Vicious Revenge (Vicious City Book 4) Read online

  “Is this yours?”

  She looks at it blankly, and for a second, I think that maybe it isn’t hers. Maybe this isn’t as messed up as it seems to be. Maybe my wife hasn’t been keeping her pregnancy from me for reasons I can’t even begin to fathom.

  “Blaze?” I prompt her gently.

  There’s a silence in which I feel my stomach sinking. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. We haven’t talked about starting a family. Our wedding was, well, what my grandmother would have called premature. We hadn’t dated long, and with the chaos in my life and hers, we haven’t had time to talk about the normal things. This marriage has been a challenge for us both, but I love her more than anything, and if she’s pregnant, then I’m going to be absolutely thrilled.

  She looks down at the test and then up at me, tears in her eyes. “I want a divorce.”

  Blaze

  “Divorce? What do you mean?”

  He’s looking at me with a stunned expression. I don’t blame him. I’ve been feeling the way he looks right now since I found out. I know he married me because he was worried about me. It was an act of charity. He can do better, and he will, once he’s rid of me.

  “Blaze, talk to me.” He sits down next to me, and all I want to do is crawl into his arms, but I don’t deserve to. He’s too fucking good for me. So many things have gone wrong, and I don’t know that anything will ever be okay again.

  “You have to leave me,” I say softly, tears pricking at my eyes. “You have to go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is soft, but firm. “And divorce is not an option. For better or worse, Blaze. We promised.”

  “But you didn’t know everything when you made that promise.” It’s hard for me to talk. I want to sob, but I have to hold my tears back.

  “What didn’t I know?”

  “I was already pregnant!” The confession spills from me in a hysterical declaration. “I am pregnant, and you know what? It’s not yours. It belongs to the asshole who almost killed me. So, congratulations! You married a girl who was knocked up by her ex, who your best friend and worst enemy had murdered.”

  Slick stares at me. I know this is over now. I know he’s not going to want me anymore, much less the life inside me.

  “It’s too late to get an abortion,” I say. “I tried. I got the pill even, but I couldn’t take it. So I’m just going to have the baby. And that’s why you should get rid of me. I’m trash, Slick. I’ll always be trash.”

  He still hasn’t said anything. It’s almost as if he can’t compute what I’m telling him. I know this isn’t what he had planned for us. He’s a traditional man. He wants a traditional life. He does not want to raise a dead criminal’s baby. He deserves a woman who matches him, someone else in the agency, someone who wears pantyhose, went to college, and has an opinion on the election. Someone who will give him kids who look just like him. Not someone who managed to get herself knocked up by a brutal criminal.

  I wipe my eyes and start to get up. “I’ll leave. This is your place. You keep it. I won’t ask for anything, so…”

  His hand closes around my wrist. He doesn’t say a word, not a single syllable, as he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight, embracing me so completely I can’t hold back anymore. I start to sob uncontrollably, soaking his shoulder in my tears, my entire body shaking with the release of the secret which has made me sick for weeks.

  Slick holds me as I cry, until I can’t cry anymore, until I feel dry to the very core of me. I cling to him, knowing this might be the last time we hug. This is going to be the end of things. It just has to be. We were never meant to be together. I was a moment of charity, a damsel in distress. But everybody knows the white knight wants to make his own babies.

  “Come on,” he says, urging me up from the couch gently.

  “Where are we going?” Probably to pack my stuff, or his. Or maybe to the lawyers to get the marriage annulled. Divorce probably isn’t enough for him. He’s going to want to erase this whole sordid affair.

  “I’m taking you for ice cream.”

  8

  Vicious

  I call my men to come and get me, making sure that they check their cars before they come. I don’t need more vehicular detonations fucking up my day. If Kitty is behind this - and I’m damn sure she is, then she’s getting reckless and dangerous. I don’t think she intends to hurt me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to end up dead if she’s not stopped soon.

  “You alright, boss?”

