The Kindred

Chapter 4

Gaby dressed without hurry, distracted by the mayhem of her thoughts. She wasn’t sure where to look for the girl, but staying in Luther’s home wouldn’t elucidate things. She needed to be doing . . . something. Anything.

Hanging around, waiting for Luther to return, made her feel doubly dependent and pathetic.

She couldn’t abide either.

She locked away her manuscript for safekeeping, hoping that by the time she needed to finish it, the child would have an ending that ensured safety and security.

Because she wasn’t certain where the bus route might be in Luther’s neighborhood, she bundled up in a dark hooded sweatshirt. She might be walking for a while, not that she minded. Strolling around the area would help her familiarize herself with the new surroundings. She needed to find a good place nearby to stow her beat-up car. She needed to learn the various routes and where they led.

After clipping a digital audio player to her waistband and putting headphones in her ears, Gaby ventured out. Luther had bought her the music player, and she enjoyed it more than she’d thought possible. Even the music he’d initially chosen for her, edgy and loud with a hard thumping beat that she felt inside herself, was perfect for her.

In some ways, he knew her well.

In other ways, he didn’t know her at all.

The gray sky and brisk wind added a nasty chill to the air, but Gaby paid no heed as she concentrated on the side streets and main intersections, learning the area and committing it to memory.

After several miles of walking, she found a bus stop and joined others huddling under a lighted metal enclosure that would protect them from the rain.

Recognizing the difference between the squalor of the areas she usually frequented and Luther’s middle-class comfort, Gaby stuffed her knotted hands into her sweatshirt pockets.

Truth be told, she felt more comfortable near the dregs of society, in the projects and government housing units. There, surrounded by crime and immorality, around people driven by indifference and desperation, she felt at home.

Mort, her old landlord and now a friend, had kept his building clean and semi-secure, especially since the comic book store he owned was attached to the living quarters. But at night, she could hear the drunken arguments, the domestic abuse, the drive-by shootings and gang disruptions.

And it . . . comforted her.

There had been a bus stop not two blocks from Mort’s front door, but not even a bench remained at the designated location. Miscreants of the serious and not-so-serious kind had repeatedly demolished it, as much out of boredom as a display of street cred. No one had bothered to replace the seat or the shelter.

Though she hated to be fanciful, Gaby missed the old place. At least while staying there, she’d understood her life and her purpose.

Then she’d met Luther, and he’d turned her whole existence upside down. Running from him had seemed the safest bet. For a time, she’d stayed with hookers and put up with Jimbo, their pimp.

She’d changed her look, changed her location, changed almost everything about herself except her duty—and still Luther had found her.

Bliss claimed they were destined to be together.

So dumb. How could that possibly be?

Gaby hunched her shoulders, driven inward by her thoughts.

She did believe in Bliss’s intuition, but Bliss was little more than a child, as much an outcast as Gaby herself. Until Gaby stepped in, she’d been a hooker.

Now she was a friend.

Damn, how many freakin’ friends did she need, anyway? She was starting to collect them the same way a mangy dog collected fleas. She’d gotten by for a long time all on her own. Other than Father Mullond, the priest who’d helped her understand her calling, she’d had no one.

And she’d been fine and dandy all alone. It was better. For her, for everyone else.

But things had changed irrevocably.

An older woman gave Gaby a sympathetic smile, and she realized how darkly she scowled.

Shit. She turned away from the granny and turned up her music until it made her eardrums vibrate.

Disgruntled by the rapid changes taking place in her life, Gaby kept her distance from the warmly clothed men and stylishly dressed women at the stop. Leaning on a brick structure, she surveyed the traffic, both human and automotive.

People laughed or talked, some with umbrellas open, some with collars up. A few had devices in their ears and appeared to be in deep conversation with . . . no one.

Even those waiting for the bus were in a hurry to get somewhere, likely nowhere important. That mind-set, the on-the-go lifestyle, made no sense to Gaby.

