Page 48 of Retribution
It’s as if God himself was arranging things for us, clearing the obstacles in our path. Trey would certainly agree that it is so. Personally, I wonder at a God that would condone killing, but maybe He doesn’t like pedophiles either.
Getting into his house was easier than we expected, and we’ve been chilling on their sofa, sitting in the dark, awaiting their arrival.
Headlights scan over the walls, briefly illuminating the room as their car pulls into the drive. Trey gives me a hard kiss, then we don our masks and wait, Trey’s gun resting on his lap.
Voices carry through the hallway as they step inside, Lindsay’s voice mocking as she says, “… really! And did you see what Mrs. Stevenson was wearing? I swear that dress went out of fashion two years ago.”
The door shuts quietly behind them, the lock engaging. Trey squeezes my hand and pulls me to my feet. My heart is racing like a hummingbird’s, adrenaline coursing through me. I can feel the excitement welling up, my chest tight with keeping my breathing steady and quiet.
Trey raises his arm, the gun outstretched as the footsteps draw nearer.
“And honestly, dear, did you really have to mention so much crime in your speech? No one wants to hear abou—” her condescending tone ends on a screech as she flicks the light on and sees us standing there.
She’s pretty enough, I guess. Blonde hair up in an expensive ‘do, long navy dress swishing around her ankles, nude heels swinging from her fingers. Which she promptly drops as she comes to a halt, her trembling hand coming to her mouth.
Her husband runs into her, knocking her further into the room. He steadies her, then glances up and freezes when he sees the gun pointed at them. In his late forties, grey peppers his once dark hair. I suppose he was hoping to look dashing this evening in his tux, but the sagging gut and wiry frame of his calls more to mind an aging nerd dressing up in his father’s clothing.
“Good evening,” Trey begins. “Sorry to disturb you fine people this evening.” Waving the gun towards the sofa, he says, “Please, have a seat.”
“Don’t hurt us,” Lindsay cries, a lone tear running down her cheek. “We have money in our safe, please, take it and go.”
“He said sit,” I order, my voice coming out stronger than I meant it to. Lindsay jumps, and scurries over, plopping herself down with an anxious expression.
The senator stays silent, watching everything with a careful eye. He thinks he can outsmart us, that we are just ordinary thieves come for money.
Oh, no, my good sir. I wantsomuch more than that.
Charles follows after his wife, taking a seat next to her.
“Good choice,” Trey intones. I can tell he’s smiling behind the mask. Lifting the bag by his feet, he withdraws zip ties and duct tape. Stalker 101: never leave home without them. He hands them to me, and I make quick work of tying Lindsay up. I take extra pleasure in shutting her up with the duct tape. I’m going to write a thank you letter to whoever invented the stuff. When Charles makes a move to stop me, Trey presses the gun to his head, causing him to freeze.
I then tie the senator’s hands and feet but leave the duct tape off his mouth. He’s going to need to answer for his crimes.
Coming to stand next to Trey, I can barely contain my glee. “Senator Charles Rankin. You have been keeping secrets from your wife and children. We are here to witness your confession.”
Charles stays still, unmoving and quiet. It unnerves me a little. Most would be trying to get out of the restraints, begging and pleading. He just sits there, staring at us. I know he can be vocal. He hasn’t had any problem with it in the past.
He has a dominant personality. He likes to be in charge, enjoys ordering people around. Charles wasn’t one of my regulars, he preferred Quentin and Rosalie. They told me plenty about him.
Before I even realize what he’s doing, he raises his arms and brings them down sharply, breaking the zip tie. He lunges forward, going for Trey’s gun, but trips and falls to the floor, forgetting I had done his ankles as well.
Trey huffs a laugh, mocking him as he hauls Charles to his feet and pushes him back down on the sofa. “That was stupid,” he hisses at him and punches him in the stomach.
Lindsay screams behind the tape, struggling against the binds. Her hair is coming loose, flying about her face in little wisps. Trey grabs a rope and loops it around Charles’s neck like a leash, stepping several feet away from him.
“Let’s try this again,” Trey orders in a harsh voice. “It’s time to come clean, senator. Tell your wife your secret.” He gives the rope a sharp tug, making the senator flinch as it cuts into his throat.
Hatred pours off of him in waves as he narrows his eyes, clearly assessing how he might get out of this. Standing with my back to Lindsay, I lift my mask, letting Charles get a good look at me. A smirk dances on my lips when I see the recognition in his eyes, and I quickly pull it back down before stepping back.
“Fuck,” Charles groans. “She doesn’t need to hear this, okay? Just let Lindsay go and I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Mmpphmm!” comes Lindsay’s muffled shouts.
“Shut up!” I yell back at her, tired of the foreplay. I want to get to the fucking already.
“Tell her now, Charles, or my friend here will put a bullet through your knee. I hear that’s one of the most painful places to be shot. And for every minute you delay, he’ll add another bullet.”
He hangs his head, and I can see when he finally decides to play along.