  “Yeah.”

  The guy asking me goes by Tony, but everyone calls him Mt Tony. He’s well over seven feet tall, an ex-professional wrestler, and the sort of muscle I call on when I have jobs that have to get done.

  “Who are we going up against? Some new player in town?”

  “Yes and no. It’s Kitty.”

  “Kitty? You mean that little girl?” He makes a motion with his hand indicating her diminutive height.

  “Yes.”

  “Your girlfriend tried to whack you? We going to whack her?”

  “Absolutely not. She’s not the enemy.”

  “You got an interesting definition of enemy, boss. And girlfriend, for that matter.”

  I raise a brow at hm. “Did I indicate I wanted your opinion on this, Tony?”

  “Nossir, just making observations.”

  At that moment, a man in a tidy hotel uniform approaches me with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry, sir, your credit card was denied.”

  I suck in a breath. I booked myself a hotel room while I was waiting for my men, and now I’m trying to check out there’s another problem. I am really beginning to lose patience with this. I give him another card, but there’s little surprise when that one declines too.

  I call the bank, and engage in yet another frustrating conversation.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the lady on the phone tells me. “A hold has been put on all your accounts.”

  “Well, can you remove it?”

  “You’ll need to come into the branch where you opened the account with three pieces of identification and a household bill.”

  “Why the blasted hell would I need to do that?”

  “Sir, if you’re going to curse, I will terminate the call. This is standard procedure.”

  “I have millions of dollars with your bank, if you could…”

  “All the more reason to protect it, sir. We will see you soon.”

  I hang up, cursing internally. Kitty is hitting me at every angle, and this is starting to become more tedious than enjoyable. A battle of wits is one thing when it involves an arrest. It’s something else when I have to go find my electric bill. She’s putting me to a death of a thousand paper cuts.

  “I need to get back to New York,” I tell Tony. “You stay here. She can’t be far away. And she’s working with others. I’ll send you a list of known contacts, cross-referenced with any who have explosives experience. Start there.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “And don’t hurt her. No matter how much she makes you want to. I want to deal with her personally.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt a lady, boss.”

  “This girl is no lady,” I say, getting into the car I’ve had swept for detonators twice. “She’s a brat.”

  Kitty

  I’ve got Vicious on the run. I’m in control. It feels fucking great to finally be the one in charge, puppeteering the puppet master. He’s going to have to go and see his bank, and when he does, he’s going to find that several of his documents have been lost in the system. He’s going to spend the next week at least chasing down certified copies of everything from his passport to his electric bill, which is currently curiously inactive. When he gets back home, it’s going to be to a luxury apartment he has to navigate with a torch. I might not have ties with the CIA, but I know a lot of little people. The kind of little people who can make the biggest man’s life nearly impossible when they put their minds to it.

  Time to make anothe
r call.

  “Alright, stage one complete, stage two detonated, stage three getting underway. I need some nuclear waste.”

  “You need fucking what now?” Chad’s voice comes down the line, frustrated.

  “Just like, I don’t know, a small amount, like a cup full.”

  “What the fuck do you need nuclear material for? And why do you think I’m going to be able to get it for you? What do you think I am, Kitty?”

  “The smartest guy I know?”

  “I’m smart enough to get out of this shit show,” Chad says bluntly. “You’re going to get tangled up in some serious shit, Kitty. People are starting to pay attention, and I’m not just talking about cops. You need to lay low for a while. Maybe go out West. California is nice this time of year.”

  “I want to hit Vicious where it hurts. Here’s the plan. I get the nuclear waste. I have it hidden in the basement of his building. Then I call inspectors. Bam! The city spends the next month crawling all over that place like termites. The whole place is condemned. Vicious has to…”

  “That’s a ridiculous plan,” Chad interrupts me. “And dangerous. Like, stupid dangerous. You could really hurt people. Radioactive material? Why would you even think of that?”