These people acted safe, as if anyone ever truly could be. They had no awareness of the ugly societal deformities that loomed around them. Homicidal psychopaths lurked everywhere, disguised as neighbors, family, friends, or lovers. Fiends of every disorder existed hand in hand with innocents.

Yet none of these people had a clue.

And Gaby could never forget. Not for a second. God, she was out of place here, and sooner or later Luther would realize it.

The bus finally came and Gaby waited until everyone else had boarded before taking a seat toward the back. No one sat by her, but several people stared.

Was she that transparent? Did even strangers recognize her deviant presence among them?

Their auras filled the bus with a churning hue of expectation, urgency, boredom, and complacency. Not one of them understood the day-to-day peril they faced.

Choosing to ignore them, she turned to stare out the foggy window. Like veins on emaciated flesh, raindrops traveled haphazardly over the dirty glass, occasionally crisscrossing and blending, only to branch out again.

Gaby contented herself by watching as tidy buildings gave way to shops with crumbling bricks and peeling paint. One by one, the social scale of the bus’s occupants changed. The “nice” people got off, and a new element boarded.

The hypnotic hiss of bus tires on wet pavement, the gray day and drizzling rain, softened the reality of bars and tattoo parlors that replaced groceries and salons.

Falling into a lull, Gaby lost herself in her raucous music—until her unfocused gaze snagged on one particular tattoo parlor. Beautiful swirling colors and font shapes drew her attention to an ornate sign indicating the artwork available inside.

But around that sign, encompassing the façade of the tidy, well-kept building, a thick, dark impression of reality swirled. This aura wasn’t so much a glow as a smoky film in dirty colors of sulfur and mustard, rich with pain and anger.

Gaby pressed a hand to the window and stared. Black boreholes pierced the shades, and through those holes, small white explosions, spurred by artificial stimulation, told Gaby that the tattoo parlor partook of some serious drug use. Shades of grave imbalance indicated a lack of sanity. A crazed sociopath lurked inside.

Gaby’s senses kicked.

This wasn’t a true alarm, but more like sensory awareness of things being out of place. It thrilled her to have found a firm purpose.

Adrenaline rushed through her lax limbs as Gaby stood to make her way to the front of the bus. The second the driver stopped, she got off, removed her earphones, and surveyed her surroundings.

Even the air smelled different here, not as green, crisp, or clean as it did near Luther’s home. Here, she smelled the smoke of factories, the odor of rotting garbage, and the sticky stench of unwashed bodies.

This was her world.

She knew what to do here.

Renewed by familiarity, Gaby started back up the street toward the tattoo parlor, but before she’d gone more than a few steps, the vicious snarling of dogs drew her gaze.

Across the street, three young men with two pit bulls on leashes approached the gated area of an old elementary school. The school’s windows were all shattered or boarded up, but in the yard a ramshackle playground inhabited by an old moldy sofa and a few treadless tires remained.

The men were muscular guys, tall and cocky, and their dogs begged to be unleashed.

A young, dark-skinned woman quickly gathered up three children and left the area. A husky woman yelled something at the men and shook a fist, but quieted when the dogs lunged, trying to get free of their restraints. The men laughed, and the angered woman snatched up a child off the old couch and fled.

More children remained, climbing in and over the old tires, bouncing on the broken springs of the couch, risking hazard on the rusty, ruined playground equipment. Most of them were unattended by adults.

So, Gaby thought. She had children aplenty, and obvious drug dealers claiming real estate. This was a perfect opportunity for her to shake off her introspection.

Alive with anticipation, Gaby started across the street. The tattoo parlor could wait.

She needed this. Oh yes, she did.

Before she could reach the men, someone caught her arm, startling Gaby so that she swung around in a defensive stance.

The petite girl, who looked to be twelve or thirteen, wore a comprehensive expression of worry far beyond her immature years.

“Lady,” she said in a frantic whisper, “what are you going to do?”

Strangers seldom got explanations from her, but the girl’s lyrical accent, long dark hair, and dark eyes softened Gaby. “What I do best—get rid of trouble.”

