Page 14 of Ricochet

Coming to a stop in front of him, I bent in close until I felt his panting of breath against my cheek. “You stole everything from me.” The glint of my blade caught the beams of moonlight. “Let’s begin.”

With both knives propped in the air, I made two quick slashes mouth to cheek, giving him an impressive Glasgow smile. His body trembled with his muffled scream. “Your smile’s infectious.” I chuckled, stepping back to get a look at his ridiculous clown face.

Rivulets of blood trickled from the slashes. With his mouth slightly parted, he gave a stiff wail and his head fell forward. “F’ck ma’!”

“I read a medical record that said, the night you raped and tortured my wife, you got so high on crack that you underwent cardiac arrest and had to be resuscitated.” I crouched in front of him. “Bet you were laughing in the reaper’s face that night, eh, Marquise?”

I lifted the blindfold from his face, allowing his eyes to widen and adjust, while I tugged the first syringe from the leather. Removing my mask, I gave him a few seconds to study my face. “I know it’s been a few years … you remember who I am?”

His pupils dilated behind a shield of tears. “C’mon, man. We’s just havin’ fun that night. You know, we didn’t mean nothin’, man.” Blood oozed from the wounds at his cheek, giving a wet clip to his words as he spoke. “Please. I’m sorry! I’m sorry, man.”

“I’ve always wondered if it’s true, that a person can survive battery acid injected directly into the vein.” I tilted my head to the side and smiled when his body jerked with a sob. “Don’t worry. If the experiment fails, I’ve got a backup. What’s that law? What gets high, must crash down?” I peered over the edge of the staircase. “The Reaper’s got your number tonight, Marquise.” With a shake of my head, I directed my gaze back on him, boring right through his skull with my stare. “Scream if you want. Ain’t nobody gonna save you.”

His outcry echoed in the alley when I stabbed the first needle into his neck.

CHAPTER 5

Chief Cox

In the back alley adjacent to the Book Tower building off Grand River Avenue, Police Chief Richard Cox crouched beside the body that lay in a static pool of blood. Six syringes had been scattered on the ground, while one remained lodged in the victim’s neck. Crime scene investigation wasn’t one of his duties as Chief, but one of the biggest trap houses had been hit just prior to the murder, one that’d funded a good percent of his income.

His presence was a personal matter.

Fuck you had been etched in black on the casing of the single bullet that’d been shot into the victim’s head.

“Marquise Boogeyman Carter. Dealer. Rolls with the Seven Mile Crew.” Standing beside the police chief, Detective Matt Burke looked up toward the staircase then back down at the victim. “Shit, he’d have to have fallen a couple hundred feet, ya think?”

“Based on the damage upon impact, I’d say twenty stories.” The coroner lifted the man’s chin with a gloved hand, exposing where the needle punctures seemed to have festered. His assistant jotted notes beside him, while the EMS workers who’d confirmed his death looked on. “Shock likely killed him before anything. Whatever was pushed into his veins definitely did some damage. Suffered some necrosis at the injection sites. I’ll have the fluid in the syringes analyzed.” He huffed. “Whoever did this is one sadistic bastard.”

Chief Cox straightened up from the body, stepping back to get a good look at the message painted in blood beside him.

Eye for an eye.

“Vengeful one, if you ask me.” Cox stepped around, careful not to disturb the needles, blood, or fragments of bone lying about. “I’ve known this kid a long time. Pissed off a lot of folks.” At the click of the forensic photographer’s camera, Cox lifted his gaze and tipped his head, studying the victim from the new angle. Marquise’s hands had twisted to a grotesque arc of his bone, and Cox eyed deep grooves just above the rope that bound his wrists, where he must’ve rubbed against something in an attempt to free himself. For hours, judging by the depth of the wounds and the tearing of surrounding flesh. “I think there’s more than one on this. No one takes out an entire drug house, rampage style, then comes back and takes his fucking time killing. That’s two completely different styles. This is psychopath shit here. Pre-meditated. Calculated. Torture. A rampage would drive a psychopath nuts with all the sloppy bullets flying.”

The coroner lifted one of the needles, examining its contents. “You a criminal psychologist on the side, Cox?”

“This city’s full of killers. I’ve done my share of investigations.”

“Chief! Check this out!” Burke lifted a small folded paper from Marquise’s jacket and, placing it in Cox’s gloved palm, unfolded it to reveal a single typed number. “One? ‘The hell is that?”

Cox stared down at the number, rolling his shoulders before looking back to Burke. “Sounds like the beginning, I’d say.” He nodded toward the crowd lined on the other side of the caution tape, where four officers kept them from crossing over. “Let’s finish and get this shit cleaned up.”

CHAPTER 6

Aubree

“Mrs. Culling, your husband asked that I remind you of the hospital Masquerade Ball this evening.” Carmen, the twenty-something maid, opened the drapes of my room to sunlight, blinding me as I turned over in bed. “I understand he’s chosen something formal for you.”

“I suppose he has.” It was impossible to hide my lack of enthusiasm.

“Michael is a man that takes care of everything. You’re a lucky lady!”

Carmen truly couldn’t be blamed for her ignorance. She was present at the mansion for about two hours in the morning, mostly after Michael left for work, and knew nothing of my husband. Yet, it surprised me that the same woman I’d often heard bitching to the other maids, about how she’d never let a man rule her life, suddenly thought having one pick out clothes was a gesture of chivalry.

Of course, maybe she was just being nice. All the staff walked on eggshells around me. I knew what they said behind my back, though. The way they looked at me—the same pitiful way a gathering crowd might look upon a rat inside a snake’s cage, anxious for the moment it’d finally strike and kill its prey.

“Yeah, lucky.” I turned to the side, wincing at the low cramping inside my stomach, and pulled my knees into my chest, frightened that something might rupture. A quiet whimper escaped me.