partner. She stares at me, dumbfounded, craning her neck to meet my gaze despite the heels she’s wearing.
“Vik?” she says, so softly I have to read my name on her lips. “What are you doing here?”
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself since I started walking.
I didn’t chase off that handsy piece of shit out of some misplaced sense of familial protectiveness. But I’m not about to let anyone else touch Hannah again, either. Not when I have the power to stop it.
Because the more I try to fight it, the more I realize I’m the only one who’s going to touch her.
“Me? What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, loud enough for her to hear, but keeping my voice low enough so as not to cause a scene.
“Dancing?” She rolls her eyes. Then, she mutters something under her breath, throws her hands in the air and storms away. I follow her until we reach the edge of the dance floor.
I reach for her arm, but the moment my hand closes around her wrist, I see Mark and one of his associates heading straight towards us.
Fuck.
Thinking quickly, I pull her into me. She stumbles against my chest, and whatever anger had driven her away melts beneath my touch. I hold her there, gazing into her eyes. Her hands settle around my shoulders while one of mine slides up her back and into her hair.
I dip her lower, tilting her head back as Mark and his associate walk past us.
After they’re gone, and it’s just Hannah and me, I lower myself slowly. Anxiously. I hover on the edge of extinguishing the fire burning inside me with a single kiss. My lips drift closer to hers.
So close I can taste the liquor on her breath.
Then the song ends.
The lights come up.
The DJ announces he’s taking a break, and the spell between us shatters.
“What the fuck?” she mutters, planting both palms against my chest and shoving me away.
She hurries off, but I don’t take my eyes off her.
This isn’t over.
Not if I have anything to say about it.