Putting a delicate hand to her forehead, the girl mumbled in frustration before saying to Gaby, “You should not do that.”

Intrigued by her daring, Gaby crossed her arms and gave the child her full attention. “Why not? You going to tell me those punks aren’t trouble?”

The girl’s eyes darted to the men; fear clouded her expression. “You should not mess with the likes of them. They are very dangerous.”

Gaby leaned down close. “Here’s a secret for you, kiddo. So am I.”

A small, thin hand clamped on to Gaby’s arm. “You do not understand. They do not like interference. They will . . . retaliate.”

Gaby scoffed. “They’ll try.”

The girl rolled her eyes and her whisper went harsh. “Do not be foolish. Please. They will . . . burn you.”

That took her aback, not in fear but in curiosity as to what this child had been through. “Burn me, huh?”

Nodding, the girl again glanced at the men. They were currently harassing a boy close to the girl’s age. The boy strained away, anxious to escape, but they kept him in place with a painful grip on his shoulder and a lot of mean-mugging intimidation.

That in itself, the physical detainment of a young boy who wanted to be free, was reason enough for Gaby to intervene, to execute her own form of devastation. But she wanted details on what the girl meant, and at present, the boy didn’t look to be in immediate danger. Scared, yes, but they wanted something from him, so they wouldn’t hurt him. Yet.

If things changed, well then, Gaby would be on the men in a heartbeat.

“How about you explain to me—real fast—exactly what you’re so afraid of.”

“And then you will go?”

“Then I’ll understand.” No way was Gaby leaving.

The girl nodded. “There are few places for children to play, and they often gather here. Then the men showed up and began selling their drugs. Things were not the same. There were gunshots and loud arguments about who could sell here and who could not. A man was beaten, and another was cut with broken bottles. When they started to bother the children, my aunt asked them to sell their drugs at another block, to leave the children here alone.”

“Other than the obvious danger, how were they bothering the kids?” Gaby already had an idea, but she wouldn’t mind having it spelled out.

The girl looked down at her clasped hands. “They get the children to be lookouts when they sell their drugs. My aunt did not like that.”

Had they tried to force the girl? Oh yeah, she’d bet on it. And now Gaby would make them pay. “Your aunt sounds like a gutsy lady.”

Remembered heartache added pain to her tone. “After my aunt complained, they attacked her. Her house was burned to the ground.” Her stark gaze came back to Gaby’s. “She and my uncle both died.”

Pain as sharp as her blade sliced deep into Gaby’s conscience. Why hadn’t she been called on to help the aunt? God knew she couldn’t be everywhere at once, but for this child to have suffered such a loss . . .

“Damn it.” Gaby looked up at the sky. “You know, You could have let me know.”

The girl backed up a step, and Gaby realized she’d scared her. Around here, few probably talked directly to Him.

Around the tightness in her throat, Gaby asked, “When was this?”

“A few months ago.”

Had the girl been living with her aunt when the fire happened? If so, where did she live now?

Gaby didn’t like the probability of her on the street. “The police did nothing?”

“There is nothing that they can do. They try, but they never catch the men doing things they should not. There is no way to prove that they set the fire.”

“But you know they did?”

She nodded, and a weighty maturity showed in her stiff-shouldered posture. This girl had seen life’s uglier side, and nothing would ever negate the bitter reality.

She looked at the men with angry hatred. “I know.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Gaby straightened with commitment. “What’s your name?”

The girl shrank back. “I am no one important.” New concern crumpled her pretty face. “I . . . I only wanted to warn you.”

“And I appreciate it, I really do.” Because Gaby well understood the need for secrecy, she didn’t push the girl. “Do me a favor, will you? Head on home and leave the creeps to me. I promise you, I can handle them. After today they won’t bother you again.”

The child took in Gaby with experienced scrutiny, noting her lack of bulk and no doubt finding her inadequate for the job.

She shook her head with sad acceptance. “You refuse to listen.”

Gaby touched the girl’s cheek, surprising herself with the affectionate gesture, given that affection of any kind seldom had a place in her life of deleterious persuasions.

