Page 2 of Retaliation
Tabitha Marsden, aka Tibby, aka Zenith, was pretty much my one and only friend. We’d met in a shelter for homeless teens. She was hiding out in the States after leaving London where she put her abusive stepfather in a coma. And I was…well I was a mess with nothing and no one. A few friendship bracelets and several bottles of vodka later and voila. Tech hackers, thieves, and murderers.
I’d stolen a few pieces of jewelry, all the cash in the safe, and one particularly badass-looking medieval club-like weapon from the mansion to throw off anyone who came hunting for the murderer. Not that anyone would be looking for me specifically. No one even knew I was alive.
I didn’t linger on that thought, not feeling up for a pity party tonight. I had plans in place. Things were finally coming together after almost two years of solid detective work on my part and a bit of tech sleuthing by Tibby. The Osbcuritas would pay. Starting with their Princes.
I pulled my bike into one of the employee parking spots behind the local pub, The Haven. I’d made friends with the bar owner and, as of two months ago, occupied the apartment above it. I’d finally found a solid lead on the men I sought and, lucky me, all four of them currently lived in the same city. Devon Parrish was my first mark, an Obscuritas Prince masquerading as a “lowly” bar owner. Of the four men I tracked, he was the only one not strutting about the town, flaunting his wealth. Then again, I’d found out only six months ago his father, Ezekiel Parrish, one of the four Obscuritas Kings, was dead, and Dev didn’t seem to stay in touch with any of the other Princes. Tibby couldn’t find any details about his father’s death other than the headstone Dev had purchased. The mystery of it just screamed “secretly murdered by the cult leaders.”
I locked up my bike and used the fire escape to enter the apartment. The only other way in was via the stairs through the bar, and since I didn’t fancy Devon knowing all my comings and goings, the fire escape was preferable. I shoved open the window and crawled through, cursing as my bloodied arm bumped into the rusty stove. The small kitchen was barely big enough for a child. Lucky for me, I was only 5’3” and although I wouldn’t consider myself thin, seeing as I lived in the gym when I wasn’t committing crimes against cult leaders, I could slip in and out of small spaces easily enough. My older sister, Lailah, had been gifted with legs for days and supermodel looks. I grimaced, unwrapping my arm and shaking the thoughts of my murdered sister from my mind. I tried not to think about her. Unless I was killing people, and then her broken body was all I could see before the rage took over. Sometimes I even blacked out from the fury of it, coming to on my bedroom floor with broken things scattered around me. I kept very little furniture these days.
I flicked on a lamp as I grabbed a towel from the hall closet and tugged off my boots, heading for the bathroom. My arm no longer bled freely, and the cut wasn’t too deep. I hissed in pain as I rubbed a cotton swab with peroxide over it, cleaning it out before it closed up full of dirt and grime.
I wasn’t entirely sure how my healing abilities worked, so it was better to be safe and clean the wound. The first time it happened, I was ten years old. I remembered my mother’s face like it was yesterday because everything changed after that stupid day.
“Momma!” I cried out as I ran to her, my knee bleeding freely. Lailah and I had been playing in the yard when I fell from the trampoline. We were pretending to fly.
Our mother was beautiful, like an angel. Her auburn hair fell around her shoulders in waves as she ran toward me. “My sweet princess. What happened?”
I sniffed, my face wet with tears. “We were trying to fly. I fell and landed on one of Michaela’s toys. Look at my knee!”
We both looked down at the bloody mess. Mother had come prepared with a cloth. She wiped it away gently, but the cut was already healing. I stared, confused. I looked up at her, and her eyes held something I didn’t understand at the time. Fear.
My eyes burned with angry tears as I shook the memory out of my head. I turned the shower handle all the way to the left, needing the scalding hot water to cleanse my body and clear my mind. I stripped out of my bloody clothes and tossed them into a trash bag stashed in the bathroom closet. I’d need to pick up a few more shifts at the club to replace all my ruined clothes. Even though Tibby kept us rich with stolen money and offshore accounts, I needed to maintain a believable, low profile for now. I chose the underground burlesque club for two reasons: to observe drunk, rich idiots willing to spill their secrets and to sing.
The scalding water soothed my mind and washed away the grime from the evening’s events. I lathered my skin with my favorite lavender and mint soap and scrubbed my body as I replayed the fight in my mind. While taking out Bullseye had been incredibly satisfying, tonight didn’t go as planned. He’d made me instantly, and I didn’t have time to interrogate anyone before the shooting started. Bullseye wasn’t a completely useless assassin and somehow saw the devil in my eyes when I walked into that mansion. I needed to change tactics. None of the lower level cult members were giving me what I needed. So lucky me, I’d be starting law school next week.
Andras Blackbyrn was currently attending Harvard Law School’s elite master’s program. And with a bit of tech magic, Tibby had me enrolled as a student. We shopped online and purchased anything that screamed “slutty student.” I didn’t entirely hate it. I could really rock a tiny plaid skirt. Based on his dating history, Andras preferred his women blonde, young and pliable. I wasn’t changing my hair again, though. The long, silvery blue locks were staying. I couldn’t risk him recognizing me with a more neutral color. Not that he would. I hadn’t seen the sons of The Obscuritas leaders since we were children.
