There are times when I behave like a vigilante. It’s a quality my mother warns will land me behind bars. But this fate of seeking justice for those too meek to do it themselves was set in motion the day I bashed my stepfather’s head with a baseball bat. 

And yes, he deserved it. 

So, ever since Frankie shared the information she dug up on Richie, I can’t stop thinking about the black eyes he gave Mindy. If Angie knew where I was right now and what I was up to, she’d strangle me with her thighs like an anaconda. The plan was to wait for Reina to contact these mysterious Sisters and get their permission before laying a finger on Richie-boy, but rules are meant to be broken. So, here I am, watching that asshole through his window as I slip on a pair of black leather gloves. 

It’s also why I’m dressed in all black, with camouflage face paint and creeping through the bushes of his backyard. I had to park down the street, hop over a few fences, and avoid a yapping dog, but I made it. For as wealthy as this prick is, I thought he’d live in a fancy sky-rise condo downtown, but lucky for me, Richie lives in a renovated townhouse across from Ocean Beach, delivering easier access to break into his home. 

A mist clings to the night, hiding the moon and providing ample darkness as I scoot along the perimeter, testing the windows. But, standing there in his kitchen is the familiar cascade of dark waves and slender shoulders brushed in a creamy russet hue.

What the fuck is Mindy doing here?

Adjusting my footing on a wilting flower bed, I try to get a better view without being seen. She and Richie are arguing, and he has her cornered against the white marble island. It’s a massive block of counter space and looks ridiculous in the immaculate kitchen with white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and gray-washed plank flooring. It’s like Martha Stewart threw up in there.

However, his catalog kitchen isn’t what has my neck veins bulging. It’s that Mindy tried walking away, but he tugged her back into him, and now he’s snarling within centimeters from her face. She grimaces and jerks her head back, but he grabs her chin and keeps barking at her. I swear, if he doesn’t cut this shit out, I’m going to Hulk through the window and accidentally get Mindy involved in my plan. 

But I can’t.

So I remain in the shadows, fists clenched and ready to jump if things worsen.

And it does.

It's as if Richie realizes he's not getting anywhere with Mindy by yelling, so he changes his tone. Even his demeanor shifts as the snarl morphs into a smile, and his shoulders relax with a laugh. Being a lip reader isn’t on my resume, but I don’t have to be skilled to recognize an apology. 

“Don’t fall for it.” I clench my fists tighter, and bloody hell. The agitation across Mindy's brow softens, and she bites back a smile.

Delight blooms across Richie's face like the sunrise over a green pasture. It's bright, warm, and full of promise, but that's all it is—empty promise. He knows he’s winning, too, because he rubs her arms and continues sweet talking a laugh out of her. Lord knows what he’s saying, and it must be vomit-inducing, yet Mindy eats it up as she rolls her eyes, grinning. This only encourages him as he trails his hands to her waist with a squeeze, but she playfully shoves him away. 

However, Richie doesn’t allow her to get very far because he reels her in and molds himself to her like a spoon. I bet he loves having his noodle dick pressed against her round ass while whispering in her ear. It’s obvious he’s still apologizing, but what’s worse is Mindy rotates to face him and tosses her head back in a laugh at whatever he’s saying. Then, like a true opportunist, Richie plants a kiss on her gorgeous neck. The neck I would love to suck on and leave my mark with a trashy hickey. 

I could cry and puke all at once as things become much worse. Using his spaghetti arms, Richie lifts Mindy onto the pristine marble counter that has never seen food prep in its life and runs his manicured hands up her thighs. Most people would look away, yet I zero in on Richie’s fingers flirting with the hemline of Mindy’s skirt. He slides the material up, his hands disappearing under the fabric, then reappearing as he tugs a thin band of lilac lace down to her ankles and flings the thong across the kitchen. This makes Mindy laugh, but her mouth falls open with a gasp when he drives her legs apart and plunges face first into the sweetness I long to taste.

This I cannot watch, so I crouch in the bushes to check my messages. Lately, the only person who texts is Angie, and coincidentally, there’s a photo of her in her underwear. She’s lying on her bed, Bordeaux-red satin sheets beneath her curves, and the slyest smile as she gazes at the camera with a lock of hair curled around her finger. There isn't a message attached to the photo because the selfie says it all.

She wants me, and it's giving me a chub, but I don’t have time to choke the chicken, so I text her instead.

Me: What are you doing later?

Even though I shouldn’t, I need Angie to provide a temporary fix to the jealousy I have over Mindy giving in to Richie. Sex is an easy solution, and whether I want to admit it or not, Angie is one hell of a fuck. A few seconds later, Angie replies.

Angie: Hopefully, you.

Me: Will you be up past midnight? I’m working late.

Angie: Just say when, and I’ll be there.

