THIRTEEN
Pagan
"Fucking finally," Edison growled when I emerged from my room, fully dressed, feeling the oddest fucking surge of guilt at leaving Kennedy when she was passed out. "This mother fucker been breathing easy thinking he got away with it for hours," he added, making me aware that while I had managed to calm down slightly, thanks to having Kennedy get all melty with me, he was still as fucking wired as he had been the moment he had laid his eyes on her.
That was Edison though.
He had triggers, most of which we didn't learn about until something pulled it.
But women with busted faces, busted anything, that was his most hair one.
"Couldn't leave her when she was freaked the fuck out," I said, shrugging. "I might not be the most sensitive of guys," I said, making Edison snort. I don't think anyone could have ever accused me of sensitivity. "But I'm not a complete dick either. She needed someone there. And since I'm the one who is fucking her, that needed to be me."
He grunted at that, accepting the truth of it, as we moved into the yard, getting into my car instead of a bike.
Quiet was going to work in our favor in this particular instance.
"Where we heading?" he asked as I backed out.
"Gotta make a stop," I answered vaguely, uncomfortable having him with me, knowing there were likely going to be questions, but pretty sure there wasn't a force on earth strong enough to get Edison out of my car right about then. And there was no getting around making the stop seeing as I needed to look into the fuck, find out where he was located, find out shit on his background. "Here," I said, tossing him a phone. "Go into my contacts and find the one marked Luce. Call it."
Edison gave me a look that said he was going to have some questions, but went ahead and hit the call button.
It wasn't a phone like he was likely thinking.
It was a fucking page.
Yes, as in a pager.
Luce was a bit old school and paranoid.
Given his, er, profession, that made sense.
Luce killed people for a living. There was no way to sugarcoat that. Sure, you could call him what he truly was- a vigilante. He only killed bad guys. He always did it for the greater good. But he was a killer, plain and simple.
So when you had that much literal fucking blood on your hands, you had to cover your tracks. Everything was done in code. Everything was careful to the point of paranoia.
Which was how he always, fucking always got away with it.
He wasn't even a blip on the cops' radar.
When Edison gave me a look, I shrugged. "Send a 122 then a couple zeroes, then put 62 and hit pound, and hang up."
"You've said his name before," Edison said, looking out the window as I drove. "And I've heard Jstorm and Alex talk."
Yeah, well, Janie and Alex were mildly obsessed with Luce. I guess them doing their own form of vigilante justice in the cyber realm made them feel like Luce was a kindred spirit. They had met him a couple times a while back while working on a case with Barrett and had looked into him. Once they found him, it was all history. They were fucking fangirls, plain and simple. And since Laz let it slip to them that I actually knew the bastard, they had been up my ass to tell them more.
Which, well, I fucking couldn't.
That was the reason Luce let me be on his list, let me have access to him. He trusted me. As much as I liked the girls, I wasn't losing that.
He was right too; I had made the mistake of talking about Luce in front of him and Laz back when Bethany had her shit going down. When we had to walk away from those pill mill fucks and I said Luce wouldn't let them get away with what they were doing.
Then about six weeks later, we found the good doctors were officially 'missing.'
Missing.
They would never be found.
Because they didn't exist anymore, not a single trace of them.
That was how good Luce was at what he did.
And while Laz and Edison had given me a look, I had shrugged it off.
From then on, I was careful not to use the name, not to flaunt that connection.
But, as they say, desperate times...
"Alright," I said as we pulled up out front of Barrett's office. "When he comes in, we're heading into the bathroom. You're going to have to hang with Barrett."
The inside of Barrett's office was a mess of paperwork in fucking Polish and code. Coffee cups were every goddamn where. The man himself was behind his desk, writing something furiously on a piece of paper.
His head raised, seeing Edison first, his brows going together, then landing on me. "Oh." That was all he said, knowing the drill.
Edison walked over toward the wall, looking at the paperwork plastered there, doing so with interest which made me think the fuck might have spoken Polish on top of Romanian. Though how he saw through the code was beyond me.
It was maybe five minutes later when he came in, black hoodie on with white hood pulls. I swear he owned fucking stock in whatever company made those damn things because it was all he wore and I knew he burned everything after each, ah, job. The hood was pulled up, his head lost within, always choosing to remain as anonymous as possible when he was going in and out of Barrett's, not wanting anyone to know who he actually was.