It was Luther’s influence, and she wasn’t at all sure she liked it. “When I’m through here, maybe you’ll trust me just a little.”

“I wish you to be careful, please.” She looked beyond Gaby to the men. “They have terrible friends. You cannot imagine how scary.”

Gaby winked. “They don’t have anyone who is scarier than me, I promise you.”

The girl’s voice went faint. “But . . . there are some who . . . ” She trailed off.

“What?”

After an audible swallow, she looked down at her feet. “Nothing. I have said too much already.”

“No problem.” She hoped the girl would share her fears later, after Gaby reassured her of her abilities. “I’ll probably have to split after I dispatch these goons. But I would like to talk to you some more. Do you come here pretty often?”

“Yes. My sister likes to play here.”

“Good.” Gaby couldn’t preset a date to meet again, just in case the girl shared that info with the cops who were sure to get wind of this. But Gaby wanted to see her again, to know that she was safe and in good care.

Children in general had such pure hearts that Gaby always felt an exceptional urge toward protecting them. Gaby sensed that this girl had already suffered far too much.

“I will see you again, then?”

With a nod, Gaby said, “Count on it. Now scram before you really get scared—by me.” She turned and strode directly for the men.

The boy looked up and saw her first.

Gaby stared at the youth. “Go home, kid.”

Alarm widened the boy’s eyes, and he strained away, but didn’t get far with the tight hold one man had on him. The bullies didn’t like her intrusion, which suited Gaby just fine. Even as the dogs spit and growled and strained against the leashes, she kept walking.

When the men focused their entire attention on Gaby, the boy jerked free and ran hell-bent into the playground area. He disappeared amid the other kids who were all now gawking.

Gaby locked eyes with one foul individual. He looked clean-cut enough, with close-cropped hair, a pricey diamond in his ear, and immaculate clothes. But a murky, sick aura hung like a wet blanket around him and his cohorts. They were malevolent, unconscionable men, but apparently not sick enough to warrant a call to duty.

Again she glanced up at the sky. “I think I should start picking.”

One of the men laughed. “Baby girl, who you talkin’ to?”

God’s lack of response didn’t matter. Looking at the three of them sickened Gaby, and at the same time, it sent her antagonism surging to the surface.

She gave her icy rage free rein. “Hey, bitches.”

That got their attention.

“It takes a real pathetic bully to push around little kids. And you three look about as pathetic as anything I’ve ever seen.”

One man, taking the role as leader, smiled at her. “You play a dangerous game, sweetness. My dogs are hungry for fresh meat.”

Gaby didn’t even bother looking at the vicious animals. “I’m not playing, asshole. And a word of warning—if you let the dogs loose, they won’t make it, and that’d be a shame, because I have nothing against animals.”

Antagonism brought one of the guys forward. “Bitch, are you stupid or insane? Cuz if we turn even one dog loose, you’re fuckin’ hamburger.”

Gaby stayed a mere inch beyond the reach of the dogs’ snapping jaws. “So on top of being a wimp, you’re a coward who needs animals to protect you. What a laugh.” But Gaby didn’t laugh; she didn’t even smile.

Most times, she wasn’t sure she knew how.

Dark eyes flared, and a strong jaw locked. “J.J.,” the man said in an ominous but commanding whisper, “maybe you ought to show her how we deal with stupid bitches who don’t know the right way to use their pretty mouths.”

Showing large white teeth, J.J. stepped around the dogs with a swaying walk and a shitload of attitude.

Exhilaration sizzled along Gaby’s nerve endings. She let him get close enough to take a swing, which she ducked without effort.

Having a strong propensity toward violence, Gaby relished the attack.

She loved to fight, especially at times like this, when she knew she fought against rampaging cruelty and injustice.

Hoping the girl had left the scene, Gaby came back up with a punch to the guy’s balls. Then she planted another, just for good measure. Given the unnatural force of her fisted strikes, he’d be lucky if he ever pissed again, much less fathered children.

And that, too, she figured to be a public service.

