Page 32 of Dark Side of the Cloth (The Righteous 1)
Dean pulled on a tight black T-shirt, his thick muscled arms and tattoos proudly on display. Loud rock music played as a backdrop while he prepared himself for tonight’s agenda. He laid his lips on the long sharp blade, then slipped it home like butter in the sheath across his chest. Grabbing the black leather straps, he cinched them into place and proceeded to fill all the available spaces with an assortment of his favorite tools of his trade.
Next, he smeared blackout grease across his face, then leaned toward the mirror and finished the final details before pulling the black ball cap low over his face.
It hadn’t taken as much work as he thought to track down and eliminate possible suspects in Yasmine’s sister’s rape and murder. The list only had four names on it, and the first two, although they did have the proper sexual profile, didn’t match Yasmine’s description. Besides, they were both dead now from one disease or another, good riddance as far as he was concerned. The other two were brothers, and although Yasmine only mentioned one attacker in her witness statement, he suspected both had been at play. He had no proof, but he was about to get it.
Marching down to the church’s garage, he pulled the sheet off his black beauty. The glistening Hummer always called his name. He gently ran his hand over the hood like he would a lover before opening the door and slipping behind the wheel.
He plugged in his phone and connected it to the built-in AI and brought up the GPS. Pulling the keyboard toward him, he waited for the system to fire up. The Hummer was a gift from The Righteous, and thanks to his own and their secretive sources, he’d tactfully acquired many sweet ass upgrades for this beautiful beast. Including some very secretive military-grade tech that was on the ‘do not ever talk about’ list. A few keystrokes later and his windshield transformed into a massive map with his target’s location.
He’d already slipped a tracker onto the car of his objective and had been monitoring him in live time for a couple of days as he established a pattern to his behavior. Guys like this were predictable, and predictability got you killed. Not that he cared, it made his life easier to hunt stupid prey, but their screams of agony before their sweet death still held the same satisfaction. The Hummer revved to life with a roar.
“Sexy, is there anyone in the parking lot?” he asked the AI that was part of the built-in tech.
“No heat signatures detected in the vicinity.”
Hitting another button, the automatic garage door he had installed slid open, and he pulled out, gearing the bitch up. She roared around him as she lurched forward at his command. His black-gloved hands flexed on the steering wheel.
Marilyn Manson’s “Beautiful People” blared through the speakers as he raced down the back road. He rarely took main streets, too much scrubbing to do to make him a ghost.
The map and red dot on his windshield were getting closer, and the digital display showing a countdown of how long until he arrived at the location. He had to travel further than he liked outside of his hunting zone. He had no issue with hunting those further out, but he preferred to know where he was because he knew the camera’s locations and possible issues they could cause, like the back of his hand. But, this mission was important enough to break his rules. As he neared the city limits, he slowed and pulled onto the main street of a large industrial area.
Long, identical grey buildings, each sporting a different company name, lined either side of the road. Dean flicked the radio off and tapped a couple of buttons on the screen. Each color that showed up represented a different threat. Orange meant other humans, blue meant video cameras, and flashing red meant any form of emergency service.
However, nothing stirred in the darkness. This was the beauty of this type of area—the lack of activity. He pulled into a driveway on his right, a few buildings over from where he needed to be. He parallel-parked between two large garbage bins to conceal his Hummer from any random passersby. Putting Sexy into park, he hit a few buttons on the keypad and then reached into the back. The bench seat flipped open, revealing an array of guns. He didn’t need his sniper rifle tonight. For what he had planned, it was all about being up close and personal. He grabbed the HK416 and a couple of clips before relocking the hidden compartment.
“Sexy, blackout all cameras in a one-mile radius.”
He could hear the whir as the small satellite stood at attention.
“Wipe all images of us arriving into the city.” He removed his cap and slipped on a sleek black helmet with flick-down multi-vision capabilities. “Sexy, connect to the helmet.”
“Cameras are disabled, wiping has begun, connection has been established,” Sexy answered.
“You really are the best fucking bitch. You know that, Sexy?” Dean said as the screen now glowed in front of his eye.
“I’m sorry, I do not understand that command. Would you like to try another?”
Dean smirked at the vehicle as he got out. “Sexy, set the alarm, code-word Yasmine.”
“Code-word set, alarm engaged.”
“Good girl,” Dean mumbled. Melding into the darkness, he slinked toward the back of the building then silently broke into a jog. The night was cold, but there was no snow here, which would help him avoid making tracks, easier. He spotted the rusty Chrysler vehicle with the old wood-paneled sides. It glowed like a goldish piece of shit in the dim light. A very distinct car nowadays. No one was inside, the windows were not steamed, and the hood was as cold as the evening itself.
Good, the guy must be inside. Dean didn’t know if the guy worked nights here or if this was one of his play areas, but he was about to find out. Why prostitutes still got into this cocksucker’s car was beyond him. They all talked to one another. Even the ones that hated each other still had a code when it came to sick fucks like this.
Dean had only glanced over the arm’s length of complaints and arrests on this prick, yet, he’d easily spotted the words sexual assault over thirty times. The charges would never stick, the girls never followed through. Being a prostitute meant that you were never taken seriously when it came to sexual assault. Dean didn’t agree with that, but the law was flawed, which was why The Righteous existed.
The lock was nothing fancy, just a standard cylinder style, and he pulled out the small case of lock picking tools. He could blow the lock off, but he preferred to have surprise on his side. This was a mission that required a silent, in-and-out, or he would draw too much attention too early and not retrieve the answers he sought. The door clicked, and he gently pulled it open to reveal a dark cavernous space filled with all sorts of crates.
He felt at home in the pitch black. Like a black panther, he stalked his prey from the shadows. This dark space before he killed those who deserved it, was where his soul lived. His father always told him that he had what it took to lead, to kill, and to do it without guilt.
Dean’s rage bubbled under the surface of his skin like it did every time he thought of his father. He hadn’t wanted to believe the fucker. His father would pat his head and tell him that he was his Pequeno Asesino. His father had seen the depravity burning in his heart, and he didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think that he was anything like his psychopathic father.
But, he’d been right, at least about the lethal portion. You didn’t become a demon of death by being weak. You became one by turning your mind, body, and soul into a perfect killing machine and by turning off your morality and doing the job you were assigned without question.
“Sexy, turn on all visual features,” Dean whispered, and the screen over his left eye began to flip through the settings.
“Hold.” He was able to see through the walls of the building, and two heat signatures appeared much further down inside the building.
