Page 104 of Unexpected Heroine

Huffing, I shoot an annoyed glare at him. “Do you think they have an HOA, Shep? Look the fuck around.” I spread my hands out in front of me, gesturing around the car to all the dilapidated houses surrounding us. Cars on blocks. Broken fences. Mattresses on the curb.

“Easy, man. Just thinking through potential fuckups.”

Rolling out my neck, I fill my lungs, then huff it out. “You good?”

“Affirmative.”

After tugging my ball cap low to help conceal my identity, I reach into the backseat and heft the gas can off the floorboard. “Drive.”

He shifts into gear, proceeding down the street as planned. As I catch sight of the house, an armless fist surrounds my innards and twists. The discomfort casts my resolve in stone.

“See you in fifteen.”

I swiftly exit the car, step silently onto the pavement, and gently close the door behind me.

Without hesitating, I cross the sidewalk and stay in the shadows as I approach the structure, keeping my footsteps light to avoid leaving noticeable tracks. The liquid in the gas can sloshes around audibly. There isn’t shit I can do about that.

The lack of working streetlamps in this area is a blessing. More than likely, the criminals damaged the bulbs to conceal their activities under the cover of night. Carrying unconscious women into this house at all hours would raise alarm eventually.

Sick fuckers.

Circling the front of the property stealthily, I scan in all directions. No one in the vicinity on their porches or in driveways. A quick peek over the fence into the backyard reveals it’s empty. No signs of movement inside the house either.

I’d imagine the traffickers abandoned the place immediately after they were freed from the bindings we left them in on Monday night. Idly, I wonder how far away their new prep house is. Could be right next door.

These monsters will never quit hurting people.

Until I stop them.

My act tonight won’t deter them. But that’s not why I’m doing it.

This is for me. For Lettie.

And to send a message to Lenkov and his men that their days are numbered.

Advancing quickly and silently, I leave the gas can on the ground and scale the fence. Landing in a low squat in the backyard, I cause only a slight thumping sound. I repeat the process of scanning the house from the rear to ensure I’m alone.

All clear.

Returning to the fence, I quickly disable the lock, retrieve the can, and close the gate behind me.

I approach the house from the rear porch. The back door isn’t locked, which means I need to be prepared for squatters. After unclipping a flashlight from my vest, I flick it on as I pass the threshold.

Once inside, I set the can just inside the doorway, rise to my full height, and scan the open space.

It’s a struggle to keep the bile from rising in my throat. It smells precisely the way I remember—rancid. As if the horrors committed here have their own scent.

Padding silently through the kitchen into the living room, I sweep the flashlight beam in smooth arcs. Room to room I go. Nothing. No one.

The shithole is abandoned.

Despite knowing it’s better this way, a wave of disappointment hits me. I wish Lenkov’s fuck faces were here. I’d like to acquaint them with the inside of a pine box sooner than later.

Guess they get to live a few days longer.

Since the house is clear, I check my watch.

I’ve got a few minutes to exorcise some demons.

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