ONE
It would be a great place to get rid of a body.
The address she’d been given was for a nursery and gardening supply operation in Middlebury. Killian Delaney surveyed the dark property as she drove down the narrow lane between the store and greenhouse. There were some serious potholes that needed attention, but she wasn’t driving her own car, so she didn’t care if she hit them. In fact, she made a point of hitting every damn one, regardless of how the car jerked and bounced, and grinned with her teeth clenched every time the ass end bottomed out.
It was after two in the morning and rural enough that it wasn’t just dark—it was black. She had the headlights on low to illuminate the rough dirt road. And then, as she crested a small hill, she caught sight of a faint light at the bottom, coming from an old barn. Her contact had given her good directions.
The car coasted to the bottom of the hill. Killian killed the headlights and gave the brakes a gentle tap, rolling to a stop in the weak light coming from the barn door. Four women stood in that space, backlit. She didn’t have to see their faces to recognize them. Janelle was the tallest, built like a bloody Amazon. Narissa was a little shorter, with an abundance of soft, full curves. Then came Maya, who was a bucket of chicken—all boob and thigh—followed by Vishna, who was five foot nothing if she was lucky, and about as big around as Killian’s leg. These women didn’t have a lot in common and they hadn’t been friends all that long, but Killian liked—and respected—each of them.
She put the car in park and opened the door to get out.
It was quiet there. Eerily quiet. Stars shone in the beyond-black sky. Connecticut was like that. You could be in the middle of a city and then fifteen minutes later be in the middle of nowhere.
“Ladies,” Killian greeted, making eye contact with each of them.
Janelle stepped forward, fists clenched at her sides. “Did you bring it?” Her voice was low and edged like a blade.
“That was the job,” Killian replied as she opened the trunk. The other women moved closer, clustering around their leader. It was a warm night with a bit of a breeze, and Killian could smell the mingling of their perfumes, shampoos, and sweat.
There, curled up and bound on a sheet of plastic, was a man. Light shone on his bald head, highlighting the sweat on his cheeks and brow. He was gagged, but that didn’t stop him from making noise when his eyes adjusted to the light. He reared up at them, muffled curses punctuating the night.
Two of the women stepped back, but not Janelle. She held her ground. Killian gave her a look of respect before slapping the man into silence. She only had to hit him twice.
“Is that him?” Narissa asked, wide-eyed.
Killian nodded. “Vonte McKeithen of Bridgeport. Drug dealer and pimp. He’s the man who trafficked your daughters.” She locked gazes with Janelle. “And killed yours.” She’d seen the photos when she took the case—three young women still alive, but broken, and a fourth brutally ended.
Janelle swallowed, the whites of her eyes bright. She offered Killian an envelope, fat and sealed.
Killian hesitated. “I don’t want your money.”
The tall woman’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t want your pity.”
Understood. She took the envelope and shoved it in the waistband of her jeans. “He’s all yours.”
“I’ve been waiting so long for this, I don’t know what to do,” Narissa commented. The other women nodded in agreement.
“Whatever you want,” Killian told them. “No one’s going to miss this sorry sack of shit. At least not for long.” She pulled on the pimp’s arm, easing him out of the trunk. He whipped and coiled his body like a snake, swinging his head at her fast and hard. Killian easily sidestepped the attack and punched him in the jaw in retaliation. His feet were bound and the blow knocked him off balance. He fell hard against the edge of the car.
None of the women moved to help him. Vishna, the pixie of the group, sneered at the man, who was easily a foot taller and probably close to a hundred pounds heavier than her. “My baby still has nightmares about you,” she told him, her voice raw. “There isn’t enough pain in this world to make up for what you did to her.”
Her words seemed to stir something in her companions. Any uncertainty or hesitation they might have had seemed to evaporate under the heat of Vishna’s rage. Hate—it was contagious. Janelle gripped the pimp’s chin in her long hand and forced him to meet her gaze.
“You destroyed the only thing in this world that I truly loved. We’re gonna destroy you now.” Then, to Killian: “Thank you.”
Killian nodded. She hoped this brought the women some kind of peace, but she knew it wouldn’t. Nothing they did to this douchebag would change the damage he’d already done. It wouldn’t bring back innocence, or life. It might give them a little justice, though, and that was why she’d taken the job in the first place. She knew firsthand that revenge had little healing power. But a little was better than nothing. Better than feeling powerless.
She closed the trunk and handed Janelle a syringe she’d taken from her jacket. “He’ll tell you whatever you want to know if you give him this.” She’d no sooner handed the needle over than the pimp bolted. Where the hell did he think he was going, hopping like a scared jackrabbit with his arms tied behind his back?
Maya picked up a rock from the damp ground and threw it—hard. Killian’s brows rose in admiration when she heard the thud and saw the pimp drop to his knees. Nice shot.
“If you need anything else, you have my number,” she told them, rounding the driver’s side of the car. They wouldn’t use it; she knew that. Sometime in the next day or two, Vonte McKeithen would cease to exist. Maybe traces of him would show up in fertilizer or soil, but nothing that anyone would ever find. The cops certainly weren’t going to waste their time looking for a missing pimp. The only people who would miss him would be a few messed-up girls and his mama, and the girls would eventually get over him.
The last thing she saw in her rearview, as she left the scene, was them dragging him into the barn by his feet. The sad part was that his death wouldn’t change anything. There were two others waiting to take his place. They’d fight over who got his territory, and then his drugs and his girls would be under new ownership and it would be business as usual until another mother decided to take matters into her own hands.
Killian hoped she got the call when that happened.
It was almost four by the time Killian pulled into her parking spot behind the condo. She had to pick up her own car along the way—the other dropped off at the “cleaners” so all traces of Vonte McKeithen could be eliminated. She also stopped at an all-night Chinese place for something to eat. Kidnapping pimps and wrestling them into a trunk always gave her an appetite.
She’d taken on several traffickers since accepting Maxine Hollander’s job offer with the Initiative—a secretive network of gray-work specialists—and it gave her a real sense of satisfaction to do so. Killian had first learned of the Initiative through her boyfriend, Dash Clark. Then she found out Maxine had been watching her for a while—even when she’d been in prison for assault.
Taking the job had been the best thing she’d ever done. She got to hit people on a regular basis and get paid for it, and since they were all terrible people, she got to feel good about it, too. The only hard part was keeping it secret from her parole officer.