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Flipping to the next photo, he stared at Lisa Thompson, age twenty-four, a recent college graduate whose only crime was deciding to go on a date with the wrong man.
He felt his jaw tighten.
These poor women. No one was fighting for them. They had suffered through a horrendous act, only to be cast aside and shunned because the monster who attacked them was a highly regarded member of society. A man who ran three charities and worked endless hours in the ER as a cardiac surgeon, saving countless lives every day. He had power, money, and the respect of an elite community of other rich and powerful people who always made sure to look out for their own.
Well, not tonight.
Tonight, Mr. Untouchable was about to suffer his own horrific night.
Mr. Untouchable was about to get a taste of his own work at hand.
An eye for an eye?
Perhaps. Well, minus the sexual assault. There was no way that he was sticking his dick anywhere near that monster. He did have a billy club in his trunk, though—something left over from his days on the force.
A little forced anal play, perhaps?
No. He would rather just beat the shit out of the guy and make sure that it takes him months to recover, just like Clarissa Jones. The poor girl got the worst of it. She was the only one who decided to fight back, refusing to give in to that monster and his dark desires.
If Chase recalled correctly, it took Clarissa nine months to fully recover from her injuries. A two-hundred-and-ten-pound man versus a one-hundred-and-thirty-pound woman. Seemed like a fair fight.
Closing the file, he placed it back into his glove compartment and grabbed the black rubber gloves. He didn’t need to leave any DNA at the scene of the crime. He had worked in homicide for two years, so he was well aware of evidence-collection techniques.
The evening sky was black, with barely a star overhead. Somehow, the cosmos had been warned about the atrocities that were about to occur here tonight. Each star and moon deciding to turn away and hide its shimmering light from the horrors of tonight’s events.
He slipped the rubber gloves over his fingers and adjusted each digit, making sure that the surface was nice and taut. Hearing the crunching sound of the rubber as it moved between his fingers got his blood pumping.
Chase smiled.
Hmmm, Dexter much?
No, he wasn’t a monster like these guys. He was a defender of justice—a lone warrior and purveyor of justice for those who could not seek it for themselves.
Now he sounded like a goddamn superhero.
Movement outside caught Chase's eye. He watched as the monster himself exited the bar and made his way into the back parking lot to, no doubt, drive home.
Jaw tightening, Chase reached into the back seat and grabbed the wooden bat. Placing a wool ski mask over his head, he exited the car and silently stalked his prey.
The back of the bar was rather small, with only enough space for a few cars to park. Tonight, there were only two parked at opposite ends of the lot.
Chase watched as the six-foot doctor fumbled with his keychain, trying to locate the button to unlock his car.
“Damnit,” the beast mumbled when he dropped his keys to the ground.
“Dr. Sheppard?” Chase asked, standing directly behind the intoxicated doctor. He knew who the man was, but he wanted to play innocent.
The man spun around, bumping into the side of his car door.
“What the?” the man asked, startled by the voice suddenly behind him.
Without warning, Chase swung the bat, nailing the doctor in the gut. With an unpleasant grunt, the man curled over, gasping for air.
“I’m here to deliver you a message. Don’t you ever lay another hand on a woman again,” Chase growled, standing over top of the keeled-over man, who was still gasping for air.
He could feel the vein in the side of his head throbbing as the anger within him grew to uncontrolled strength. He wanted to bash the bat into the side of this man’s head and not stop until his skull resembled a smashed cantaloupe.
The amount of pain this man forced upon all those women—the amount of violence. Those women would never be the same.