I was only thirteen when they came for my sister, and the Princes were only a couple years my senior at the time. Lailah, my beautiful and bold older sister, was seventeen when she was murdered; sacrificed for some stupid ritual I still didn’t understand. Tibby and I scoured the dark web for details, but found very little. The Obscuritas clearly had their own tech wizard to keep their dirty secrets hidden.
The details of the night my family was murdered only came back to me in small pieces, like my mind was trying to protect me from the horrors. We drove a very long way in the middle of the night. My sisters slept in the car, but I felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. When we pulled down a long, wooded drive, my father cursed. I could just barely see my mother take his hand in the dark, whispering reassurances.
I remembered my father giving Michaela, my younger sister, and I something gross to drink before we got out of the car. It made my limbs heavy and my mind clouded. Michaela was even more affected and she quickly fell into a deep sleep, so he had to carry her. He stuffed us into a large wardrobe before The Obscuritas arrived, but I could still hear everything when the ritual began. Beyond the door to the wardrobe, Lailah cried out for our parents, and my father quietly sobbed as he leaned against the door. Why wasn’t he trying to save them? Why didn’t he go to Lailah when she cried out for him?
I wanted to scream, but then my mother began shouting words in a language I didn’t know. The house rocked and shook as the chanting grew louder, and I peaked out of a crack in the closet door, my curiosity getting the best of me. Thunder boomed as the storm built, and lightning flashed through the windows. It all ended so quickly, and suddenly my father was carrying us away. The shock of deathly silence assaulted my ears, and I could feel my heart pounding rapidly. My eyes landed on the men lying unconscious on the floor all around the house. I saw my sister, bound and prone inside a chalked pentagram on the wood floor. Her throat was cut, her blue eyes glassy and terrified. My mother lay on the other side of the chalked surface, her eyes closed and her face pale. Her fingers only just grazed the tip of the chalky symbols. I barely registered the four boys passed out in the circle with Lailah. And then we were gone, driving away from my murdered mother and sister. A piece of my heart broke away and got left behind with them that night. The beginning of the end.
For almost eight years, I plotted my revenge. It didn’t matter if the Princes hadn’t actively participated in the ritual then or not. My insider information told me they were taking over as the cult leaders as soon as Andras graduated in May. Something big was coming. More and more members of the cult were traveling into town each week.
I lingered in the hot water for a few more minutes, keeping my hair dry, before deciding I needed a drink and loud music to drown out my dark thoughts. I quickly dried off and slipped into a pair of fleece-lined leggings and an oversized black sweater with Ghostface on it. I rearranged my hair in a messy knot and coated my lashes with mascara, finishing with my signature blood-red lipstick and leaving my freckles on display. Perks of being a natural ginger—fair skin and a few freckles. I pulled on some cozy socks and boots, grabbed my keys and cash, then headed down the stairs into the noisy dive bar.
The Haven was a favorite for locals and far enough off the beaten path to avoid cringe-worthy college boys and tourists. Dim lights and sticky bar stools dominated the space. Nirvana played loudly from the digital jukebox, the only new-age piece of technology in the place. I slipped onto a stool at the far end of the bar and waited for Devon to make his way to me. I watched him work, appreciating the fitted T-shirt riding up as he flipped a bottle of whiskey into the air and smoothly poured four shots. Devon’s scruffy beard dominated his face, hiding his unruffled and easy smile, which he only gifted to his regulars and myself. Otherwise, he was permanently in grumpy mode. I called him grumpy-sunshine. Not that anyone would notice, but I’d been watching him for some time now. He had a soft side, a good side. Dev wasn’t evil on the inside like I hoped he’d be.
He passed out two of the whiskey shots and grabbed the other two, turning toward me with that sweet smile, the skin around his light-green eyes crinkling as he dropped the shot in front of me. It was impossible not to be captured by his gaze, the amazonite color of his eyes contrasting against his dark-brown skin and shaggy, dark hair. My stomach fluttered and heat flooded my body, heading south fast. Down, girl.
“Hey, beautiful.” His smile widened, and I couldn’t help smiling back.
I wanted to point out that he was the beautiful one here, but that was a little too bold for tonight. I wanted him close but not too close.
“Hey, Dev.” I picked up the shot, clinking the glass to his and knocking it back. “Looks like a busy Saturday for you.”
“It’s been steady. Mostly regulars. Nothing too exciting. How’s your night been?” He leaned against the back of the bar, crossing his arms and giving me an eyeful of his muscular, tattooed arms.
He was just so pretty to look at. It was a shame he’d have to die with the others. I told myself his hot bartender vibe was the only thing I’d be missing, even if it wasn’t entirely true.
“Nothing exciting in my life, as usual.” I shrugged, keeping the details of my life vague as always. He never asked for them anyway.
Devon Parrish was going to be the hardest of the four to take out. He seemed normal, well-adjusted, and very much my type of bad boy turned good guy. But he was one of them. His father had been one of them. And for what they did to my family, they all had to pay the price. No matter how deep those piercing eyes stared into my revenge-riddled heart.
I tried not to dwell on the knowledge that in two months of semi-close contact with Dev, I’d felt more alive than I had in the last eight years, which was impressive since we hadn’t even kissed. Sure, I’d been with men before, but it never meant anything to me, it was always a job. I faked the smiles, faked the orgasms. Besides, how could you feel anything for anyone when you were already dead inside?
