Page 40 of Reckoning

But tonight he’s going to learn that’s far from the case. Tonight he’s going to learn a lot of things. And most of them will be delivered by my hand. My fists. My fucking fury.

A girl struts past me. Her sleek walk doesn’t give away the fact that she’s underage. No, with her tight dress and her immaculately done makeup you’d think she was early twenties and not mid-teens -at least that is until you get up close because there’s no denying it once you’re right next to her. She’s a walking honey trap. But that’s why she’s here.

Christian glances over, eyeing her arse up as she leans over the bar to flirt with the man behind it.

And then she claps eyes on him, blushes, and looks away.

It takes a full hour for him to take the bait. He’s good, I’ll give him that. He waits until he knows he can get away with it. He’s watchful, careful. The way he moves, the sleight of his hand as he drops the drug into her glass – it’s so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t watching everything he did.

And I am. I have been. Christian has been my sole focus, day after day, since we tracked him down. I know more about this bastard than I want to know. I know what he eats for breakfast, how often he works out, how often he shits, all of it.

And after tonight, I’ll never have to know about him again.

Honey trap starts to falter, to slump, Christian, like the kind, decent man he is helps her up and within seconds he’s whisked her out of the bar and to somewhere more private. Somewhere away from watchful eyes.

We give him five minutes. Five long minutes before we silently deal with his bodyguards, unlock the door and slip in behind him.

Christian is too busy indulging in his prize to notice us as we creep in.

The girl is laid out, half on her side. Her dress has been completely removed and he’s busying himself with her bra, trying to unclasp the thing and get it off. Only, he’s clearly too excited and his hands keep fumbling.

“Want a hand?” Colt asks.

Christian cries out, jumping back, landing on his arse at the foot of the bed. “What the…?”

“Get the fuck away from her.” I growl.

He glances at her, then at me, and to his credit, he doesn’t make excuses. He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

I’m almost convinced he might be a good pet and play nice… and then he smirks. He fucking smirks.

My fist connects with his face. I feel the satisfying crunch of his bones beneath it. As he falls back unconscious, Reid grabs the suitcase opens it, and begins taping him up, folding him up so that he fits in like a neat little package.

I glance at the girl and she’s still out cold. Thankfully she knew what would happen – we were more than clear what this assignment was, what was expected and she was paid handsomely for her participation.

Colt scoops her up, carries her out. She’ll wake up with a bad head in the morning but no harm done.

Reid leaves first, walking out the door, heading for the elevator with Christian rolling beside him in that suitcase.

I leave after him, ensuring there are no prints, no evidence, nothing that connects any of us. Tia has by now already hacked into their security system and once we’re out of the building all visual evidence will be erased too.

The only thing that gives away that something went down here are the two bodyguards left outside the door. They put up a better fight than Christian did. I almost felt sorry for them when my bullet smacked into their skulls, except, they knew what a piece of shit he was, they’d witnessed his crimes enough times to have blood on their own hands.

The only mercy they get is a swift death. A painless one.

The same won’t be said for Christian.

* * *

Maybe it’sto appease my soul. Maybe it’s simply to prove that she’s safe, but I don’t go back with the others.

Instead, I get on my bike and I ride across the city, in the complete opposite direction.

I stop one street over, not wanting the noise to alert anyone. Not wanting my guards to start talking either.

I dismount, secure the Harley, and walk in silence towards the nondescript house.

It’s a nice street. A fancy one. Every house is worth tens of millions. All the others are flamboyant, extravagant, but not hers. No, hers seems to fade into the background, as if it doesn’t want to be spotted - not unlike its current inhabitant.