Page 8 of Retaliation
The flames grew rapidly, and the heat licked against my skin. I stared into the fire and suddenly I heard them. The screams of my first victims, two innocent little girls. The sound pierced my ears, and my body froze. I wanted to reach out, to go to them, but I was stuck, staring into the fire I created and listening to them burn. They called to me, and my body lurched forward, toward the fire. They called to me, begged me to save them.
“SERAPHINA!” Tibby shouted my full name into the earpiece, and I choked on smoke.
I jumped away from the fire and shook the voices from my head. Fuck.
“Sara! What the fuck. Answer me dammit!” Tibby shouted as the sirens blared, drawing closer.
I turned and ran. “I’m okay.” I choked out the words, my voice shaking.
“What the fuck just happened?” Her voice was panicked.
I shook my head again to clear it. “I just got caught in a memory. I don’t know. I’m okay. I’m nearly back to my bike. See you soon.”
Fire trucks arrived just as I turned the corner into the alley where my bike was hidden. I quickly shoved on my helmet before straddling the seat and speeding away. They wouldn’t make it in time to save Jackson, at least. The gloves I wore made sure I left no fingerprints. No trace that I was ever there. Tibby hacked every camera in the area that could possibly tag me. Jackson’s death would remain either unsolved or, more likely, declared accidental. From the alcohol in his blood and the lack of any stolen property, the cops would assume the drunk finally fucked himself, dying from his own stupidity. The Obscuritas would cover the rest, if they even looked into it.
I gunned the engine, speeding onto the highway toward downtown Boston. Yvonne’s was a fairly well-known restaurant in town. What most people didn’t know about was the burlesque club hidden beneath it. There was a secret entrance to the club, and only very few people were allowed in. Luckily for me, I’d made friends with some of the dancers and immediately got a job offer. But I wasn’t there to dance. I preferred to sing. Singing at the club brought a tiny piece of my soul back to life. A tiny piece of my dark heart pulsed when I sang, when I listened to a beautiful melody. Music called to the part of me that died with my mother and sister.
When my father left me behind, my heart nearly cracked in half. But I would find him and Michaela, no matter the cost. They weren’t dead, I just knew it, had to believe it. As much as it pained me to remember any of them, I pulled that spark of light out of the abyss again and again. I was a glutton for punishment and apparently a sucker for the biggest lie of all. Hope.
I found Tibby seated at the mahogany bar that dominated the back wall of the club. She wore a white crop top and skin-tight, black leather pants. Her bright-pink heels matched the color of her blunt bob wig. Her brown eyes glittered with mischief as she watched the new, muscular bartender mixing drinks.
Three stages flanked the wall opposite of the bar, with metal cages between the roped-off VIP booths along the adjacent walls. Women decorated in glitter and stage makeup danced in the cages, catching the greedy eyes of men and women alike. The women in cages were available for purchase for the night. I watched as one of the bouncers unlocked a cage and led Maxine into a VIP booth. The velvet curtain dropped back into place before I could see who was hiding behind it, but Tibby had cameras hidden in every booth. If someone worth knowing about was here, she’d tell me. The twins, Josie and Lottie, were currently on the main stage performing their aerial silks act. Dominique, La Noircoeur’s owner, tried to get me into their act, but I refused. I enjoyed practicing with them, and after spending a few of my teen years living in a gymnastics center, I was the obvious choice. But I didn’t learn gymnastics to be a performer. I learned to be a hunter.
The memories of my early teen years barreled into my mind. I ran away from the final foster house when I was fifteen. My heart had finally broken into irreparable pieces. I’d lost my virginity, lost my family, lost everything that was me. I slept on the streets or in abandoned buildings and rarely ate. On a particularly cold and rainy night in Myrtle Beach, I snuck into a gym near the boardwalk and tried to sleep in a bathroom, only to have the owner and gymnastics coach, Connor Rigby, discover me the following morning. Instead of kicking me out, he offered me a job. I manned the front desk and cleaned the equipment and locker rooms. He turned a storage room into a mini bedroom for me. Rigby was the first and only man I decided to trust again after my father abandoned me and took away my last living sister.
Rigby had two daughters of his own, one a gymnast, the other a semi-pro volleyball player. He coached competitive gymnastics and self-defense classes. After two months of work, I started taking the classes. Pushing my body to the absolute limit became sort of an obsession. And, like everything else in my life, the brief happiness turned to ash because I chose to trust another father figure, and he turned out to be a pedophile. So I burned his gym to the ground, with him inside it. Cold satisfaction turned to endless guilt when I realized too late his daughters were inside the building too. They weren’t supposed to be there. That night, I became someone else. Someone cold, unfeeling, and set on vengeance. People were going to die on my quest for justice, and feelings got in the way. Innocent people, just like my sisters, like his daughters, would continue to die until someone stopped the evil men of The Obscuritas, and that someone was me.
A raucous round of applause pulled me out of the dark memories as I straddled the bar stool next to Tibby. I had about fifteen minutes before my own act.
Tibby slid a vodka tonic toward me, her face a mask of calm. “How’d it go?”
“Cried like a fucking baby.” I smirked, sipping the cool liquid and letting it soak up the bad memories stuck in my head. “Bled out like a regular human.”
Tibby was the only person who knew of my accelerated healing abilities. And so far, we hadn’t found anyone else like me. As far as I knew, I wasn’t hiding any other super powers.
Tibby grinned manically. “Not surprised. Too trashy to be anything else. I’m monitoring his wife to see if she does anything interesting once she finds out he’s dead.”
I nodded, scanning the room. “Good.”
Tibby cleared her throat. “You good, Sara? You scared the shit out of me.”
I gulped down the rest of my drink, enjoying the burn of liquor splashing against my throat. “I’m fine. Just got a little distracted.”
She frowned, but let it go for now. “There’s something else,” she whispered. “The mansion burned to the ground.”
“Interesting.” I didn’t burn the mansion, not intentionally, at least. And I couldn’t remember seeing anything on fire when I left.
Tibby rolled her eyes. “Not interesting. You just burned someone else to a crisp. Perhaps the police will see a connection. I know it wasn’t us. I checked the cameras and didn’t see anyone show up until the police arrived with Samuel Delano.”
I shook my head. “The dark lord douche kings would never let that happen. Then the police would be looking into them as well.” I felt eyes on me and scanned the room again for any overly attentive gazes turned our way.
“Someone is here to see you,” Tibby raised an eyebrow, her eyes darting across the crowded tables.
I followed her gaze. Dev was sitting at a small table near the stage. I licked my lips, and Tibby snorted, but I couldn’t help it. He looked delicious. He wore dark jeans and a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos. One hand rested on his thigh while the other stroked the short glass of whiskey on the table. His dark hair was swept back in a messy but stylized way. Dev watched the crowd, his bright-green eyes scanning the room with the preternatural ease of a predator. But he couldn’t see me unless he turned around fully.
“What a strange coincidence,” I purred with a devilish smile.
Tibby snorted a laugh. “Sure, like you didn’t invite him.”
