Page 13 of Haven

Widow

Nothing was more priceless than smug bastards who thought they got away with assault. Men underestimated the Vexxed Vipers because we were a club full of women and feminine-presenting people. They believed we were weak, yet we had dominated Briarwood and the surrounding areas for the last decade. I didn’t get nicknamed Widow by being innocuous.

I wasn’t venomous, either—I was a killer. Once a hired gun, now sergeant at arms for the Vipers. Everyone knew Vanessa Windrose, aka the Black Widow. I wasn't a fan of the full title, but Widow fit. My tactics were well-planned and I could get away with every life I took. I didn’t kill the innocent. My skills went towards the sick men and women who enjoyed hurting innocents. When I went to prison for murdering my ex-wife, I chose to get caught. I could’ve hidden what I did, but she was abusing and raping underaged boys; I refused to be associated with her. The parents called me a hero while the government called me a killer.

Black widows kill their male mate after sex, but the name was distorted since it was another woman I killed. I hoped the cunt was burning in hell and those boys were healed.

I could lie and say I had a perfect childhood with loving parents and siblings who irked my soul, but that was far from the truth. I was the sole provider for three little sisters and a brother while my parents got high and abused us. Being the oldest, I took the brunt of it. It was my job to protect my siblings, because they didn’t ask to be born into this life. Hell, neither had I, but I took the responsibility nonetheless.

When my father let his dealer into my two youngest sisters' room, I knew I had a calling, and it was to protect. The first man I killed tried to rape my four-year-old sister. His brains covered the pink walls and I smiled when the officers showed up. I was seventeen, two months away from being of age, but I refused to let the state take my siblings. I got off on self-defense because my sister told the officers what the man did to her.

I met Cinder when she was nineteen. I was twenty and married to the woman I thought I loved. Little did I know what she was doing when I was away. At the time, I was a bartender at the local dive bar and Cinder just moved to Georgia. She would talk to me about her sister and her shitty mother. We quickly became friends, and we created the Vexxed Vipers together. She put more work into her club, but I was there as moral support. Three years after the Vipers were created and we had a good footing in Briarwood with our supply chains and our shipments, I went to prison for murdering my ex-wife. Her death was nothing if it meant getting justice for all the lives she destroyed.

Cinder spiraled while I was in jail. She scoured the states looking for any clues on where her sister was. It was how she met Blaize Matthews in Washington state who turned out to be an amazing ally. She was one of our best trade partners, even if she was halfway across the country. After Cinder returned home, she found some news with some assistance from various people she met on the road. I remember the day she came to visit me in prison. She looked like shit, but she was beaming.

I was used to seeing Cinder’s face in here; my friend never once stopped visiting me. She was working hard on getting me out, but I wasn’t in a hurry. I wasn’t ashamed of what I had done. The bitch deserved to die for what she put those boys through while in my bed. Cinder claimed I deserved to be free, promising she would get me released as quickly as she could. It’s been four years since my sentencing, slowly easing closer to the halfway mark.

Something was different today with Cinder.

Cinder looked…lighter, almost happy. She was waiting to tell me whatever news she had. I sat in front of the glass, picked up the phone, and pressed it to my ear. Her hand was trembling slightly. Cinder didn’t tremble. That was when I knew this wasn’t a check-in, nor was it about a release date. This was something different.

“I found her.”

Three words, and I knew they meant the world to Cinder.

I sat back, staring at the ceiling. Since I’d met her, she always talked about her little sister and how her cunt of a mother took her away when Aurora was almost seven. Cin made it her mission in life to find the little girl, no matter how long it took.

Ten years.

She was finally coming home after ten years.

“I’m getting my sister home, and you’re getting out of here.”

Cinder found her and brought her home. It took a year to get me out of prison without raising any suspicion. The DA said I was granted parole for good behavior and appeals made in my defense. It wasn’t a lie. The boys and their families that my dead wife hurt wrote letters to the court. I was released after everything happened with Diesel and Rory tried to kill herself. It was a lot, but the Vipers survived. We always did.

I made a promise to the old warden to never step foot in Briarwood Penitentiary again. It worked for her, but it broke my heart leaving several of the women behind. One day, I’d make peace, but until then, I had the memories.

I dragged my finger across the edge of the bowie knife as I circled Roger. He was shaking like a chihuahua and about to piss himself, but it was his own doing for why he was chained in our playroom.

Roger attempted to date rape a high school student when she turned him down. She said she was underage, and instead of stopping, he stalked her and found her at the local diner where he slipped something into her Dr. Pepper while she was talking to the waitress. When locals saw him push her outside to the alley, they called us immediately. When we showed up, he had her bent over a trash can, but couldn’t get his dick hard enough to hurt her.

God didn’t do a lot of good things, but giving men erectile dysfunction was the best thing he could have done.

“Roger, Roger, Roger,” I taunted as I spun my blade. “I expected more, especially after your generous donation to Cinder’s foundation.” It wasn’t even a month ago that Roger donated to SafeHaven, the organization Cinder created to help children, men, and women who escaped abusive homes and survived sexual assault.

“I-I’m not a bad g-guy, Widow.”

“Is that why you were trying to force your limp dick into an underaged girl?”

“S-she wanted it. S-she was dressed like a whore.” It wouldn’t matter if she was naked. The amount of clothing someone wore wasn’t an invitation.

I wrapped my hand around the handle before letting the blade fly and embed itself in his groin, all ten inches of D2 steel buried to the hilt. I’ve been mutilating shitty men for a while now, and knew the blade wasn’t close to his flaccid appendage. Roger screamed in agony, his body flailing like a fish on a dock. He tried to speak, but no words escaped, only tears and whimpers. I cocked my head to the side, watching him with a smile curled on my lips.

“You didn’t say no, Roger. You must want this. Just look at what you're wearing. If you didn’t want your dick severed, maybe you shouldn’t be dressed as a creep.”

I grabbed the chains, turning him until his feet were in the air and he was in an X-shape. He wouldn’t bleed to death from the penile castration, but when his anterior lateral malleolar arteries were severed, he’d die in minutes. Maybe I should gut him and let him hang until he choked on his own blood.

My knife dug into his right ankle, piercing his artery in a quick motion as I did the same to the left. I watched for a few moments as he blubbered and begged for mercy. By that point, I was bored. I didn’t get off on killing. I did it because it meant saving and bringing justice to innocents.