Chapter 16 Indie
Indie
I'd Rather See Your Stars Explode - SLAVES
Present day
Out of the list of twenty, only eight have resulted in death.
This one’s about to mark my ninth kill.
My ninth.
I’ve killed nine people.
And I don’t have an ounce of regret about it in my body.
Not killing all of them helps keep me under the radar, along with mixing from both chapters spread across the five years, even though each of them deserve it.
But these guys aren’t all my revenge, and I need to respect the women’s choices.
Even though I want them all to burn in hell.
The first was the hardest, more so the run-up. You can’t really prepare yourself for killing someone, and despite what the internet says, the evidence on someone successfully managing to do so, living freely to share some helpful tips, is very fucking slim.
I think the only reason I wasn’t so messed up after it was because the report showed what he did to his girlfriend at the time.
Her situation was a little too close to home for me.
I usually allow myself to think of the aftermath of what my experience did to me as a person.
The people I lost, including myself.
It rumbles the gate to the feelings I keep padlocked. Blanketing me into the dark abyss of nothingness, disconnecting from my empathetic side.
There was a time I’d have loved to have mastered the skill I have now, because without it, life was a living nightmare for months on end.
But when you have years to work on yourself, and you desperately want to succeed in exterminating those who wronged you, you can eventually find that power.
Regina pulls the car into the layby a couple hundred yards from the driveway.
“Your earpiece, and your new tracker,” she says, handing me the new device.
Regina is always scouring the dark web; it wouldn’t surprise me if half the shit she has is military grade.
I hook it onto my ear, then clip the dome into my jacket pocket, testing it by heading outside and doing a lap of the car for her tracking system. She gives me the thumbs-up when it starts to move.
This allows her to keep an eye on me in the woods if I fuck up and get lost in the dark.
Dipping into the back of the car, I grab my handgun and rifle, stepping backwards into the bushes to adjust myself with the cloak of the night.
She holds her hand out the driver’s side window, giving me the silencer to screw onto the handgun.
“Never get used to you looking like the fucking Terminator,” she mumbles, and I glance up at her with a wry smile.
“I’m a woman who can do both,” I joke, trying to settle her unease.
She’s still not comfortable with it all, feeling like we were treading in uncharted waters earlier.
But this?
This is what we thrive in.
What I live for.
“Remember what I said. Anyone that comes by, you drive away. I’ll jump out from that hill and head back up the road if you need to move. I can hide in the bushes if needed.” I turn and point to my right.
She nods, taking the safety off her gun and placing it in the centre console. She’s never had to shoot at anyone during these before, but it makes me feel better knowing she’s armed.
I close the door quietly, and without a second glance, make my way towards the bottom of the driveway.
The gravel crunches beneath my feet, before it soothes onto the mossy underlay of the forest. Usually I’d wear a mask, but there are no other homes or public CCTV around here.
And with the two feeds on the property, Regina is able to wipe them immediately, replacing them with a rolling recording over the last couple hours until we leave the scene.
It takes me slightly longer than my first visit to reach the boundary, my eyes adjusting to the darkness as I carefully tread through the forest, ready to stalk my mark like prey, blending in with my surroundings.
The woodland is so thick here, causing me to have to blindly stick my hands out for any branches or trees that are too masked by the night, pushing and tugging them to make my way through.
The lit-up cabin eventually comes into view up ahead, and I sneak my way towards where the camera is roughly placed.
My pulse drums at an increased tempo with each step, but my grip is firm.
You won’t ever catch my hands trembling for this.
Not from fear, anyway.
Crouching down into the underwood, I lie flat against the damp ground, the wet soil already seeping through my leggings.
Fucking gross. I did not sign up for this shit.
Tugging around my rifle from the strap, I place the scope against my eye, adjusting the focus until I can see directly into the cabin windows.
The lights are low again, the upper level left with only a haze from the ground floor lights.
I inwardly groan, scanning the area to find John. There’s no obvious movement, and the cabin is only a couple hundred yards away.
Pulling back from the scope, I squint my eyes to get a full picture of the exterior—then it comes.
