Page 23 of The Reaper's Vice

Remembering…

8 years ago…

“Just hold on! I’m going to get you out of here!” I shout, clutching the little blond Arelia tighter in my grip. She’s so small, so fragile, I’m worried my strength will crush her bones—but I can’t let up. Can’t let go. Can’t stop moving.

I’ve been running through the labyrinth of underground tunnels for what seems like an eternity, desperately trying to find a wayout.If I don’t find a way soon, the two masked men chasing us will catch up. And all of this will be for nothing.

Forcing myself to a halt, I close my eyes and listen for something—anything—that could help me. It’s eerily silent down here. There’s no noise—nothing, save for the slow drip of condensation coming from the vent by the entrance of the tunnels.

Chest brimming with hope, I walk toward that sound, pausing with each turn to make sure I’m still headed in the right direction. When I finally set eyes on the concrete steps leading to the main clubhouse level, my pulse skitters in excitement.

“Look,” I whisper, raising a shaking finger to point at the steps ahead. “You’re almost free.”

For the first time since I saw her, Arelia’s eyes brighten with something akin to hope. She turns those baby blues onto me, her chipped smile so wide I’m worried her face will split in two.

“Th-thank you.” She lets go of my shirt just long enough to throw her stringy arms around my neck. My chest feels fuzzy as I return the embrace, an unfamiliar warmth spreading to my fingertips as she sobs into my shoulder. I’m careful not to hug her too hard for fear of injuring her frail body, but all I want to do is crush her in my grip and tell her everything will be okay.

“You don’t need to thank me.” My voice cracks as emotion wells in my throat. “I’m so sorry for…” I try to finish the sentence, but the words won't come. There really is nothing I can say to her—nothing I can offer that would reverse the horrors she’s lived through. The only thing I can do is get her the fuck out of here and away from these people who want to hurt her.

Later… later, I’ll come back and enact her revenge for her.

I make my way up the stairs, the rapid beating of two hearts the only sound to fill the small space. I grip the handle of the small wooden hatch at the top of the steps, looking at the girl and making sure she’s ready for what’s about to come. Her chin wobbles as she nods, her hands gripping my shirt even tighter as she buries her face into the crook of my arm like I taught her.

She doesn’t need to see what’s about to happen up there.

I take a steadying breath, closing my eyes and grabbing the gun nestled in my pocket. I hold it like a lifeline as I force my arm upward, allowing light to spill into my eyes as the hatch opens to the club leader’s office.

I hasten across the room toward the exit, wrapping my fist around the doorknob only to jerk away when a male voice sounds from the other side of the oak. Clutching the girl to my chest, I rush behind the desk, crouching low in the hopes they won’t notice us.

The voices draw closer, and I frown as the timbre of Floyd Cox spills beneath the door.

“Right this way, boys. We’ll enter through my office.”

Another male voice speaks out, “I told you—Coxy has the hookup. All the tight pussy you could want.”

Bile rises in my throat, coating my mouth with a taste one millionth as vile as the words that just fell from his lips. I press one of the girl's ears to my chest, covering the other with my spare hand so she doesn’t have to hear the revolting words.

“Unfortunately, I only have one girl left—the last batch I had shipped in barely lasted a week—but the one I have will be more than enough for you boys.”

One of them chuckles. “They just don’t make ’em like they used to.”

Anger heats my veins, so rapid and violent I’m sure I’ll combust on the spot.Children. They’re talking aboutchildren.

The door clicks open, and in steps Floyd Cox, black hair greased and chunky gold rings adorning each of his disgusting sausage fingers. Two more men in club uniforms follow at his heels—a fat bald one and a skinny one with diamond studs—both pathetic, vile excuses for human beings.

Floyd strides over to the hatch, and I hold my breath, praying he’ll lead the men down so Arelia and I can make our escape. Just when I think he’ll wrap his hand around the handle, he stops, straightening and gazing around the room with narrowed eyes.

And that’s when I realize—the carpet.

I didn’t put the carpet over the hatch.

“Come out, come out, little girl,” he calls, clearly unaware there’s a fully grown man in the room along with her. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

The hatch bursts open, revealing the two men chasing us in the tunnels. Their voices collide as they try to explain what happened down there, but when Floyd finally realizes what they’re saying, his hand moves to the gun strapped to his hip.

It’s now or never.

Before they can act, I stand from behind the desk, my face a twist of rage as I fire my gun. Five distinct pops fill the air, each bullet landing square in the forehead of each of the members—except Floyd. He only gets one in his stomach.

---