My jaw ached from grinding my teeth while I thought about her clenched hands as she pushed him away, the way her shoulders curled up and in, as if protecting herself from danger. My chest constricted as I recalled how her head almost bowed—not cowardly, but as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him. And when I thought about how she couldn’t walk away from him fast enough, my throat closed, blocking my airway.
In order to be good at my job, I had to understand that everyone handled situations differently. Some may cry in the face of tragedy while others needed time to process it before it became real. And when confronted by someone you loathed, some lashed out, yet others shut down. We all fight for different reasons. We all laugh at different things. But there was one thing I knew for sure, no matter how unique each person could be…fear isn’t easy to hide.
Jade didn’t just dislike her stepdad.
She was terrified of him.
And there was only one man she had reason to be scared of.
I’d just gone from trained and skilled to blind with vengeance.
I followed him outside, but rather than stay behind him, I veered off to the left in the direction of where I’d parked. A quick peek around the light poles offered insight about what areas were being recorded and which ones weren’t. Once I was certain my parking space was in a blind pocket, I picked up the pace.
“Hey!” I called out to him and waved my arms in the air to gain his attention. When he turned toward me, maybe thirty feet away, I called him over. “I need your help! Please!”
He glanced to the left, then to the right. When he realized there was no one else in this well-lit lot, he came over, but his apprehension was clear. I didn’t give him the chance to question me, just spun on my heel and kept moving toward the Range Rover, checking every few seconds to make sure he was still behind me. And when I got there, I stood by the back door, slapping the window frantically.
“You have to help…there’s a baby locked inside. I can’t tell if he’s breathing.” It didn’t take much effort to play up the hysterics for his benefit—I’d lost the usually controlled mindset I had on a job when this became more than an assigned task. I assumed if he were the type of person to touch a child the way he had Jade, rescuing a baby wouldn’t be his driving force, but I hoped it would call to some primitive need to play the hero.
His borderline disgust was evident enough that he had no interest in helping anyone. “Call the cops. What do you need me for?” And it took everything in me not to throttle him right here, right now.
As he stuffed his hand into his pocket for what I assumed was his phone, I reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “There’s no time! Please…help me break the window. Help me get him out.” With my hold on him, I directed him closer to the back door and released him.
Before he could notice the lack of a baby in the car, I took him by the back of the neck and knocked his forehead into the glass to disorient him. Anger rolled through me, drowning the adrenaline that had gotten me to this point. After nine years on the job, so much of it was autopilot for me. If I didn’t need to analyze a reaction or learn certain habits or schedules, most of what I did could’ve been performed with my eyes closed.
But not this time.
Emotion compelled me.
Drove me.
Consumed me until I’d lost sight of my training.
His knees weakened and he began to slip from my hold, his dead weight catching me off guard. Suddenly aware of the situation, I whipped my head around, reassuring myself that we were still alone. We were. But I couldn’t guarantee for how long. So I yanked the door open, folded him inside, and then climbed into the driver’s seat.
Turning my head to see him, I realized exactly how unprepared I was. Blood rushed through my ears like a roaring river, deafening me to the consequences of my actions.
I thought I understood what hate was.
But it wasn’t even close to the real thing.
We couldn’t stay here, so I was left with no other option but to drive—without having anywhere to go that wouldn’t put me in jeopardy. Thinking on my feet, I leaned behind me, stretching between the front seats, and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. After removing his license, I shoved the worn-leather billfold into the console and pressed the button to start the engine.
This part of the job was foreign to me. I took care of the sweep, and another part of the team handled the transportation. Not only did I lack experience, but I didn’t have help. Just because I could toss him over my shoulder and carry him inside didn’t mean it was a good idea. I had no clue what his neighbors were like—if they sat by a window and kept watch, or if they would have their eyes glued to a TV screen. I didn’t care to take that chance.
I couldn’t risk anyone seeing me or taking note of a strange vehicle in the driveway, so I hurried inside to open the garage door. Luckily, he didn’t have an alarm. As soon as I had the Range Rover concealed in the garage, I wasted no time dragging the bastard inside. Although, he became more alert of the situation and refused to make things easy. At least I had been able to restrain his hands behind his back before his real fight kicked in.
I’d gotten him to the kitchen and had planned to put him in a chair, but the second his teeth broke my skin, I dropped him on the hard tile.
“What the fuck do you want from me?” he asked through labored breathing.
I no longer had rational thoughts in my head, only rage-filled desires. I squatted down with my knee pressed into his chest and grabbed his throat, his windpipe trapped within my grasp. Then I lowered my face to his to ensure he heard every word I said while I denied his brain oxygen. “I want…to make…you cry.”
His eyes watered, but not the way I needed them to.
“No…” I tsked. “Cry like Jade used to. When she’d beg you to stop, when she’d tell you she didn’t want you touching her…like that.”
Realization shone bright in his wide eyes. After a moment, he fought against my hold and squirmed on the floor beneath my knee. When I released his throat, he took in as much air as he could with my weight still pressed against him, awkwardly pinning him down with his arms trapped beneath him. Then I backed away, offering him the false belief that he could survive.
Mind games were my favorite form of torture. Fucking with someone’s head could prove to be more beneficial than inflicting physical pain. Either way, the person would reach a point and give up, beg you to end it, unable to handle what you were doing to them any longer. They’d give you any answer you wanted to hear, as long as it meant the torment would stop.
But I didn’t need answers from him.
Only retribution.
After allowing him to catch his breath, I applied pressure to his windpipe again. While he twisted his body in an attempt to free himself, I stared into his eyes, hoping he could see the hatred he filled me with.