HUNTER

"I'm going to kill the bastard."

George gave me a look of exasperation and shook his head. "I know you want, but would not be best thing. How can you help Celia if you are in jail? Think for moment. What can you do to keep her safe and get him justice?"

I paced the empty warehouse floor and considered. "I'll talk to my handler in the FBI, and see what they have for evidence. What I saw in Alexandria should count for something. Even if he wasn't directly involved, the fact that he still owns that building should mean he gets charged with owning a business that was used for child prostitution or something. Plus, there's the tapes. That's evidence of, at a minimum, production of child pornography. My handler will know."

George nodded, apparently satisfied that I wasn’t going to go off half-cocked and kill Spencer in a rage. My blood was much cooler after talking to George. But I would go to Spencer and deliver a beating. I would punch him in the face and make him regret that he hurt Celia earlier that night.

No one could blame me for that. I had pretty much carte blanche in terms of rules of engagement with the enemy—my handler in the FBI said as much. I could do what I needed to fit in with the Romanovs and they'd only make a show of punishing me if I got caught.

I accepted that risk. I was willing to sacrifice my life for my fellow Marines if needed over in Iraq and Afghanistan. I figured stopping Spencer and his fellow worms would be worth the risk. I'd do what had to be done for the greater good, even if it meant I spent some time in solitary confinement to make it look like I was a real thug.

"You go back upstairs," I said to George.

"Where you going?"

"I'm going over there to punch his face in," I replied. "He deserves at least that much attention from me, even if I can't kill him outright."

"That could be dangerous, Hunter," George said and I could hear in his voice that he didn’t like the idea. "Don't lose control."

"I won't. He's a worm. He'll crumple at the first blow, believe me. I know his type."

I went to the stairwell to take the stairs to the street. "Watch out for Celia. If anyone shows up at the warehouse for any reason, don't let them in without contacting me first."

"Who you think would come here? Who knows about?" George asked, frowning.

"No one," I said. "Just the crew and my handler."

"Okay," George said and nodded. "I watch Celia. She was very upset. You should come back, not leave her alone for whole night."

"I'll be back."

I arrived at the house where Celia's mother and Spencer lived, parking a half block away and walking quietly up to the house and around the back to what I expected would be a rear entrance. I was right—there was a sliding screen door leading off to a patio. The yard was fenced, and I expected that if Spencer decided to run, I could catch him before he was able to get out the back gate. I checked out the fence, to see any other escape routes, and then I went back around to the front door and rang the doorbell.

There was no answer, so I rang it again.

Finally, I saw the outline of a figure through the frosted glass pane in the door and realized someone was peering out the eyehole.

"What do you want?" came a male voice. Spencer.

"I need to talk to you about Celia," I said.

"What's the problem with her?" he asked, not opening the door.

"I don't want to talk on the front porch. Let me in. It's private."

"You really think I'm that stupid?" Spencer replied, laughing. "Go away, little boy."

"She's been badly hurt," I said, trying to sound really upset. "She wanted me to talk to you."

"Get lost before I call the police. You're not here about Celia. You should know one of my staff is here. My assistant, Stuart. He's a witness."

"No, you're right," I said, stalling for time. "I'm not here about Celia. I have something you might want to see," I said, trying to think what I could do to get him to open the door. Then it came to me. "I got it at the cabin in Alexandria. You know, the one near the bay?"

"What cabin?" he said, but now his voice wavered. "I don't own a cabin in Alexandria."

"Oh, really?" I said. "That's funny, because I saw the property title and it's clearly in your name. I have a tape here that I found there. In the room in the basement? In a locked cupboard? You might want to see this. Your assistant might want to see it was well. In fact, your entire office might want to see it."

I reached to my jacket and patted my pocket meaningfully, as if I really had something in it.

When he didn't respond, I smiled. I heard him talking to someone, his voice hushed and soon, the door opened and a pasty-faced young man came out, slipping on a jacket.

"Stuart, I presume?" I said, smiling coldly.

"Yes," he said. "I know you're here and I know who you are, in case anything happens to Mr. Grant."

"Go home," I said and turned back to the door, which was closed once more, but I suspected that Spencer would be so curious about what I had, so worried about what it could be, that he'd let me in. I was counting on it.

Once Stuart left, his car backing down the driveway and driving off down the street, I turned back to the door.

"You can send me away, but I thought you and I could negotiate about this tape. We could find a mutual price. If not, I can always take it to the police."

Good, that would make him open the door. He'd think I was just a thug wanting to extort money from him instead of a thug wanting to beat his face to a pulp.

He opened the door and I pushed inside, knocking into him in the process before closing the door behind me. The force sent Spencer sprawling onto his back.

"What the fuck?" he said, struggling up to his feet. "What did you do that for? I let you in." He frowned, adjusting his clothing. "Show me the tape."