The hooded head jerked and kept walking toward the bathroom in the back.
"Be right out," I told Edison, and followed him in.
He reached up and pulled the hood off. "A 62?" he asked, brows drawn together. "You need information? Usually, you're the one coming to me with info."
"My, ah," - my fuck buddy? Somehow that didn't feel right to say all of a sudden. "My woman got roughed up and almost raped by the bastard who owns the building she rents a space in for her salon. I need to know who he is, where he lives, and where I can find him right about fucking now."
Luce nodded, reaching into his back pocket for a cell, one I knew had not a damn thing on it but a search history that likely only went back that day. He tossed burners more often than drug dealers.
I rattled off the address, watching as he typed, looking around for a short minute. "Ethan Criss. Family money. Invested it in property which was a good move. Ah, has a house down on Ticon. Ha," he said, shaking his head. "Doesn't even have a security system. Stupid fuck. Number five. I think that's where you'd find him at this time. Need anything else?"
"The lease agreement he has with Kennedy."
He looked up at me, brow raised. "You sure you know what you're doing? I can see how hot you are. Not that you shouldn't be, but I'm making sure it isn't clouding your judgment."
Luce didn't get worked up.
Maybe it was a consequence of seeing nothing but the ugliness, filth, and cruelty humans were capable of, but it didn't matter what case he was working on, how the bastard he was after had brutalized other human beings, he was always chill about it.
I wondered, for maybe the first time in the ten-plus years I had known the guy, if he had ever seen any goddamn good in his life.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't think he had.
It never occurred to me how fucked that was before.
I knew he was right, I knew it was foolish to go in hot; I also knew that this was not something that could wait. I might not have known Kennedy that well, but I knew her well enough to know that when she woke up with a clear head, she was going to want to go to the cops. I needed to have everything handled before then.
"You worried about me?" I asked, smirk pulling at my lips. "I'm pretty sure I can handle myself. You've seen me in the ring."
"The problem there being, this guy isn't in a ring. He's going to freak out and scream. He lives in a nice neighborhood. They hear screams, they're calling the cops. I know he's got to pay, but maybe getting yourself locked up for Ag isn't what you need."
Ag. Meaning aggravated assault.
I wasn't sure yet if I was even going to stop there.
"I appreciate the concern, but whatever happens, is happening tonight. So get me the files and find me some blank ones too while you're at it."
With that, I walked out of the bathroom, finding Edison looking over Barrett's shoulder. Now Barrett, he was a 'personal space' kind of guy. Meaning, he didn't fucking want you in his. But he wasn't screaming at Edison.
"No, frate," Edison said, jabbing a finger at a piece of paper. "There. That."
"The fuck you doing?" I asked, brows drawn together. "Moonlighting as a private investigator now?"
Just as Edison was starting to speak, the printer clicked on and started spitting out the paperwork I demanded from Luce. "What's this?" Edison asked, picking up the pages and looking at them.
"Part of the plan," I told him, snatching the pages away, and moving toward the door. I knew that, in about an hour or two, there was going to be some serious questions from him, but I would deal with that after.
We drove off toward the destination, parking in his fucking driveway because, well, my car was nice and no one would think it was out of place there. Knowing there was no security system made sneaking in through the garage literally something a child could do.
It was late, the house quiet, making us cringe at the sounds of our boots across his pristine tile floor. I wasn't sure how much family money he had or how many properties he invested in to make it work for him, but whatever he had done business-wise was working for him. The house was worth one-point-five easily. The car in his drive was another hundred K. His suit when I had seen him at Kennedy's was a couple grand, as was the watch. The man made bank.
Normally, you would find that admirable.
But too fucking often in my life, I found the biggest monsters lived behind gates, surrounded by beautiful things to mask their ugly souls.
I reached into my pocket, handing the papers to Edison as we stopped near the staircase. "In case I'm too fucking bloody to touch them," I said at his lowered brow. To that, understanding completely, he pocketed the papers, and we moved up the stairs.
I heard him before I saw him, before we were even close to the master bedroom. I guess a part of me had been figuring he would be long asleep already, but as we both pressed against the wall, listening, I realized he was in damage control mode.