He doubled in on himself and would have fallen forward in a pain-induced stupor if Gaby hadn’t planted a solid kick to his face, sending him backward.

She saw a tooth go flying, sprayed by blood and spittle. His jaw hung loose, clearly dislocated. One eye bulged grotesquely from the socket.

Well. She’d done adequate damage with that one. Old J.J. went down and he wasn’t going to get back up anytime soon.

Smelling the blood and seeing the violence, the dogs jerked at their restraints with berserk fever. They concerned Gaby because if they got loose, they could be a threat to the children who remained nearby, held in place by gruesome curiosity.

It broke Gaby’s heart to hurt an animal, any animal, but these beasts had been raised for barbarous aggression. They were a threat to the children, to anyone who got within their reach, and she couldn’t have that.

Looking up at the remaining two men with incandescent fury burning in her eyes, she grated, “You’ll fucking well pay for what you’re about to make me do.”

Jaw slack and face livid, the head honcho stood there staring at J.J.’s bloodied, unconscious form.

He regained his focus with a burst of indignation and theatrical antics. His face contorted as he stormed forward.

“Fucking whore!” he shouted. “Now you done it. You fucking well deserve what you get.” And with a toss of the leashes, he let loose the dogs.

Gaby had her knife out before the first dog reached her. The animal didn’t get a chance to get his teeth into her flesh before she cut his throat in a wide arc that opened to reveal muscle and sinew. The wound smiled wide, gushing blood and limiting the dog to mere gurgles before he stumbled, crumpled, and fell to his side.

Leaping in the air, fangs bared, the second dog tried for her throat. A kick to the muscular head staggered him, giving Gaby enough time to sink her knife into the thick chest. She planted the blade hard enough to lift the dog off the ground, and as he descended again, she twisted the knife, ripping through the canine heart.

With no more than a faint yelp, the poor creature fell back, twitched, and went still.

Gaby’s chest ached and her heart squeezed tight with the awfulness of what she’d just done, what she’d been forced to do.

Sadness suffocated her, making it near impossible to swallow around the clogging anguish and remorse.

Even now, in death and sticky with blood, the dogs were beautiful animals—and they’d never had a chance, thanks to the inhumanity of men.

Tears burned her eyes.

“Whore! Fucking cunt!” Strutting toward her, the leader drew out a gun and took aim. “You’ll pay for that, bitch. I’ll bury you!”

Gaby spun to the side—and the bullet grazed the middle of her right forearm. Heat exploded and a strange numbness tried to settle in.

It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it matter.

The burning pain only served to incite her inherent response.

Knife still clasped in her hand, she threw it with venomous accuracy and it sank hilt-deep into the shooter’s shoulder. Pain forced him to drop the gun from his slack hand and it scuttled over the paved lot, out of his reach.

“Tylek,” he hissed through his teeth to his cohort, “kill that crazy bitch for me. Make her pay. Make her fucking suffer.”

Tylek looked a little wary of that order, but he dutifully mustered his courage.

Duty, Gaby thought. It ruled so many. It made some do the most foolhardy things—like challenging her.

“That’s right, Tylek. Come make me pay.” Using the fingertips of both hands, she beckoned Tylek closer. He was the biggest of the three, but he posed no legitimate challenge.

Not for her.

Balancing on the balls of her feet, Gaby took a loose limbed stance. When Tylek leaped at her, she went to her back with him, rolling and using her feet to launch him away. He landed on his back, giving her an opportunity to move over him in a dominant position.

With a knee planted squarely in his groin, she took aim and punched him in the throat. He gagged hard, wheezed for air he couldn’t get.

Somewhere in the distance, police sirens split across the gray, depressing day with shrill intrusion. No way in hell did Gaby intend to be anywhere nearby when the cops showed up and started asking questions. Luther would have a fit, but she could deal with him.

Being arrested she couldn’t abide. Not ever.

She rose from Tylek and kicked him in the temple to ensure he wouldn’t get back up. Dispassionate, Gaby watched him go blank; his eyes rolled back in his head and he lolled to the side.