Me: I’ll give you a call when I’m on my way home.

Another message comes through, but I close the screen and get to my feet to peek through the window before reading it. Richie wipes his mouth, and Mindy eases herself off the counter to adjust her skirt. That was quick. I doubt he made her come. What an asshole. 

However, Mindy is all smiles, her cheeks flushed in rouge as she fluffs her hair, and Richie plants a kiss on her nose as if he’s a sweetheart. Barf. But then he takes her elbow and leads her towards the front door. 

Thank fuck. 

I edge the perimeter, moving from one window to the next until I have a clear view of the living room. Mindy lingers while saying goodbye, but Richie is back to behaving like an asshole and pulls the door open when she tries to hug him. A crease forms across her brow, and whatever she’s saying to Richie has him nudging her through it. She yanks her arm from his grip, and this time I can hear her yelling, but it’s in their language. Moments later, the door slams shut, and Mindy shuffles across the stone path, sniffling and adjusting her purse. 

Seeing her this upset kills me, but not as much as when she pauses to look back at the house. The moonlight casts shadows across the sharp edges of her cheekbones, accentuating the beads of moisture rolling towards her chin as she wipes them away. It’s a sight that has me tightening my gloves and securing the knitted cap over my head.

If only Mindy were aware that in a few minutes, Richie won’t be her problem anymore. 

After she pulls out of the driveway, I peer through the living room window to see Richie plop himself onto the couch and flick on his gigantic flat-screen TV. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights, but there’s enough from the TV for me to see his silhouette and that his pants are now around his ankles. Perfect.

Nothing is better than catching a man with his trousers down. So, I sneak back to the kitchen, and lucky for me, the door leading to the yard has a cat entry. It takes a couple of tries, but with enough finesse, I managed to slip my arm through and unlock the deadbolt. 

Everything is silent when I enter, so I tiptoe like a ballerina, hoping the floorboards don't creak as I enter the living room. TV light flickers across the couches with two blondes going at it in a bubble bath. Neither of them looks like Mindy, and if were him, I’d be spanking the monkey to photos of her instead of watching porn. 

But I’m not him. 

I’m a polite gentleman, so I remain a few feet away, hidden by shadows, and wait until he’s close to blowing his load before I pounce. The fap-fap-fap intensifies, so it’s almost time, and I creep closer to the couch, but the damn floor shrieks beneath my boots. 

One moment Richie is on the brink of making a mess of himself, and the next, he’s more frozen than a mannequin at a department store. 

Fuck.

It’s now or never, so I press the gun barrel to the back of his skull and make my demands.

∆∆∆

It isn’t easy dragging someone’s unconscious body around, and it’s even more difficult hauling them down to a dungeon, but one must do what one must do.

And by dungeon, I mean the cavern I excavated and soundproofed underneath my mother’s house. She has no idea it’s here, and I intend to keep it that way. 

“Wake up!” I slap Richie’s face, and he bolts upright in his seat, but his arms are tied down.

He cowers at the blinding light dangling above his head and blinks, trying to come to consciousness, so I slap him again—this time with my knuckles.

“Where the fuck am I?”

“A place where no one can hear you scream,” I tease.

“What do you want, money? Just name the price, and I’ll write a check.”

“I don’t want your filthy heroin money,” I scoff and bring my face into the light, removing the mask. “I want your blood.”

“What the fuck!”

“Ah, yes, you remember me.”

“I swear to God, you’re fucking with the wrong guy, and I’m going to have a blast watching you suffer when my peop—”

“What makes you think you’re leaving here?” I cut him off. “No one is coming to save you, and it’s going to be me who has fun watching you suffer.”

“What are you doing?” His eyes widen as I back away into the shadows.

There is no need to switch on the lanterns I wired to illuminate this place. I have every step memorized as I cross the stone floor, pebbled in dirt, and reach the workbench nestled against a brick wall, where various weapons and tools rest on hooks. Grabbing what I need, I take a knife in one hand and a sharpener in the other, then grind them together. The scrape-scrape fills the quiet until Richie repeats his question.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to have a little fun,” I say, stepping into the light, working the blade over the long steal of the sharpener. 

“You’re gonna kill me?” Richie laughs. “Do you know what will happen to you if I turn up dead?”

“I don’t think you’re as important as you claim. Now smile pretty for me.”

In one swift plunge, the blade sinks into Richie’s thigh like I’m cutting a holiday ham. His mouth falls open with a scream so sharp, I bet the ears of my mother’s dog, Cha Cha, are twitching. However, I’m not done. In fact, I’m just getting started on the torture Richie will suffer for the next few days.

So, I stab into his other thigh and revel in the shrill he releases, followed by the hiccup of a sob as snot begins drooling from his flared nostrils.

I’m going to enjoy this. Perhaps too much.