“Great! Have the restaurant put a round of drinks on my tab for the table, as a congratulations. And tell Lisa I said hello.”
The threat was subtle, but Don wasn’t an idiot. And he had a lot more self-control than his punk-ass son. I already told him hours before why I was visiting. He either risked his entire commercial development empire on Gabe’s predilections for child pornography, or turned the other way while I dealt with him myself.
And here we were, alone in his multi-million dollar house in a swanky suburb of Vegas. Don Sumpton knows I made him.
“Yes, ma’am,” Don responded again, and the line disconnected with no further discussion.
Gabe burst into a fresh wave of sobbing. “Please, I swear to God I didn’t mean to do anything wrong! Please just let me go, and I will never get into that stuff again!”
I swung the iron in a lazy circle, making him flinch as the tip just barely missed his face. “You see, Iwouldlet you off with just a busted leg and a warning…” For a brief moment, hope sparked in those muddy eyes. “But… I have this neat little trojan that I launch for anyone who logs into my camming site, hence how I found you. Wanna know what else I found?”
He gulped loudly in a pitiful attempt to hold back more tears.
“I found your IP in the history of several deep web sites. Sites that specifically cater to snuff films. And what kind of snuff films were you watching, hmm?”
The switch flipped in an instant. Gabe began to howl and thrash and spit all sorts of profanities, half of which I could even make out with how his voice cracked under the rage. “You fucking cunt!” he finally yelled something coherent. “Yougoddamn cock-sucking, raging bitch, you let me out right the fuck now or else I’m—”
I didn’t let him finish that sad little threat. On the next spin of the tire iron, I gripped it in both hands and planted my left foot forward, bringing it around in a baseball swing that had it whistling through the air.
Crack!
It made solid contact with the side of his jaw. I got to watch the satisfying breaking of bone as his face wrapped around the bar, those few brief seconds of silence filling the air before the pain lit his ass up. Whatever pretty-boy looks he relied on to get through life were long gone, now that his jaw hung unhinged and a gnarly gash opened up and began to bleed profusely. All he could do was howl wordlessly, drool and snot and tears mixing together to drip off his crooked chin. Poor little Gabe wasn’t a shifter and, therefore, much more delicate. I didn't even put in half of my strength into that swing, knowing it would kill the little human too soon for my liking.
“Now that you’ve learned some manners,” that got me another hateful glare from his watering eyes, “I think we’re going to have a good time.”
Fear smothered the rage that flared briefly, reverting him back to his whimpering as I lined the tire iron up with his other knee. I was looking forward to a long,longnight.
“Are you trying to traumatize the cleaning crew?” Taylor admonished as soon as I closed the door to his blacked-out SUV. He threw a critical eye at my dripping mess. “I’m glad I put the liners down this time. Jesus wept, girl, you’re a feckin' mess! When can I catch a feckin’ break from chasing after you?”
I waited until he pulled away from the curb to pull off my mask and push back errant strands of hair from my face. Half of it had fallen from the high ponytail I’d pulled it up into with all my activities. “Hey, they can stop their bitching! I kept the mess to one room this time. It’s not my fault your guys have weak stomachs. I'll even make it easy on them. They can leave the body as a message to Daddy dearest, in case he gets any bad ideas to retaliate.”
His eyes did a roll so hard I was shocked they didn’t get stuck somewhere in his head. “Don was pissed, by the way. He and his wife left shortly after your call.”
“Bummer,” I answered drolly. “Guess they took the long way home. Or went somewhere else for desserts. He’s lucky I didn’t drag his shitbag of a son out into his front yard for the neighbors to see.”
“Do you want me to track them?” Taylor waited for a stoplight to turn his attention back to me. “The spotter noted his license plate when they left the restaurant. I can have the street cams checked.”
I waved him off. A chunk of… something flew from my hand and plopped on his dashboard, making him scowl at me. “Don knows the rules, and didn’t keep his fucked-up son on a tight enough leash. If he wants to start shit, he won’t get far in Vegas. He’s lucky I didn’t fuck him up too, since his son was onhisIP address.”
Taylor shrugged, maneuvering the car to the left lane after the light turned green again. “Fair enough. He has clubs of his own; Don knows there are no sex workers outside of Red Riot’s protection. And the dark web… that’s its own fucked-up rabbit hole to go down. You know I don’t like you being in there anymore.”
“I’m a different person now, T,” I tried to reassure him. “Trust me, I won’t be getting caught again. Especially not by the likes ofhim.”
We had an unspoken agreement to not say the piece of shit’s name again. Knowing him, Elio Messina would crawl out of the darkness in the back seat like a bad fucking nightmare. Part of me wished he would, so I didn’t have to fly to Italy to exorcise his ass myself. He probably had so many crooked authorities there tasked to flag my appearance, so it wasn’t like I could sneak up on him. But I was biding my time. And I took my rage out on degenerates like Gabe Sumpton, who fueled the demand for sex traffickers like Elio.
“Jerel asked if we could stop by the club,” Taylor added, almost like an afterthought. “You think you can clean yourself up and be ready in thirty?”
I gave him some finger guns and a playful smirk. It probably looked more like I was a demented psycho, covered in blood and gore from head to toe. “You got it, bro. Tell him I’ll be there. And have a vodka cranberry waiting in the office.”
It actually only took twenty minutes to get ready. I was putting minimal effort in tonight, already worn down by all my fun little activities. The most time-consuming task was pulling my unruly red hair up into space buns that were not completely wonky. Checking the retro black-and-white kitty clock in my kitchen—the one where the eyes and tail move side to side with the ticks—showed just past eleven o’clock in the evening.
“Shit,” I drew the word out. “I’m gonna have serious eye bags tomorrow.”
Sighing, my hand snatched the bundle of keys up from where I tossed them on the entryway table, plodding my way down the hall from my condo. Taylor was leaning against his car parked at the curb in front of my building.
“Going for military chic?” He appraised my simple outfit—green cargo pants with a white tank top and black bomber jacket with matching Timberlands—and stood to snuff the butt of his cigarette out on the top of a nearby trash can before tossing it in. I blew a loose piece of hair out of my face and nudged past him to open the passenger door. His annoying chuckle was cut off by the loudslamwhen I shut it on his teasing face. “I’m shocked you don’t have pink camo.”
I was short enough to pull a foot up and brace it on the dashboard, knowing it would annoy the shit out of him in return. As expected, his smirk quickly turned to a scowl. “Do you mind?”