  “I want to literally go nuclear on him. It’s like a pun. And a punishment. A pun-ishment.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” He swears down the line at me. “I already told you I’m out Kitty, but now I’m really out. I’m killing this phone. It won’t reach me if you call it again. Good luck.”

  Chad hangs up, and I realize I just burned the last of my sane contacts. Blaze is out. Chad is done with me. Maybe my plan does sound cartoonish, but I bet it would fucking work, and I have a lot to get back at Vicious for. What I’ve done so far is just a series of minor inconveniences. I want to do something that will put me on the map of his world forever.

  9

  Kitty

  Two days later, I get an email.

  I’ve been reaching out on the dark web, trying to see if I can get what I’m looking for, but it hasn’t been easy. The hysterical television documentaries about the un-indexed internet make it sound like you can have an armed rocket delivered directly to your door with two clicks, but I’ve yet to find anywhere I can get a small cup of nuclear waste.

  We have what you need.

  That’s all the email says. It contains a little radioactive emoji in the subject line, so we seem to be on the same page there.

  I should be thrilled, but I find myself hesitating. For one, this message has come through to my normal email, not my secret dark web one. For two, I am on the verge of buying radioactive material, and Chad’s warning is ringing in my ears. Maybe I am a fucking idiot. No. That can’t be right.

  I should probably ignore the message. I should probably get out of this hotel too. Maybe I should go to California like Chad suggested. Someone is on to me, and I don’t like that. This could be a trap from Vicious. Or… it could be that Chad found me a supplier after all.

  It’s impossible to trust anyone when you’re on the run, least of all random emailers, but if I don’t trust them, then who do I trust? If I keep going, I’m going to have to end up meeting some random criminals at some point. Why not now? Why not bring things to a head? If I get what I’m looking for, I’m going to plunge the entire underworld into chaos. If I don’t, well, at least I tried. You have to have goals. I cannot let my dreams be memes.

  A small part of my mind wonders if I haven’t gone a little crazy the last week or two. I’m doing things I never thought I could do. I’ve broken internal boundaries. I’ve ordered a car blown up. I’m riding high, almost certain that I can handle anything. I’ve beaten Vicious several times now. I’ve got him on the run. I’m making a name for myself.

  That must be how they got my details. My name is out there. People are going to start coming to me now, getting me what I want so they can be on the right side of the big next crime lord… crime lady? I will have to work on what I want to be called. I need a name like Vicious does. ‘Kitty’ doesn’t have enough gravitas. Katherine is too pedestrian.If this plan goes off, maybe I’ll get something radiation related. Like Gigi Geiger… no, that’s stupid. I’ll come up with something better.

  I dash off a message to have the person or persons meet me at a nearby park. I’ll be the lady in the pink ball cap feeding the pigeons. It’s a public place, so I have plenty of exit strategies if Vicious or one of his minions turns up.

  One hour later, half a loaf of bread into my wait, surrounded by birds, I see a couple of men coming toward me. One of them is dark haired and dark eyed with what looks like a perpetual pout on his handsome face. He’s about my age. The other is taller, older, and blonde. Like a much chunkier, stronger Slick in a way. He has a military bearing, that stiff, straight shouldered, powerful walk that never seems to ever go away.

  The moment I see them, I want to leave. This is stupid. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is too dangerous. This is going to get me killed. Then the blond smiles and I’m immediately put at ease by his Thor-like charm.

  “Kitty?” He says my name and I want to giggle.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Mark. This is my associate, Bobby.”

  They’re dressed impeccably and that reminds me of Vicious. I guess I can’t hold that against them, unless every fashionable man is the enemy now.

  “You have what I want?”

  “Mhm. You’ll have to come with us to confirm the details. We can’t hand the material over here.”

  “Are you secretly working for Vicious?”

  “Are you coming or not?” Bobby sneers the question disinterestedly.

