Page 22

Chapter 22

Jahmar

T hey say revenge is a dish best served cold. Well, this dish is stale. It’s been left out on the side to fester, growing all kinds of deadly bacteria. He won’t see me coming. He’s probably forgotten I exist and what he stole from me that night—my dignity, my career, parts of my soul.

His comeuppance was always inevitable. I’ve fed others their need for revenge; now it’s my time to feast. Will it leave me sated? I have no idea. But I’m sure it will taste delicious.

There he is, handsome and confident as ever, talking to a petite blond. He’s a sordid bastard hidden behind an armour of charm.

I watch on as my rapist flirts with the man, overly touchy and a blinding smile that could trick almost anyone. He’s like a shapeshifter able to transform into whatever he needs to keep people in line.

Swallowing the sick that’s trying to climb up my throat at the very sight of him, my damp hands flex around the leather steering wheel.

My initial plan was to grab him here. The car park is usually dead at this hour, but with a potential witness, it’s too much of a risk.

He finishes his conversation, darts across the carpark and climbs into his BMW. I tail behind him, keeping a reasonable distance. I’ve changed my car since I last saw him, and I use fake magnetic plates when I’m on a job, so he’ll never know it’s me.

My heart pummels my ribs as we come to a traffic light. He looks into his rearview mirror, and I adjust my cap, hiding my face. Nice try, fucker.

Ten minutes later, we approach a desirable housing estate full of detached homes with vibrant grass covering their front gardens. I wouldn’t expect him to live anywhere less.

The street is desolate, with only a few houses with dim lights on. It’s reckless kidnapping him in such a privileged area. People with money tend to have twitchy curtains and door cams, but taking him from work wasn’t an option either. It’s now or never.

He pulls into his drive, and I follow him, parking just outside his house. He knows I’m here because he hesitates to leave his car.

As soon as he gets out, I jump out too and walk behind my car, unlocking the boot. I’m dressed head to toe in black, with my cap drawn low, medical mask, and fake glasses. I’ve also piled on twenty pounds of muscle since he last saw me.

“Excuse me, you can’t park here,” he complains, approaching my car.

I bend down, pretending to prod at the tyre.

“Oh, are you having car trouble?” he questions.

“Yes, flat tyre, I think,” I purposely soften my voice.

“Ah, unlucky.” He stalls, but I need him a little closer.

“You don’t mind checking for me? I’m useless at this stuff.”

“Erm, sure, ok.”

He puffs out his shoulders and closes the distance between us, and I step back so he can check.

“So, do you live around here?”

As he crouches, I come up behind him, jabbing the needle into his neck. His head flies up as he tumbles to his knees, smacking his head on the side of my car. He climbs to his feet on unsteady legs.

“What the fuck was that!” His eyes dart to me; I keep my chin down.

“What the—” he slurs, stumbling forward. “What the hell did you give me?” His next step sends him to the curb, legs buckling like a newborn fawn trying to find its feet.

Hands splayed on the ground, he weakly attempts to push himself up, but I slam my foot into the centre of his back, forcing his face into the dirt.

He mumbles incoherent insults as I shove the car boot open and remove the trunk, ready to stuff him inside and transport him to Emeralds. The smile behind my mask doubles in size as fear clouds his fluttering eyes. When he slips into unconsciousness, calmness washes over me.

Time to permanently scar this repulsive man—just like he scarred me.

As I prepare my patient, aka rapist, for life-changing surgery, adrenaline pulses through me along with painful memories. Over the years, I’d shoved them so far down they’re almost undetectable. Still, in this moment, I dig deep and excavate the darkest parts of my humanity so I can complete the task at hand. Like a movie, that dreadful night from three years ago plays on repeat.

“Do you mind shutting the door?” he asks in an uncharacteristically soft tone I see right through.

I tentatively turn back and close the door, nerves dancing in the pit of my stomach.