"No, they're not fucking hardwired," he growled at to whomever he was talking to. "They're cheap fucking cameras you can buy at a store. You just need to get in, get into their computer system, find the footage, and delete it. No, Vance, I need this done fucking tonight. Before they open in the morning."
He was raging. And even with the carpet on the second floor, you could hear him pacing.
I shared a look with Edison, knowing what money could afford a man. Namely, power. Power to step on the little guy then buy brand new shoes and claim you had no idea where the treadmarks came from. He was going to take away the leverage she had in going after him. And if I knew the kind of bastard he was, and I did, I knew he was also going to have that computer backup cut. So that the next time he cornered her at work and she threatened to hang him with the footage, he would know there was nothing there to prove it if he didn't leave DNA evidence.
He would get away with it too.
I'd bet my car that he had gotten away with it before.
There was a silence as, I assumed, he hung up, before he was talking again. "Yeah, Mack. I have Vance on that. I know. Well, that's what I fucking pay you for. If she still goes to the cops, you get me out of it."
Lawyer.
He was covering all his bases.
And literally the only way a man knew to do all that shit was if he had scrambled in the past and learned how to handle it.
Fucking asshole.
I bet I piqued Luce's interest back at Barrett's, and if I had, he would look into him. I bet the next time I heard from Luce, he would tell me about all the pay-offs so women didn't press charges and all the paperwork at the NBPD that got 'mis-filed' or disappeared.
When there was silence again, and I looked back at Edison, I could see he was on the same wavelength as me.
Some men were rabid dogs.
And everyone knew what had to happen to rabid dogs.
They needed to be put down.
Like I said, I beat the ever loving shit out of men without a blink. But, to me, taking a life was serious shit and not to be taken lightly.
But this, this shit with this mother fucker, I wasn't taking it lightly. I was taking it really fucking seriously.
I cracked my neck and moved away from the wall, listening near the door for another moment, making sure he wasn't still on the phone but on the listening end. When I was sure there was no-one to be a witness to Ethan Criss's last moments on earth, I reached for the knob and pushed inward, surprised when there was not even a hint of sound, nothing to make Ethan look back from where he was staring at his window, even though the drapes were pulled. He turned half toward his bed, flinging his cell on top of it.
And it was right about then that I cleared my throat, enjoying it maybe too much when he stiffened and turned, eyes huge.
But his first reaction wasn't the fear you might expect.
It was all ego.
He snorted. "Should have known that bitch was fucking around with you," he said, seeming to pay no mind to how the word bitch made my hands curl, made a low, rumbling sound vibrate in my chest. "I always knew she was low class through and through. But I was in a slumming it kind of mood."
Slumming it?
Fucking... slumming it?
He thought Kennedy was slumming it?
Stupid fucking bastard didn't know when to shut his mouth.
"So... what? You're here to 'send a message?' Do you know who I am? I will have you behind bars within two hours."
"Eh," I said, shrugging casually, watching as Edison leaned back against the door after he closed it. "I don't think there is great cell reception from six feet under, right Edison?" I asked, cocking my head to the side, watching the realization cross his face.
He rolled his eyes, though. I guess that was the problem with getting away with shit too often; it made you think you were untouchable. "See yourself to the door. I'm sure you tripped the security alarm on your way in."
My smile rose then, slow, likely a little demonic-looking given how fucking twisted I was feeling right that moment.
"Funny thing. We know you don't have a security system. Would you like to take a second to make up a story about having a vicious pitbull or twenty years of Ju-Jitsu, or can we get on with the killing and dying part of the evening?"
I think that sank in.
Because all the indignant blood that had been filling his face a second before, it all drained away, leaving nothing but the scared little man who realized that all his connections, all his money, were completely useless to him in this situation.
I liked that.
I let my anger feed on that.
Because this was the kind of man who got his rocks off by taking a woman's power away, taking her choice away.
And he was getting his first real taste of having his own power, his own choice taken away from him. I wanted him to really let that sink in, to really feel how awful that was.
So when I charged at him, yeah, I fucking played with him for a while. The hits were superficial, nothing to do any real damage. I wanted him pissing his pants scared, like he had made women feel in his past, like he had made Kennedy feel before she found a way to get away from him.
