“Um . . . dirty dishes?” I left them there after I ate because I knew the sound of me washing them would annoy him.
“Why the fuck would you leave these here? Do I look like a goddamn housekeeper to you?” he seethes.
I want to comment that I’m the one who gets treated like a housekeeper in this relationship, despite the fact that I have a full-time job, while he lives off his trust fund and only has to run occasional errands for his father.
But I don’t.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I was going to wash them when you were finished with your game so I didn’t bother you.”
His eyes spark with anger. “Don’t try to blame this shit on me. Just because you’re too lazy—”
“I wasn’t being lazy, I—”
My face stings, my eyes burning with tears, before I register the smack of his palm against my cheek. He hit me.
Hehitme.
Aaron’s always had a bit of a temper, and his words have been cruel at times, but he’s never laid a hand on me like this.
I bring my fingers to my cheek as he continues to berate me.
“If I wanted a fucking excuse, I would have asked for one. Now get this shit cleaned up.” He storms to the bedroom and slams the door closed.
I sniffle back tears and get to work cleaning up my mess.
My cheek stings as I wonder what I should do. I should probably wait for him to calm down and then try to talk about it with him. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be in a better mood.
Maybe he’s just stressed about something. That could be part of the reason our relationship has felt so strained recently.
When he comes back out of the room, he’s dressed like he’s going out. “I’m going downtown with the guys. I’ll see you later,” he tells me.
I turn toward him and lean against the sink, wrapping my arms around myself. “Okay.”
His jaw clenches, but he just gives me a tight nod. “And I want you in a better mood when I get back. Or else I’ll find a girl who is.” Then he just leaves. No apology. Not even an acknowledgment of what he did.
Hours later, after I’ve cleaned the whole apartment and made myself dinner, he still isn’t home. He must be staying at one of the guys’ houses tonight. Or maybe he met a girl and is staying at her place. It probably wouldn’t be the first time, and honestly, I’m not even sure if I care enough about this relationship anymore for it to bother me.
Chapter Three
Damon
I ARRIVE INRidgewater late Sunday night and get settled in my Airbnb. Most of the other guys who work the fair park trailers next to where we set up, but I’ve always preferred staying in an actual house. It makes me feel like less of a nomad, plus, I get to see more of the towns we visit.
Although I’m already familiar with this town.
After I get my bag unpacked and toiletries stacked in the bathroom, I pour myself a drink and open the case file Jake sent me on the target I’m hunting.
He’s a thirty-four-year-old man who was accused by an eighteen-year-old of raping her last summer at the camp they both worked at.
It reminds me a lot of the first case I worked for the Venatores while I was getting my degree at MIT.
When they approached me, I was intrigued because they helped people like my mom. Those who tried to use the legalsystem to bring their abusers to justice but the system failed them.
Most of the people in the group were computer hackers and engineers, people who could bypass firewalls, encrypt message boards. Vigilantes who hunted down those who escaped justice on technicalities.
The first person I helped was a thirteen-year-old girl whose camp counselor assaulted her. He got off due to a lack of evidence, because the girl wasn’t able to report it until she got home. He was also an MIT student. I found him on his way back to his apartment one night and knocked him out. I brought him back to a house the Venatores owned, and we tortured him. Our original plan was just to scare him, but he told us he didn’t regret what he did, that he’d do it again if he had the chance and take it even further.
So we killed him.
