Page 1 of Rastor

Chapter 1

I had two guys in the trunk of the sedan and my brother tailing us in a vintage muscle car. The muscle car was mine. The sedan wasn't. Some might call it stealing. Me? I called it justice.

From the sedan's driver's seat, I reached out to crank up the music. The song was alright, but that wasn't the reason for cranking it. The thumping – it was annoying the piss out of me – because it wasn't coming from the speakers.

I glanced over my shoulder. Dumb-asses. What were they planning to do? Jump out at the next stop sign?

Yeah, good luck with that.

In this neighborhood, they wouldn't last five minutes.

It was after midnight and cold as hell. A few hours earlier, those two trunk-buddies had shown up in dark clothes and matching ski masks. They'd tried to kidnap the girl I loved. They'd scared her. They'd hurt her – not bad, but bad enough, because even a little was too damned much.

At the memory, I felt my hands tighten on the steering wheel. They deserved more than a good ass-beating and whatever embarrassment was coming next.

Something in my gut twisted. Tonight, those guys weren't the only ones who'd hurt her.I'dhurt her, too. I hadn't meant to. But I had.

I was a monster.

An image of Chloe flashed in my brain. She was nearly naked and cuffed to a chair. She was shivering with cold and slumped in defeat.I'dput her there.I'dkept her there. For hours.

I blinked long and hard. Somehow, I'd make it up to her. I just needed the chance. I didn't deserve it. But I'd get it. Or die trying.

Ahead in the deserted street, I spotted a crumpled shopping cart, lying sideways across the pitted pavement. I eased the car around it and kept on going. We were deep in the city now, downtown Detroit, and not the nice part, assuming there was such a thing.

Home sweet home.

Inside my pocket, my cell phone buzzed. I pulled it out and glanced at the display. It was my brother, calling from the car behind me. I turned down the music and answered with a half-hearted, "Hey."

"Pull over," Bishop said.

"Why?"

"Because the dipshits are trying to get out."

I felt a slow, cold smile spread across my face. "Yeah?"

"That's notgoodnews," he said.

It was good news to me. But hey, I had my reasons.

Up ahead, I spotted yet another burned-out building. An old neighborhood store? Hard to tell with the place mostly gutted, just like the building beside it, along with dozens of others that we'd passed along the way.

Next to this nearest building was an alley that it shared with the death-trap next door. I took a right turn and pulled deep into the darkened space. In the rear-view mirror, I saw Bishop pulling in behind me. Knowing him, he wouldn't be too happy about it.

I could see why.

An alley wouldn't have been my first choice for whatever was coming next. But hey, at this point, did it matter? If things went to shit, it would serve me right. And as far as Bishop, he could handle himself just fine.

A minute later, he and I were standing outside the sedan's trunk. It was still shut. Looking down, I saw what Bishop meant. They'd been working at a taillight, trying to shove it out. And then what? Signal someone?

I glanced around. No one – and I meanno one– in this neighborhood would be coming to their rescue, unless the rescue involved putting them out of their misery. And hey, if that happened, who was I to complain?

At the thought, I almost smiled. Instead, I held out the remote and popped the trunk.

And there they were – two player wannabees wearing a lot less than they'd been wearing earlier. One wore striped boxer shorts. The other wore plain black briefs that looked a few sizes too small. Probably, the guy was hoping to make his package look bigger. Somehow, he seemed the type.

Neither had a shirt. Or shoes. Or their phones. They'd surrendered them an hour earlier, thanks to some not-so-friendly persuasion from me and my brother. But we'd let them keep the other stuff – the gold chains around their necks, the fancy gold watches flashing on their wrists, the rings that glittered on multiple fingers.