  I don’t like him. It’s almost as if Mark has all the charm Bobby is missing, like he sucked it out of him somehow and left the boy bitter and rude for no goddamn reason.

  The warning bells in the back of my mind have been ringing since these two showed up. They’re getting even louder now. It’s as if I should know these two, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never met them, and I’m also pretty sure they’re the only people who have what I need and are willing to give it to me.

  This is the most vulnerable I’ve been since I left. If these guys do work for Vicious, they’ll deliver me right to him, and there is fuck all I can do about it. If they don’t, then I’m about to go literally nuclear. The phrase alone makes me smile.

  “Alright, yeah, I’m coming. Just don’t murder me. Vicious won’t be pleased if you do.” I’m still using his name as a shield. Maybe that’s hypocritical, but you do what you gotta do to survive.

  They lead me to a car, and I get in. Stupid, the voice in my head screams. Don’t take rides from strange men! I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m doing it because revenge matters more than common sense. It matters more than anything.

  I sit in the front passenger seat. Mark chats with me while he drives, stream of consciousness small talk that doesn’t mean anything. I can feel Bobby behind me, those eyes searing into the back of the head rest. I don’t feel comfortable around him, there’s just something about him. Something violent, just barely restrained simmering beneath the surface of that suit which fits perfectly and yet doesn’t sit right. There’s something petulant about him and it makes the mature attire seem just a little off, like he’s wearing his father’s suit.

  It’s a very long drive. We skirt around New York City and head upstate to a place that can only be described as opulent. It’s the sort of estate you see in music videos where handsome men ride shining horses and pretty starlets whine about being unable to find love.

  “Come on in,” Mark says, inviting me in with a gentlemanly air which makes me at ease, even if I shouldn’t be. Something is telling me this is a trap. I just don’t know what kind of trap it is.

  He leads me into a sitting room and offers me a drink. Bobby wanders off to be sullen somewhere else, and I can’t say I miss him. It’s nice to be back in the company of a handsome man who knows how to handle himself, I�
�ll say that for Mark.

  “So,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve been hearing a lot about you lately.”

  “All of it good, I hope.”

  “Very little of it good,” he winks and I restrain a giggle. If I knew buying radioactive waste was this fun I would have done it a long time ago.

  “You’re a bad girl, aren’t you, Kitty?”

  “I can be,” I smile, sipping at my drink. I don’t want to get wasted. I have to keep my wits about me. I’m very much aware that I’ve come a very long way with men I don’t know.

  “You know what they say happens to bad girls, don’t you?”

  “Enlighten me,” I smile at him.

  “They end up at the mercy of very bad men,” a new voice interjects.

  I turn my head just as another man walks into the room. He is tall, and older, late forties maybe, if I had to guess. He’s one of those men you can tell is Italian just by looking at him. He has those classic stunning Roman features, a natural haughtiness and grace. His hair is dashed with ample amounts of salt and pepper.

  “Hello,” he says. “I’m Angelo Vitali.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but it’s just a vague sound which emerges as my brain goes into overdrive. Angelo Vitali? I know that name. Everybody knows that name. This is not a man to be fucked with. This is not a man to be in a thousand miles of if you can help it. The dark energy pumping from Angelo Vitali is filling the room and making me so nervous I feel sick. I suddenly know why Mark and Bobby seemed familiar. I’ve heard of them before too. Never met them, mostly avoided them in the past.

  Shit. Oh. Fucking. No.

  Angelo lets out a gentle chuckle at my expression. I must look stricken. My biggest fear was that Vicious might be behind that email. I didn’t really consider that it might be someone even worse.

  I’m not getting the material I came for, I can already tell that. Angelo Vitali doesn’t deal in nuclear waste. He deals in broken lives and shattered souls. I’ve been lured here, and I don’t know why. I look around, trying to spot an exit, but realistically I could be on open ground and still not escape these apex predators who just so happen to be positioned in such a way that I can’t get to any of the exits.