I saw him.
I know it’s him, there’s no way I could ever forget that face. I’ve been hunting him down for the past three years, tracking him through the mud like a damn dog. All this time, and I’m so close I can practically taste him. I want nothing more than to rip him to pieces with my bare hands.
He deserves it.
For what he’s done.
Who he is.
I remember the very first time I saw him. How I thought he was so beautiful. Long, lean, strong. Muscles for days and hair as black as a crow’s feathers with eyes to match. How I was filled with instant lust. The way he held himself, so well, posture straight, his legs with his swift but sure steps. He knows where he’s going. I thought, and boy did he. Mister Big Dick Swinging, he knew exactly what he was after.
He looks older, beaten down. He has a slight hunch to his spine, his steps no longer sure but scuffled and slow. His cheeks are sunken in and he no longer commands the attention he once used to. He’s thin, much too thin for his height and I can’t help but rejoice at the thought that maybe business is bad. By the way, the Big Sick Swinging comment, SO not true. More like my pinky finger.
We’re in the same city, hell, we’re even in the same hotel. Only he doesn’t know that. But I do, and it’s something I take great pride in. He thought he was unstoppable, immortal, a fucking king. Well, he’s got something coming and isn’t he going to be surprised. The one girl who got away from him. The one girl he couldn’t break. The one who WON.
I know for a fact he’s heard of me but doesn’t know who I am. He only knew me as 303, I’m nothing to him but a ghost to come back from his past, and in the end, it’ll be his life in my hands and I’m going to do the same thing he did to me. Take away his life. And I can’t wait.
My name is Nicola Shayne, and I am going to kill Lucien Cole. Tonight.
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, I should tell you what this waste of space did to me but, quite frankly, talking about it pisses me off.
Here’s what I will tell you:
Let’s just say I’m the lucky one. The others, not so much. That’s why I’m doing this, it’s not just for me, it’s for them too. The ones who didn’t get away, the ones who succumbed to the drugs, the ones who didn’t have a voice.
I escaped from his clutches, bloody, battered and bruised, I spent the first six months of my life living in the woods. Hiding, looking over my shoulder every second of every day. Do you know how tiring that is? To be free, but not actually really free. Cringing at every little noise you hear, your heart races, blood roaring in your
ears and you think, “this is it, they’ve finally found me. They’re finally going to kill me.
After six months, I found my way out of the woods and back to my apartment. My roommate Millie, bless her, cried dirty snotty tears and held on to me for hours. I told her what happened, and after talking her into not calling the police, she called her sister who was a very well sought after psychologist and I spent the next three months in extensive therapy.
She wanted to keep me longer, begged and pleaded. We still had so much to talk about. No, we didn’t. I told her what she wanted, answered her questions. She wanted to put me on pills, to calm me down and once again I told her no. She asked me the one question she wanted to ask me from the beginning.
“Nic, what are you going to do?”
I looked her dead in the eyes and spoke the five words she didn’t want to hear. “I’m going to kill him.”
Nine months later, I felt all most like my old self again, except I was someone completely different. I no longer recognized myself. A small gold hoop in my nose, something I would’ve never done before. I cut my hair short, right even with my chin and dyed it black. My eyes were no longer the bright blue that held dreams, they were dark now and the only thing they held was the haunting look of a young woman looking for revenge.
I scoured the papers, streets, anything I could find that would help me find what I was looking for. And I found it, a small gym with underground connections. A trainer by the name of Magnus who asked no questions and just taught me how to fight, how to kill. He taught me everything. The right way to eat, run, punch, kick, and fuck. Oh, I missed Magnus, but he understood what I needed and held no reservations.
After fifteen months of training, running, fighting I actually got to fight Magnus in a real fight. I had him down on his ass after three minutes. The first person to win a fight against him in seven years. He wasn’t mad, he was nothing but overly proud. Lifting me up, putting me on top of his shoulders as I raised my hands up in the air, laughing feeling like my chest was about to burst with pride. People roaring in excitement, their feet pounding heavy on the ground.
He set me down on the ground, hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, come back to me when you’ve taken care of everything.
I left that night, leaving Millie a goodbye note and started tracking down Lucien. It took me months before I could get a lead, and after months of asking, prodding, arousing suspicion. I found him. Three years later after my escape.
And now here I am.