Snapping my eye back down the scope, he emerges from the shadows like a slow-moving fog.
I focus on his inked hands, an amber bulb glowing in the darkness as he smokes a cigarette. When I glide the crosshair up the rest of his body, I freeze.
What the fuck?
He’s dressed in all black—cargos, combat boots and a quarter-neck zip. It’s padded on the elbows, and he has a belt attached to his bottoms.
It looks like a holster, but the thing that puts me off the most is the bulletproof vest and ski mask.
“Gina?” I whisper through the earpiece.
“I’ve got you on the tracker. Are you good?”
I pull away from the scope to speak better. The way my breathing has picked up, I’m not in the mood to inhale a soggy leaf from the ground.
“Are you watching the feed? Can you see this guy’s attire? He’s got…tactical gear on,” I say in a panic.
I can hear her fingers furiously clattering off her laptop as I wait for a response, pulling up the back feed to witness what I do.
She mutters a curse. “Not getting a good picture with the weather, but I can see him all blacked out. Is he…is he wearing something on his head?”
I don’t answer. Unease creeps through my bones and threatens to take me prisoner.
His job didn’t raise any concerns; he’s a banker. But what if that’s a decoy, and he’s really CIA? Fuck, even FBI?
It wouldn’t surprise me seeing some seedy fuck waggling his way into that kind of position, likely the reason he’s able to help his buddies stay free. Killing him would basically scream for me to get caught.
This wouldn’t be one I’d get away with.
Fuck. This is not what I expected, at all.
There was nothing we could see that described any prior tactical training.
Unless he spends his free time fucking cosplaying.
Which, you know, would possibly pique my interest. Shame he’s a worthless piece of shit behind the mask.
Swallowing, I look down the scope again, and he’s shifted from the sofa, walking up the stairs, the slow swagger on him sending a twinge in my chest.
He moves with such a familiar ease but also doesn’t. I’ve never seen another person like him, and I haven’t even seen his face.
That build?
He’s stacked like a fucking brick shithouse.
I might have managed with all the other marks easily enough, but if this guy’s got any combat training?
I’m definitely cooked.
I keep my gaze locked on the upper window, waiting for him to reappear.
Ten minutes go by, then twenty.
My finger hovers over the trigger, waiting for the moment he comes back into view.
Pulling in the air from the cold night, I let it seep into my lungs, releasing it slowly. I try to keep my pulse at a steady level, but my grip is starting to ache.
I haven’t yet mastered the long game for a rifle. I’m a vigilante, for Christ’s sake; I’ve no plans to take out anyone from a sniper long distance.
Being up close and personal suits me better, and it’s wild, because the risks are greater.
This is all about practice for whenever those two show their faces again. I make sure to note any weaknesses I have and snuff them out.
When the dark figure comes back into my aiming pattern, my hand slowly glides to flick the laser target on. A one-and-done shot if this gives me some time to startle him, a bold fucking move on my part. I’ve never used it, and I’m hoping I’m blessed with beginner’s luck.
My lungs empty into an icy fog when I’m met with another scope staring directly back at me.
Bullets crack through the air, and they aren’t mine.
“Shit!” I squeal, throwing the rifle around my back.
My hands and feet skid through the marshy ground as I clamber to rise to my feet. A bullet whipping past my ear jolts me to standing. And then I’m running like thunder through the woods.
Oh, how the predator turns into the prey.
“What the fuck is happening, Indie!” Regina shouts in my ear, her voice almost muffled as my pulse roars.
“He’s got a gun and spotted me. He’s shooting.” I gasp, my heart pounding, ready to explode through my ribcage.
I’m running for my fucking life as pain starts to burn in my chest, my rifle smacking off my back. I’m almost ready to abandon it, until everything goes white.
Bright floodlights erupt around the forest, and the sound of shutters opening echoes around me, the once night-cladded forest beaming brighter than anything I’ve seen before.
It forces me to slam to a stop, the sudden jarring of movement causing me to collapse on the soggy ground.
Oh fuck, I’m really up shit creek without a paddle here.
I can barely see, the light stinging my eyes as I stumble to get back on my feet, toppling to the side as my vision fights against the beams.