Knowing the shooter, despite his incapacitating wound, would scramble for his weapon, Gaby made a point of beating him to it. She kicked the gun out of his reach, but ever aware of the children, she didn’t move it so far that any of the kids might get hold of it.

“You’re making a big mistake, bitch. I swear to you, I’m going—”

Without real effort, Gaby stomped his chest, cutting off his threats and knocking him back on his ass. “I’m getting tired of you calling me a bitch.” Another kick to the chin leveled him flat.

Relaxed, comfortable, Gaby knelt over him. “So big shot, what’s your name?”

“Fuck off.”

Gaby stared down at him, and with the knife hilt in her hand, she worked her fingers tight around it and bore down steadily until she felt the tip of the blade meeting bone.

He howled in agony, trying to fend her off without success.

Dispassionate, she studied him, saw his state of shock brought on by loss of blood and amplifying pain. Softly, she said, “I won’t ask again.”

Breathing in compact, gasping breaths, he nodded with grudging reluctance. “Bogg.”

“You shitting me? What kind of stupid name is that?” Knowing the extent of his injuries, Gaby didn’t really expect an answer. She studied the ink on his neck. “And your gang?”

“Crazy Crypts.”

“You guys aren’t real big on creative names, are you? I think you should be called Whiney Wimps.”

He coughed out a moaning complaint, and managed to say, “Bitch.”

“A bitch who kicked your sorry ass, huh?” After opening his jacket, Gaby retrieved an assortment of drugs and paraphernalia. Some of it she recognized; some she’d never seen before. “I’m not real up on this shit. What is it?”

Through a haze of pain, Bogg blinked at her. “It’s the popular stuff, woman. Crack, weed, meth.”

Gaby held up a pill between finger and thumb. “What about these?” A mixture of pills and tablets in pretty colors and shapes filled several plastic sandwich bags.

Not that long ago she’d been deliberately drugged by a psychopath, and Luther had been put at risk. Looking at the pills now, at any drugs really, set Gaby’s teeth on edge.

“Just ecstasy, speed, Viagra. I don’t know. I carry a lot of shit.” And almost bragging, he added, “Anything you need.”

“Like you actually think I’d ever need anything from you?” She snorted, but studied the pills again. “What’s Viagra do?”

He choked on an anguished laugh. “You don’t know Viagra? Shit, lady, where you been living?”

“In hiding, mostly.” Not that it was any of his business. “So what is it?”

He closed his eyes in an effort to control the physical torment of his injury. “You loopy cunt, the cops are coming. We’re all gonna be in trouble if we don’t get the fuck out of here.”

“Wrong.” Gaby checked the rest of his pockets and relieved him of a large roll of bills, a switchblade, and a lighter. “You’re a drug dealer, Bogg. I don’t like it that you exist, but I especially dislike it that you drew animals into your fucked-up dealings, and that you were here by the kids. What were you doing with that boy anyway?”

“Recruiting. Now get off me.”

When he started to rise, Gaby leaned on the knife again. Blood gurgled out around his wound, soaking his shirt and causing him to saw his perfect teeth together around a guttural, animal groan of pain. The fist on his good arm thumped the ground.

To her, his agony mattered not a whit. The animals had mattered. The kids mattered. That little girl’s aunt and uncle mattered.

This jerk did not.

“You’re not going anywhere, Bogg, so forget it. You get to greet the cops, but without me.”

“What the fuck do you care about any of this?”

“I don’t like you, Bogg. In fact, I loathe you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do.” Gaby rested her wrists on her knees, at her leisure. “You’re a miserable bully, a drug dealer, a murderer, and on top of that, you abuse animals. But it’s your lucky day.” She caught his chin and turned his head so he had to look at her. “Much as I’d like to, I won’t kill you.”

No, if she cut his throat like she wanted, Luther really would have a fit. And somehow, she just knew he’d find out. Luther might not possess her extraordinary abilities, but he had something almost as effective: a cop’s intuition and a golden aura of purity.