No, I’m not a vigilante. I’m not someone who stalks the scum of the earth and kills them for the greater good of mankind. Or am I? I really can’t tell you at this point in my life. I’ve never killed before, ever. Lucien Cole is going to be my first and last. Or is he? Will I turn into him after this? Lusting after the spill of blood like he’s lusted after innocent flesh, no. I can’t. I won’t. He’s a monster of the night, nothing but a self-proclaimed predator. Feeding on the weak, and I won’t do that. Instead, I’m going after the alpha. The big dog. The one who claims he is God’s gift to women, but I know what he really is.
An empty shell who brutalizes women for his own personal enjoyment. A man, if you can call him that, who is so dead on the inside has never felt a single human emotion other than hate. I don’t know what made him like this, I don’t want to know. Personally, I can give a rat’s ass. Once he gets under your skin you want nothing more than to get rid of him. He’s like dysentery, the only way to get rid of him is to shit him out.
I watch him as he crosses the street, eyes glued to the screen of his cell phone. He’s dressed decently enough from what I can see. Jeans and a nice black wool coat that hugs his form, even though it shouldn’t. And even as I think that, I see several woman twisting their heads to get a better look at him. It’s all an illusion. Was I that blind? God, I hope not. Maybe I’m biased, maybe I see him for the evil he truly is. Either way, he’s fucked.
If there is one thing I know, is its time to set my plan in motion. I keep my distance, a few people back watching him weave through the crowd. His pace increasing with purpose. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was in a hurry, but I’m not blind. I’ve learned a lot since I’ve escaped and there’s someone else tailing him, and Lucien knows it. He may be scum, but he’s not stupid.
I risk a glance at the person, which is dangerous. I can’t afford to lose him in this crowd. It’s a man, maybe around 6′-3", 200 lbs but even I can tell from his baggy clothes he’s all muscle. His broad shoulders and lean body make him stick out like a sore thumb, coupled with that he’s wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled up covering his face. Who ever this guy is, it’s straight amateur hour and he’s going to fuck this up for me.
I quicken my pace trying to get in front of the man, my mind whirring with a thousand different ideas to get rid of him. Going against better judgment, I decide to ignore him. I’m not wasting my time on someone who, clearly, has no idea what he’s doing. A small part of me is curious as to exactly why he’s tailing him, but I don’t have a second to waste. I dart around the man, seeing Lucien vanish into the hotel.
The hotel is easy to locate, another mistake on Lucien's part. While not grand, it’s small, quaint and has a very ‘home’ feel about it. Simply decorated with a moss colored carpet, linen wall-papered walls, and paintings of flowers scattered throughout the room. It’s cute and approachable, unlike those huge chain hotels where everything is too clean, too sterile and has a smell that’s hard to explain. You know what I’m talking about, right?
My room is right next to his, I can hear him right now. Pacing back and forth, up and down, yelling at someone on the phone. I can’t hear exactly what he’s saying, his voice is muffled and I can tell he’s pissed. I don't blame him. I'd be pissed too if I knew I was being tailed. If I knew my time was coming to a close. The end of a disgusting, pitiful chapter, for him anyway.
My chapter is just about to begin.
I know for a fact he’s expecting a girl tonight. A pretty girl, with short black hair, exactly like mine. I know Lucien likes his girls, girls that he doesn’t have to kidnap, just pay for. They give him one small hour of their time so he can feel like a normal man. When I was tracking him, someone let it slip that he likes this one particular escort company.
I looked into the company and found the owner, who swore up, down, left and right what he was doing wasn’t illegal. Maybe he did have his fingers in some legal places, but the rest were all dirty. After an intense “talk”, where I may or may not have tied him to a chair and beat him, just a little, though, promise. He agreed to set me up with a man named Alex Smith the next time he called. Color me surprised when he called me and told me Alex had called and wanted to set up a meeting. Right here, in this very hotel.
I change my clothes, in tight too short shorts and a form-fitting black tank top. On my feet? My favorite black combat boots. They're worn, scuffed and I can't tie the laces on one side of because it's so worn through, the laces fall out. So I clomp around in them untied. Don't bother me none. I’m not going to hide anymore, I bared, almost, every scar he ever gave me. The cigarette burns scattered across my arms, the whip marks across the back of my legs. I used to be disgusted by them, now I wear them like a badge of honor. I’m no longer a victim, I am a survivor.
The tank top hides the scars on my back, the ones that are the worst. I want him to see what he’s done, to look me right in the eyes as he draws his last breath. Nothing would give me more pleasure. My gun pressing heavily against my thigh, brushing against my skin and I sigh at the sensation. My skin alive with fire, waiting, itching, for what’s about to come. I grab my small black bag with everything I need, he’s in for a rough night.