Page 34 of Ricochet

His lip quivered and a whimper escaped him, right before he broke into a gut-wrenching scream that probably would’ve touched some part of my black heart if he hadn’t been a piece of shit child rapist.

“What? You don’t want to play?” I tipped my head, smiling at his pathetic sniveling. “Is it because I’m not a helpless little girl?” I snarled and leaned in to his ear. “Is it because I can inflict more pain on you than you could ever imagine?”

I grabbed a roll of duct tape from the floor beside me—the same tape that held the other three in their somewhat artistic contortions.

His eyes widened, panicked. “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Before he could spew his bullshit, I slapped a square of tape over his lips. Took everything inside of me not to pistol-whip the motherfucker right there. “I know you’re sorry, Julius. And maybe, when you’ve lost more blood than you should and your organs are spilling out of the holes I slice in your body, maybe I’ll feel sorry then, too. In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy this.”

He wriggled like a pathetic worm on a hook, as I bent down and hoisted him over my shoulder. Glock in hand in case of trouble, I carried him out, past the girls, and down the stairs to the car. With a pop of the trunk, I tossed him inside, smiling at his saucer eyes and useless, muffled screams as I slammed the lid in his face.

After exiting the parking lot, I drove two buildings down, taking an obscure spot on the side of a fire-gutted bar across the street, from where I could see the lit hallway and the door to the room. With the barrel of my M-24 hanging out of the window, I aimed my scope, finger on the trigger. Should anyone besides an ambulance or DeMarcus Corley come to the door, their spinal column would be blown to shards all over the stairwell.

Nearly thirty minutes passed—no doubt, the girls up there must’ve been getting antsy—and then an ambulance and two police cars skidded to a stop in front of the motel. Through the scope, DeMarcus’s face emerged from the first patrol car, and he jogged, gun pulled, to the top floor. After a few seconds’ pause with his ear to the door, he signaled two officers who’d followed behind him and entered the room.

Two minutes passed. Five minutes. Ten minutes. I kept my sights set the entire time. Waiting. In truth, I didn’t trust any of the bastards in the Detroit Police Department, but when Corley stepped out clutching his skull and shaking his head, I had a good idea the girls were in as good hands as they could’ve been.

A stretcher rolled out with two medics at each end, and Danielle lay strapped, head swiveling as though looking for something, or someone, while a female and male officer assisted the other girls down the stairs to the awaiting ambulance. Pulling a phone from his pocket, DeMarcus waved them on once they were loaded, and the siren signaled the ambulance’s exit.

I puffed out my cheeks, exhaled a sharp breath, and slid the gun back inside the vehicle. Julius’s muffled cries accompanied the pounding of his fists against the trunk, and a new wave of rage beat through my body.

I trailed the ambulance to Detroit Receiving, just to make sure I’d followed through on my promise. All three girls were rushed to the sliding doors, met by a doctor who stood bent over Danielle, as though asking her questions.

I hated the cold exit, wished I could’ve said something reassuring to the girls before I’d left. Killing those men was only the beginning of my war, though. There’d be more bloodshed. More pain. More retribution.

I couldn’t risk the exposure before then. Particularly when I had one of the raping bastards in my trunk.

CHAPTER 14

Chief Cox

Against the desperate pull of air tugging at his lungs, Cox climbed the staircase to the third floor of the Pantheon Motel. He eyed a tall, slim blond, computer tablet in hand, standing just outside the room that spilled over with forensics and investigators.

Jim Riley represented the cybercrime unit at the FBI—one of those middle-aged hippie types who undoubtedly tucked a bowl under his pillow at night so he could light up first thing in the morning like a true fucking pothead. Unlike the stereotypical FBI agents, who wore suits and ties on TV, Riley wore a North Face coat, with his badges dangling from a lanyard around his neck, like the bastard was about to hit the slopes. What the hell he was doing at a murder investigation was beyond Cox.

Cox directed his gaze toward Burke. “Someone order a latte? The fuck is the geek squad doing here? You call him, Burke?”

“Nah, Chief.” Coffee in hand, Burke stood opposite Riley, staring into the open room. “I didn’t call him.”

Riley swung around, a fake smile plastered to his face. “Ah, what an honor, Chief. Must’ve heard there were dicks flying in this case, eh, Cox?”

Insolent little cocksucker.

Supposedly, the murder scene was the worst the department had seen in a while, and in a city where killings happened every damn day, that was saying something. The girls had already been transported to the hospital. Good thing, too. If one of them had happened to recognize Cox, shit would’ve taken a bad turn.

“Go fuck yourself, Riley. Why don’t you leave the real cop shit to the boys who’ve actually handled a gun. This is local shit. A murder.” Still winded as hell from his climb, Cox glanced around. “I don’t see a computer, do you?”

“These sick sons of bitches have been running a copycat site in the deep ‘net, selling young girls for years. ‘Sides that, I was invited in an encrypted email.”

Cox drew back. “Email?” What the fuck kind of killer sent an email?

Riley sipped his coffee, his finger slipping across the screen of his iPad. Goddamn hipsters. A peek over Riley’s shoulder showed the mug shot of Julius Malone, who’d gone missing. “I have a feeling there’s a link between Achilleus X and the Eye for an Eye killer.”

“Ain’t that some shit. You boys can’t find the bastard tearing up the deep net, so you decide to overlap the two so the agency don’t take away your Dungeons and Dragons membership.” A raspy laugh tore from Cox’s chest.

Riley’s gaze lifted from the screen he’d been studying. “A denial of service hit the Detroit Police Department website for a full thirty minutes after the email was sent.” He huffed and sipped his coffee, tucking the iPad beneath his arm. “So, now we know why I’m here. Why are you here? Chief?”

“I got a personal stake in keeping this city from going apeshit. Most murders here are gangs. Bad deals. Retribution kills. This shit’s got the suburb folks worked up that he might cross the line between Detroit and Fashionable Fuckin’ Ferndale.” Cox’s eyes narrowed on Riley. “Ain’t that where you’re from, Riley?”