Have I died?
The confirmation I haven’t comes from Regina screaming in my earpiece.
“Indie, run!” Her voice cracks with panic through the static, causing me to wince.
I force my twinging eyes to open, picking back up a run towards the direction I was heading.
I’m still rapidly blinking, my eyes feeling on fucking fire. My clothing is soaked from lying in the moss, the expanding material feels like it’s weighing me down, and I can feel the mud hardening like clay on my hands.
Bullets zip from behind me. My head ducks low when one impales itself into a tree next to me, the wood splintering and sending shards across my face.
If I was an inch to the left—I’d be dead.
Another causes a scream to rip from my throat.
If I don’t die from one of those, it will be the rate my heart’s skittering at.
I feel like I’m running forever, the road never seeming to come into view.
My feet scream and my calves burn; the cold air has my limbs thumping with aches, but I manage to reach the corner of the forest where the painful strain from the lights has dimmed, the white glare no longer lasering as harshly in this area.
“I’m almost there,” I pant through harsh breaths, my chest feeling like I’ve ingested boiling water as I struggle to breathe through the ice air.
Another bullet severs the atmosphere, so close it causes me to fold, and I lose my footing again. My body crashes forward, tumbling straight off the verge and onto the main road.
I land with a sickening crunch into a ditch, the air ejecting from my lungs with the impact.
My lungs wheeze as I try to sit up, completely winding myself.
Tyres screeching on the damp road forces me from my dazed state, the squeal shattering the night as rubber skids to a stop as I fight to rise to my feet.
“Indie, move!” Regina screams, hauling open the passenger door as I force every muscle inside me to move.
Run.
Run.
Run.
Chants rapid-fire in my head, wielding the mantra as willpower to get to safety.
I’m going to be covered in fucking bruises and woodland. That’s if a last-minute bullet doesn’t lodge into my skull.
Just as I throw myself into the passenger seat, I feel it.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise to attention, and I snap my head towards the verge.
He’s there.
The distant light encasing his silhouette with a wicked halo against complete darkness, watching the violent rise and fall of his shoulders, his gun lowering as he watches me.
All I can see is the whites of his eyes as he stares at my bare face.
Fuck, I really shouldn’t have left the mask.
“Drive,” I bark, slamming the door shut as Regina hits the gas, the force whipping me back against the seat.
“What the fuck was that?” she shrieks, barrelling down the road.
My gaze shifts to the wing mirror as I tug my seatbelt on, making sure we aren’t being followed.
“I don’t know. I’m not going back to find out. We need to contact Victoria when we get home and find out what the fuck that was.”
She sent me into a death trap; she should have at least gave us warning her ex was kitted out like a fucking trigger-happy mountain of maniac.
“Someone drove up the road when you got into trouble.” She struggles on a breath. “He wasn’t alone.”
I force a swallow, trying to lubricate the walls of my throat from the bitter, cold air that’s burned it. My palm clutches my chest, afraid my heart might fall out if I let go.
After what feels like hours, we reach home safely with no tails.
Regina puts the car in the garage, and we both unload as we run in the house.
We usually leave our car in the street, but we’re spooked, and if we left it outside, we may as well have a fucking sign saying, “here we are,” even after taking the plates off.
All this time, we’ve never come close to being caught, never mind being killed.
Regina jogs to the hallway, pulling a photograph off the wall to open the alarm system controls. Her fingers batter off buttons, heightening the sensitivity of the alarms and internally locking all the doors and windows.
Her hands are pressed against the wall, head dipped between her shoulders.
“You’re not going back to finish him off. I don’t care what the hell she says or offers to pay. This is one we’re going to need to cut our losses with.”
She leans down to put the photo back on the wall, turning to me.
I drag my hands through my hair, a twig clattering onto the hardwood as my fingers get stuck in the knots.
“I’m lying low for a while. I think we both should. That was far, far too fucking close.”
I’ll need to try and recover from this one.
I haven’t experienced fear like that in a very, very long time.
And the last time I was chased through the woods, I at least knew my predator well.