"Just a suggestion," Edison cut in when I finally snapped, finally had enough fucking around, when I grabbed the bastard by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. "The bathroom is easier to clean," he added when I looked over.
"Just fucking jealous I got a handful of those full tits of hers," the moron said as I half-dragged him into his enormous master bath.
He was really just signing his own death certificate.
Because I didn't know about that.
I knew he pushed her around and ripped her dress.
She didn't tell me there was any actual sexual violation.
Grabbing her tits? That was a mother fucking violation.
"You got a handful of her tit?" I asked as I tossed him back against his vanity. "Which hand was it? Eh, you know what? I'll just fucking break them both." Then I grabbed the first one, twisting until the crack of bones was drowned out by his howl. After that, I went ahead and followed through with my threat for the other one.
I don't know how long I went at him.
For me, rage was something that burst out of me, but never consumed me.
There though, in that bathroom, with a man who put fear into a woman I cared about, it fucking ate me up. I wasn't even fully aware of what was happening until I felt Edison's arms fold across my chest, yanking me back, and shoving me against the vanity, making me look up and see myself for the first time.
Honestly, my first instinct was almost to laugh.
Because, quite frankly, I looked exactly like that bastard that Kennedy had referred to me as- Niro from Taxi Driver - in the final scene, covered in his and others' blood.
"Think he's good and dead there, frate," Edison said, looking at me over my shoulder. "Can't say I'm not a little disappointed that you didn't tap out so I could have a round or two, but the mother fucker certainly got what was coming to him."
I turned back around, seeing the blood around him like a chalk outline, coming from... who the hell knew where. He was beaten every fucking where. I wasn't even sure what the actual cause of death was.
"Think you pierced a lung with his broken rib," Edison said, crouching down beside his body. "He was doing that death rattle thing, choking on his own blood."
I stood up, taking a breath, smelling nothing but copper.
The plan had been a beating, a con into signing the papers I brought, giving over the ownership of the shop to her.
Had I planned to kill him, fuck, I dunno. Maybe I would have gotten some tips from Luce who practically did it for a living and got away with it.
"Well, I bet this fucker has some black bags somewhere to wrap him up in," Edison announced, still chill as fuck. Honestly, it was almost chilling how calm he was about shit. "Then we'll use a sheet for good measure, cram him into that tiny trunk in your sports car. Well, I'll do all that. Your ass needs to get in that shower and clean up. I'll find some clothes for you. Then I'll get rid of all this blood, vacuum the bedroom. I saw one of those wet mop things in his kitchen; we'll use that on the way out to get rid of any possible treads. Oh, and I'll text that Vance guy from his phone and call off the break-in."
Shit.
Okay.
Maybe Luce wasn't the only bastard in town who knew how to get rid of evidence.
"And the body?" I asked, waving a hand toward it.
Edison shrugged. "I'll take care of it."
"You'll take care of it?" I repeated, brow raised, wanting more than that.
"I have a way," he said, shrugging again. "Trust me, frate, no one will ever know what happened to old mister rapist bastard."
Then, with that, we followed his plan.
That plan had me dropping him, and the goddamn body, at some place he kept a car stashed, moving the body into that trunk with the strict orders to vacuum and shampoo my own just in case, then him driving off to take care of what was left of Ethan Criss.
Me, I went home. I burned the clothes he stole from Ethan's. I showered again. I changed. I cleaned out my trunk, then washed the whole outside for good measure.
By the time I was done, it was late the next morning, and I was finally on my way back to the compound and my woman Kennedy.
I needed to fucking stop thinking of her as my woman.
The fuck was wrong with me?
And yet... when I saw my name across her back, along with the words 'property of,' I had to admit, it felt right.
I wanted her to be mine.
That shit, well, there were no words for that shit.
Aside from maybe- completely un-fucking-like me.
So I yanked the cut back on her when she tried to shrug it off, embarrassed by the joke Roderick played on her, and her eyes cut to my hands which, admittedly, looked worse than any fight I ever had at Hex. I was pretty sure there were bite marks on them if you looked close enough.
"What did you do?" she asked, her voice a mix of scared and disbelieving.
Because she already knew.
I didn't need to tell her.
But I gave her the truth anyway.
"What needed to be done."