Page 23 of EverGreene
Fuck. Was she dating V?
I didn’t think Ever and V had quite reached that level of commitment in their relationship. Then again, what V had with Ever was too unhinged for conventional levels. What came after having the man who’d been low-key stalking youfor over a year, spooning you to sleep in your bed? An oath in blood? That seemed more feasible than Ever thinking V was her boyfriend.
What if there actually is someone else?
My hands irrationally balled themselves into fists at my side at the thought of anyone touching Ever. The pull she’d had on me since she moved here had evolved from protective to something far more primal than I’d bargained for. I shouldn’t care whether she had found someone. Getting into bed with her wasn’t my motive for doing what I’d been doing for over a year, but I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been on my mind.
“There he is.” Cole’s voice snapped me away from my intrusive thoughts of Ever riding another man’s dick. Cole and I had been lying in wait for our mark, who’d just exited the elevator on the third floor of the parking structure outside MapleLeaf Bank, headed in the direction of his vehicle, a white Mazda with a hint of rust near the front passenger wheel well. Convenient for us, it had been parked in an area with fewer cars nearby.
Like a surprisingly staggering number of other parking structures in the area, there were no video cameras to capture what was going to happen to Frank Cargill next.
I moved to open the door to the same car I’d used to drive Ever home, stopped short by a hand clasping my shoulder. Cole’s masked face stared back at me. “You good?”
I nodded. In the beginning, I was always good. It was at the end when that would melt away. When visions of my father putting his hands on my mother came back to me, transporting me to a time when I was helpless to do much other than cry in a corner, rocking back and forth while pretending her screams were a melody she was singing instead of cries of agony. I’d called 911 once, but hell of a lot of good that didwhen Mom wouldn’t press charges, making up some bullshit story to officers about where the bruises on her face came from.
Cole nodded, but I could tell he was still appraising me even as I exited the vehicle, tugging my own mask down over my face. Frank Cargill looked like the typical piece of shit we normally handled. They all had that same look: painfully average. A small man who wanted to be big. Not a dig at their stature but more at their mindset. Frank was a small man who took his inadequacies out on those weaker than him, knowing full well that most other men could and would kick his ass. A real shit stain on the boxers of society.
When the justice system failed to wipe them out, the task was given to us. Illegal as fuck? Yes, it was. But just as satisfying and effective. After tonight, Helen Cargill wouldn’t have to worry about her soon-to-be ex-husband looming in the shadows. Hell, he’d probably let her keep the house in their divorce without putting up much of a fight. From this night forward, instead of seeing himself as the hunter, he would know he was the prey. Instead of Helen having to look over her shoulder for him, it would be him looking over his shoulder for me.
I followed in Frank’s footsteps, my tennis shoes silent on the concrete. I’d learned how to conceal myself over the years, hiding from my father when I was younger and now stalking predators. Cole remained back in the shadows, watching me, ready to jump in if things went sideways, both with me and if Frank turned out to be more formidable than he looked.
“Mr. Cargill,” I called the man’s name when I got so close to him that one large step would have resulted in me stepping on his heels. Startled, his body jerked in a jumping motion before he whipped around to face me.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked. Like many other animalsin the wild, he attempted to puff himself up to look far more foreboding than he really was, but unlike those same animals, the fear in his eyes was palpable.
“I’m Vengeance, and I’ve been coming for you for a long time. Sorry I’m late.”
Frank appeared to size me up a split second before taking off like the coward that he was, making it to his car and opening the door right as I caught up to him, catching it with the palm of my hand and slamming it closed, effectively pinning him against the vehicle.
“What the fuck do you want?” he yelled, raising a fist to strike me, which I caught in mid-air with my gloved hand.
“I heard you liked hitting women. Is that true, Frank? Do you enjoy hitting women? Or anyone who’s weaker than you, for that matter?”
“That bitch is lying. I never touched her.” Like a cornered animal, Frank had turned from a publicly mild-mannered banker to a snarling bundle of flesh whose fight or flight response had kicked into overdrive. He’d morphed from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde, a common occurrence with abusers.
“Frank. Frank. Frank. You see, I know you’re lying. And you know that I know that you’re lying. So, how about you do us both a favor and don’t lie. If you do, your already shitty night will get much, much shittier.” To drive my point home, I squeezed my hand that had captured his fist, compressing it tighter as I twisted it, only dropping the appendage after the bones in Frank’s wrist snapped and his shriek echoed through the parking structure.
“You psychotic son of a bitch, you broke my wrist.” Frank grabbed his injured arm, clutching it at his side.
“And you broke Helen’s nose, ring finger, and foot, so I would say that we’re getting close to breaking even. No pun intended.”
With apparently zero self-awareness, Frank reared back with his uninjured arm and swung at me, aiming for my face but finding himself once again intercepted by my arm. My fingers locked around his forearm, twisting and pulling him away from his vehicle, forcing him down to the concrete.
“You think you’re a big man in that mask,” he said, his voice coming out as somewhat of a hiss. “A real man doesn’t need to hide his identity. You’re nothing but a pussy.”
My fist met his jaw with a crack, and Frank howled in pain. Blood flowed from his mouth, starting as a trickle and slowly growing in intensity. His head rolled to the side, where he spat out fragments of his teeth onto the concrete. “No man who needs to beat a woman to feel superior is going to lecture me on how to be a real man. You want to see my face; I’ll be glad to oblige.” I pulled my balaclava mask up far enough that I was able to lock eyes with Frank before pulling it back down again.
“The bitch deserved it,” Frank said, spitting blood clots onto the ground. “She and that freeloading son of hers. He’s lucky he fell in line quickly, and I didn’t have to set him straight—much.”
My childhood flashed before my eyes. Memories of my mom cowering with me held securely in her lap while she shielded me from her husband’s fists, acting like my shelter from the storm that was my father. She took each and every blow without crumbling because she knew if she did, I would suffer for it. Images of Helen and her son bracing for impact transposed themselves with memories of my childhood. I could vividly see Helen trying to shield her own son, who would later be injured by the quaking piece of shit in front of me as she was forced to watch. The image of Helen in my head screamed, begging Frank to grant mercy on her child, but his blows only became more frequent and severe in response to her pleas.
“Stop! You’re going to kill him if you keep it up.” Cole’s voice rattled me back to the present the moment my fist connected with Frank’s face for what looked to be the half-dozenth time from the damage that had already been done. His nose was obviously broken; one of his eyes was already beginning to swell shut. Blood poured from skin that had been split open with the force of my knuckles. He was alive but had lost consciousness, probably about four punches back.
“We need to get out of here.” Cole grabbed my arm to hoist me up to my feet just as the headlights from a car came into view. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Run!”
Not having to be told twice, I took off hot on Cole’s heels, cursing myself for my inability to control my rage in much the same way my father had been unable to control his own. His genes were strong. He ran through my veins, and I’d had to come to terms with knowing that, despite what numerous therapists had tried to drill into my head, I was destined to become a monster.
Cole and I threw the doors to the sedan open, and we both piled in, with him taking the driver’s seat. Headlights belonging to the SUV that had pulled into the parking structure drove past us, coming to an abrupt stop near Frank’s vehicle.
