Page 2 of Lady Death

He was going to have to refund a third of the money. Whoever ended Compton cost him his bounty and it pissed him the hell off. Deciding to sleep in his loft instead of going back to the clubhouse, he took a hot shower, brushed his teeth, and fell naked into bed.

The next morning, he rolled onto his back and stretched. He had work to do, so he rose and dressed, heading out a half-hour later. His first step was grabbing some coffee, needing the jolt of caffeine to fully wake up his mind. Then he headed to the apartment complex of Dishon Peterson. This was a surveillance mission and nothing more. Each time he accepted an assignment, he took his time to learn everything about his prey. Where they ate. Where they shopped. Who they were with. Their favorite pastimes. Compton had loved the fucking dive bar he’d been killed at, and often went alone after he finished whatever task his boss gave him. His watering hole of choice made him an easy target, so the question was, who lured him to his death?

Every instinct told him it had been a woman. Only pussycould make a man do something stupid like getting a fuck in a dank, smelly alley. If it had been a man, there would be signs of a struggle. Which begged the question, was this a targeted hit? Or did he happen to tangle with an ordinary woman who knew how to handle herself?

Almost as quickly as he thought of it, he dismissed that idea. He was pinned to a chain-link fence with knives. That took skill and precision, something most ordinary women didn’t know. Or stomach. Killing a person processed in a different atmosphere of the brain. Emotion had to be turned off, and that included the gag response. Hacking off a man’s dick and then stuffing it in his mouth alluded to a cool, calm, and collected individual. Not to mention, super pissed off.

He spent the rest of the day gathering pictures and making plans. As twilight fell, he got himself something to eat and went back to his loft where he printed the photos and put them up on the bulletin board link chart. With a black felt pen, he placed an X over Compton’s picture. Ronin stepped back and studied the data he had collected. Men were creatures of habit, and that was especially true with the Deathmen. They liked destruction, drinking, snorting, and fucking. Peterson frequented the underground gambling dens. Seker chose to pay for the services of very young girls. He was a greater evil, so Ronin decided Seker was going to be his next target.

Gearing up for the plan of attack, Ronin dressed all in black, placing a knife on the inside of each boot where a specially designed sheath waited. He pulled on a holster that rested under his armpit and slid his Glock in it after checking the magazine. Then he slid another gun into the holster at the back of his pants. In a duffel bag he tossed more loaded magazines, duct tape, zip ties, chains, and various other items he might need. An hour before midnight, he went hunting.

He parked several streets away from the whorehouseSeker liked to use and waited across the street. Seker would leave at midnight to finish the rounds he was supposed to be making, collecting money and shaking down the pimps. Ronin checked his watch. Twelve. Twelve ten. Quarter after.

Something was wrong. Ronin carefully and stealthily made his way to the side of the building, keeping to the darkness, and came to an abrupt halt as he saw a man lying on the ground. Making sure no one was around, he eased into the murky black to conceal himself to study the body. No doubt about it, this was Adder Seker. Exactly like Compton, his pants were around his ankle and the lower half of his body was covered in blood. When he inspected the mouth, sure enough, the man’s severed dick was stuffed in it.

Ronin stood, took a picture, and backed away, anger burning through him. His gut instinct told him this wasn’t a sanctioned hit. This was a vendetta. And whoever the fuck did this, cost him more money.

Time to stick like glue to Peterson so he could catch the asshole.

Chapter Two

Keres stared off into space with memories she hated to relive. Being held down, unable to move or escape to save herself. The brutality. The pain. God, thepain. She wanted to shut it all off and bathe in a pool of forgetfulness. However, it was therapy day, so there wasn’t much she could do except tumble into her ever-present nightmare. To walk down memory lane yet again and relive the worst day of her life. Trauma never stopped, and her rapist continued his assault over and over on her psyche.

“Keres?”

She blinked and refocused her gaze on the video. Modern day therapy available through a cell phone chat. “Oh. Sorry. Woolgathering.”

“How was your week?” Her therapist, Kori, had a soft voice that oozed with understanding. Many times, Keres had lashed out, needing to shake the woman’s reserved nature, without luck. Guess that’s why she came highly recommended. So far, she had taken Keres’s moodiness in stride.

“Have you worked on your healthy coping mechanisms?”

“Healthy?” Keres snorted. “No booze. No drugs. No promiscuous sex. You’re no fun, you know that?”

“So, you’re thinking about having sex?”

Just like that, her bravado collapsed. “No,” she muttered. “I still hate penises.”

Kori didn’t even blink. “Do you still think every man is guilty by association?”

“Aren’t they?”

Kori cocked her head. “What about Darby?”

Keres frowned. “He doesn’t count.”

“Why not? He has a penis.”

“Yeah, and he’s gay.”

“So gay men are excluded?”

She may like Kori, and felt safe within her presence, but everything she said was analyzed to death. Although, to be fair, that’s what therapists do. “Okay, gay men are excluded. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Keres, I’m only here to help you cope with what you went through.”

She sighed and ran a hand over her face. “I know,” she said, contrite. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. You need to forgive yourself. None of this was your fault just because you survived.”

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