"You think I'm that stupid?" I said, and then I ploughed him one with a right hook that struck squarely on the chin. It knocked him back three steps and he ran into the back of the sofa, holding his hands up in protection—and maybe supplication—but I didn't let that stop me.

"This is for Celia," I said and punched him again, striking him in the gut. He grabbed his stomach and bent over. Then, I hit him in the nose. By now, he was cowering, blood pouring out of his nose, which I assumed I had broken. "And this," I said, holding up a fist, "this is for all the little girls you hurt."

Then I punched him one last time. That punch sent him back over the sofa and he crashed onto the floor. I stood and watched, my heart pounding in my chest. I hoped I hadn’t killed him, but I couldn't be sure. I usually knew my limit in a fight, but I was still furious about Celia. About Sean. About Donny. About everything that he had ever done to Graham and Celia and everyone he hurt all those years…

I went over to where he lay and turned him over. He was conscious and held up his hands over his face.

"No, please!" he cried, blubbering like a baby. "Don't kill me."

I saw Celia's mom standing in the doorway, or should I say leaning there. She looked like a corpse, her skin grey, her hair a mess. She was dressed in a long nightgown and robe, slippers on her feet.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, seemingly unable to raise her voice up enough to really speak.

"I was just meting out justice," I said and gave Spencer a kick in the ribs. Not hard enough to injure him seriously, but hard enough to hurt. "He's lucky I didn’t kill him outright. He deserves it."

Then I went over to her, because she looked like she might fall over. "You should pack up your things and come with me."

"Who are you?" she asked. "I'm going to call the police."

"I'm Hunter," I said, surprised she didn't recognize me, but I'd been persona non grata for years. "Celia may have spoken to you about me before. I was Graham's friend. Celia's staying with me at my apartment. I'm protecting her. She wants you to come and get away from Spencer."

She frowned and backed away. "Spencer told me about you. You're with the mafia."

"There's a lot you don't know," I said, frustrated that she believed all Spencer's lies. "Celia's staying with me. Call her if you want. I can wait."

"I'm not coming with you," she said, shaking her head, her eyes wide.

I shrugged and went to the door, deciding to leave. Before I left, I turned to her. She was over beside Spencer, who had rolled over and was grimacing.

"I'm calling the police right now," she said and grabbed a portable phone off its stand.

"Don't call," Spencer said, holding his hand up to her. "I'll deal with this. You go back to bed."

She put the phone down and waited while Spencer stood up, a hand to his bloody nose.

That was how I left him, going to his sick and drug-addicted wife for comfort, who was herself barely able to stand up. I didn’t want to leave her there, but there was only so much you could do to help some people. They had to choose their own hell. She hadn't chosen hers—it had been thrust on her when her husband was killed in a car crash and she was disabled by chronic pain. Spencer had been right there, waiting to take over and she was probably happy to have a man look after her.

I walked down the street to my car, knowing that Spencer wouldn't be calling the police about the assault. He thought I had a tape of him molesting little girls, and would probably pack a bag and leave for Malaysia if he was smart. We’d see how smart he really was or if he was stupid enough to think he could talk or bluster or abuse his way out of the mess he was in.

I had a feeling I should prepare a room at the warehouse for Celia's mother, and soon. I knew Spencer's type. He was a coward, full of bravado when standing behind his desk or when in control over a child, but when faced with the reality of his crimes, he'd run.

It would be up to Celia—with my help—to clean up the mess he left behind.

I cooled down considerably on my way back to the warehouse. As I drove, I thought about what I would do, and how I would approach turning Spencer in.

Given the evidence of child prostitution I found at the cabin in Alexandria, I knew something would stick to Spencer.

He'd be arrested and charged with making child pornography at a minimum based on the tapes I found and collected—and who knew what else there was in that cabin. I had told my handler about it, and he promised to send a team out to collect evidence but it would take a while to get a warrant for search and seizure of evidence. I wasn't sure if the place would be wiped clean by then, but before I’d left that day, I had taken some evidence with me that I could use for leverage if I needed it.

The FBI worked at its own pace on cases, so I had to let things go and let them take care of what needed to be done to bring the guilty parties to justice.

By the time I got back to the warehouse, I was almost calm. I parked the vehicle at the rear of the building, checking in with the sentry who was responsible for the alleyway, and then sat in silence for a moment, thinking of what I'd do next. What was my move with Celia? Seeing her with wounds on her neck had almost made me homicidal. I knew she mattered more to me than just an easy fuck. That much was clear now. I tried to keep a distance from her, tried to treat her like a mere fuck toy, but that had obviously failed.

I wanted her.

I wanted her to be mine and not just to pay back a debt. Not just obeying my orders.

I wanted her to want me back just as much as I wanted her.

I was in deep.