Bogg eyed her. “Glad to hear you don’t have killing on your mind.” He jerked his chin free of her hold and his look turned calculating. “Here’s the thing, baby girl—”

“I like that even less than bitch, so save it.”

“But I have a little over ten grand on me. How about we—”

Gaby interrupted the bribe. “Even though I’m going to let you live, I can’t take a chance that you’ll get away from the cops, that you’ll taint another animal or threaten another kid or”—she looked at him—“burn anyone else.”

He was quick to scoff at her accusation. “You can’t hang that rap on me.”

“Course not.” Gaby looked over his wounds, his lanky, strong body, and made a decision. “On second thought . . . I guess it’s not really your lucky day after all.”

She slid the knife free of his body, impervious to his raw, shuddering moan.

The dismal sky cast no shadows. Rustling wind agitated the abhorrent scents of fear, and stirred dead leaves that clung tenaciously to brittle, barren trees. An expectant hush poised in the rank air.

Being sure that she positioned herself in a way that shielded his body from the view of the young onlookers, Gaby pushed Bogg to his side and, without remorse, slashed the blade across the back of his right knee.

The knife sliced through skin, sinew, and tendons like warm butter, leaving behind a gaping, exposed wound. Bogg’s hysterical screams cleaved the silence, sending blackbirds into frantic flight and causing the crowd to back up a step.

Gaby eyed her handiwork and nodded to herself. Bogg wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Dropping his cash, Gaby let the bills flutter around his writhing body. She tossed the packets of pills between his legs, into a puddle of pooling blood. She glanced to the gun to make sure it was visible enough that the cops wouldn’t miss it.

One down, two to go.

No way would she let any of them walk, hobble, or even crawl away. They didn’t get the end she wanted to mete out, but they would get Luther’s form of justice. And if somehow the cops failed, well then, she’d be back.

But until then . . .

Bloody knife in her hand, Gaby stepped toward Tylek. In tangible horror, he tried to scramble away, but he didn’t get far. Flipping the knife around in her hand, Gaby again shielded her actions from the onlookers. With a nimble wrist, she slicked the blade across the back of both of his thighs, all but severing the muscles, definitely rendering the leg useless.

He went down like a rag doll in a soggy swamp of his own gushing blood.

J.J., that poor schmuck, still hadn’t stirred. Maybe she’d given him a concussion. Maybe he’d never revive.

Didn’t matter to Gaby.

Lifting his right foot, she cut his Achilles tendon, and even that didn’t bring him around.

Glancing up, she saw that the young Hispanic girl had remained nearby, watching in horror. All around her, festering carnage proved just how effective Gaby could be.

Trust her? Ha. The girl would hate her now. But at least she’d be a little safer, a little less threatened by the monsters that scoured the earth.

The scream of the sirens reverberated around the area; the cops were on the same street now, closing in.

Time to go.

And as Gaby turned, the girl stepped forward and raised a hand.

A simple wave—but for Gaby it felt like a harbinger of acceptance, maybe even . . . understanding.

Her arm burned and a thin trickle of blood exuded from the sleeve of her sweatshirt, down her wrist, and over the back of her hand. Her blood commingled with the blood of her victims still staining her knife.

She’d have a lot to deal with—later.

For now, she had to distance herself from the bloodbath. And fast.

Gaby weighed her options, and decided on heading up the street. Sprinting, she made the intersection in no time at all. But even as she fled, she again looked at that tattoo parlor. SIN ADDICTIONS.

She knew she’d be back.

In fact, a tattoo might be just what she needed to obscure the gunshot wound on her arm.

Mulling that over, she cut across the street, down an alley and through an old abandoned building, and emerged into another alley. Rats scrambled at her disruption. A crow took angry flight.

By the time the police parked at the playground, Gaby was far enough away that she could hear nothing beyond the low drone of distant sirens.

Being resourceful, she had no problem swiping a different sweatshirt, this one advertising some sports team. Using her old sweatshirt, she bandaged her arm the best she could with limited means.

Finally, more than an hour later, she made her way to Mort’s.