I’ve not had my head in the game since Dad’s death, but it doesn’t help that my boss’s flip-flopping personality has me walking on eggshells. One minute he’s praising me, telling me I’m the best and my skills far surpass those of my colleagues. The next, I’m incompetent, and he’s berating my every action. What disturbs me most about him is the way he routinely makes sexual innuendos and gives me lingering touches that I didn’t fucking ask for.

I stand in silence as he takes a seat opposite me at his desk. He nods towards the door. “Lock it.”

Confusion creases my brows. “What? Why?”

He huffs, shoving out of his seat and storming to the door before clicking the lock.

My eyes shoot to the door handle; hands balling into fists as my fight-or-flight instincts kick in.

“Please take a seat.” He gestures towards the chair. “I want to discuss the next steps in your career without being disturbed.”

My shoulders uncurl slightly, and I force down the urge to run. Discussing your career path with your boss at 2 a.m. behind a locked door is normal, right? I’m fucking delusional. The only reason I’m still here and putting up with my boss’s shit is because becoming a surgeon is a lifelong dream of mine, and I know it would make my dad proud.

I perch on the edge of the seat, unable to fully unwind as he starts pacing behind me.

He goes into an exhausting monologue about what it takes to be a good doctor. He tells me how much potential I have and inappropriately jokes about how all the nurses fancy me. I see right past his negging; not a single word out of his mouth is believable, but I dutifully nod along with an added fake smile here and there for effect.

Twenty minutes pass, and I rub my eyes. I allow myself to sit back in the chair as exhaustion claims me.

“So, you see, this is why I want to help you, Jahmar. I hold a lot of power in the department, and with my recommendation, you can go far.”

“Thank you,” I reply, knowing I missed half of what he said because I’d zoned out.

When a strong hand clasps my shoulder, I flinch. There’s a slight ringing in my ears like an internal alarm bell, alerting me that danger is coming.

He lowers his voice, “Relax, kid, we all need to relieve a little stress sometimes. Finding release is important in our line of work.”

With both hands now on my shoulders, he begins a slow massage. Every muscle in my body tightens, and my heart beats frantically as it tries to battle its way out of my chest. Dread whirlpools inside my stomach. The little food I ate earlier threatens to reappear. I force myself to swallow down the bile rising in my throat.

I allow him to rub my shoulders until I can’t stand it anymore. “No, stop,” I snap, shrugging him off. “This…this isn’t appropriate.” I climb to my feet, keeping my back on him and trying to calm my racing heart by clutching the edge of the table.

His large hand circles the back of my neck, and before I can react, he shoves me forward and slams me face-first onto his desk.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I cry out as my body convulses with panic.

A dark chuckle is the only response I get before he presses his full weight over me. He licks a stripe up my neck until he reaches my ear, making my stomach curdle.

My body clenches tight enough to shatter, and I let out a pained grunt.

“Shhh now, don’t make this difficult,” he murmurs against my ear, making a sickening shiver travel down my spine. “I can give you the career of your dreams, or I can give you hell. Which would you prefer?”

I struggle against his hold, kick out with my heel, and use my elbows in an attempt to fight him off, but when he slams his fist into the side of my head; my vision doubles.

And then, I freeze. I fucking freeze.

I should scream, shout, or fight. I should do anything to stop this fucking assault, but my soul and consciousness leave my body. As he roughly forces himself into me, my eyes stay glued to Newton’s cradle balls that swing on his desk—back and forth they go, rocking in time to me being raped.

On the outside, I remain silent.

Inside, I’m screaming as he tears my world apart, piece by fractured piece.

What followed was more hell. It took me months before I found the courage to report the assault because he persistently threatened my job. I should’ve told them sooner, but I was ashamed. It was my word against his and not an inkling of evidence to support my claim. After a flimsy internal investigation, it was brushed under the rug.

He then decided to make my life a misery, cutting me out of meetings and failing me during parts of my training. It was all under the radar, so subtle no one else would’ve noticed. So I left. I hung up my hope of ever making my parents proud and gave him what he wanted—my silence.

He thought he’d got away with it, that he’d won, but as I examine my favourite scalpel and prepare to slice into his skin—I know I’ve won.