A Stranger's Affection Page 2

  “If pussy plays nice, I might let the cat out of the bag.” He chuckled and climbed onto the bed.

  Tensing against the inevitable was useless, yet her body reacted impulsively. With each move closer, the old man slaughtered the path of her future, carving and defacing it into a myriad of haunting scars. As he pinned her body down with his, dizziness crept through the shadows. Grateful fingers of interference that urged her toward a vortex where dark befell light ultimately searing the edges of her very existence.

  Please, God. Please help me. Please. Please. Please. Using the single word as a mantra, Nishani stilled her body and became a stone-cold resemblance of her former self.

  Chapter Two

  Eleven Years Ago – Sometime in 2011

  NISHANI RUBBED HER hands to warm up against the New York chill. Dragging on the cigarette between her lips, she blew out a cloud of smoke, watched it rise and disappear then flicked the butt into the drain. She pulled out the bottled water from her jacket pocket, twisted the cap, and rinsed her mouth. Smoking wasn’t her thing. But it beat addicting herself to crack, cocaine, or whatever fucked up shit that hit the market. Given her destitute past, becoming an addict would’ve been easy. Determined, she never let that happen. And now. Clear mind, concise thoughts, and steady hands were what she needed to complete her job.

  She took a long drink then hurled the empty into the nearby trashcan—time to move if nothing panned out. Nishani signaled Victor. One of Mateo’s henchmen and her trusted bodyguard—not that she needed one. She tapped her watch to call it quits. He shook his head. A second later, her latest target exited the building they watched and strolled down the stairs. He stopped for a quick chat with another suited buffoon, grinned at something the other man said then continued his stroll. The second he slid into his waiting vehicle, she nodded to Victor. He left his station, across the road from her, jumped into his truck, and followed her target. She arrived in New York two weeks ago and stalked him since, waiting for the perfect opportunity. And if everything went according to plan, it would be served to her on a golden platter.

  It took her forty-five minutes to reach the warehouse Victor had secured on the outskirts of the city. Nishani parked the SUV, climbed out, and stared at the rustic building in the dwindling light. Set against a backdrop of trees that had already lost their leaves to the fall, the old warehouse emitted an ominous feel. Nishani glanced toward the setting sun and pulled in a deep breath. This was what she’d survived for—taking back her stolen years. Yes, she enjoyed the stalking, but nothing beat the gratification of the end—the culmination of the hunt—she loved it—a time when she got to play God and take apart these bastards, emotionally and physically.

  She grinned. If someone could see her now, they’d probably call her a twisted bitch—nothing like the caged, cowering wimp the old man had kept on her hands and knees begging for release. It would’ve been easy to hide from the rest of the world. Pity herself for what he’d done to her—the humiliation and desecration of her soul. Only, she chose to live—motivated by the very darkness she’d descended into to avenge the ruin of her innocence.

  She turned when a door to the warehouse opened, and Victor exited. He waited for her to approach. Nishani pocketed her keys as she reached him. “And?”

  He grinned. A sly confident smirk of a man who wouldn’t hesitate to challenge Satan. “Doubting my capabilities?” He cocked a brow.

  “You know I don’t.” Over the last five months, Victor had helped her quest for revenge. He’d tracked her targets, captured, and set them up for her to play. When she finished, he got rid of the bodies in his usual artistic manner that seemed to have the cops stumped. “No problems, I take it?”

  “The normal struggle, nothing a punch or two couldn’t handle.” He stood aside for her to enter, then closed and locked the door. “This way.”

  Stuffy and cold, the old building reeked of death itself. Dust covered rusted machinery while rats dragged remnants of rotting food to the roof. Excitement stirred her blood as she followed Victor. Once she dealt with her final predator, she’d go after the big fish—the ultimate catch—the king. She could almost smell the win.

  “Nishani?”

  Surprised, she stopped and turned. “Mateo?” Nishani stared at the man who’d resembled a father figure for the last two years. Although he’d acceded to her repeated request for training to fight and use weapons, Mateo hadn’t attended her killing sprees before. Victor, she noticed, dropped his head to study the floor—a sure sign he knew of the older man’s presence beforehand. No one could question his loyalty. “What are you doing here, Mateo?”

  He unbuttoned his suit jacket as he neared her. “Haven’t you had enough, bebita?”

  People who knew her would call her aloof, arrogant, and typically full of shit. Somehow Mateo Diego, a wealthy and respected cartel leader, could easily charm her by using the Spanish pet name bebita, meaning baby girl. He possessed the undeniable charisma to pull her out of a foul mood.

  “You here to stop me?” She arched a brow.

  Mateo chuckled. “Is that even possible?” He knew once Nishani got stuck into something, she’d never quit until it ended. “Clara is worried, bebita. She thinks these killings have gotten into your head and is messing with your state of mind,” he said, referring to his wife.

  “Why?”

  “There’s always that risk of the law catching up to you. Getting away with one or two murders is easy, but five?”

  Nishani huffed. “I don’t give a fuck about the law. All I care about is killing these bastards. I won’t get justice in a court, and these fuckers won’t just walk the plank. Why? Not because it’s my word against theirs but because they’re well connected,” she yelled. “Rich fucking businessmen that take advantage of their status and kidnap young girls. Where’s the justice in that?” While she couldn’t change her past or seal the emotional void their repulsive acts had created within her soul, she’d chosen not to hide behind the invisible scars. Instead, she opted for survival, ended the pity party, and shifted her ass into gear. She decided their penalty. Death.

  Mateo stepped closer and held her hands. “You know I’m a sick bastard too, bebita. I’ve done my share of shit, and I fully understand this murderous rage you’ve caved into. Why don’t you let Victor take care of this one?” He rubbed a gentle hand down her cheek.

  She inhaled deeply. “I need to do this, Mateo. Or, I might not be able to live with myself knowing I left these men to ruin other women. God alone knows how many young girls they’ve kidnapped. Someone must right a wrong. These men don’t deserve to live. It’s just this one and the King himself, and then I’m done. Promise.”

  He eyed her silently for a long moment, then sighed. “I’m not going to stop you. If I wanted to, I wouldn’t have agreed to train you to defend yourself or taught you how to use these weapons.” He pointed to the sheathed knife sticking out the waistband of her jeans. “It was a suggestion.”

  “And I’m grateful you want to help. Victor doing this will not have the same effect.”

  Mateo nodded. “Word on the street is Jiten Rai doesn’t believe police reports that a serial killer is on the prowl. He’s aware someone is taking down his friends and tightened his security detail. He’s angry and paying a lot of money to find out who’s behind this.”

  “Imagine that. A little Miss Nobody has scared a business tycoon. Good. It will make the challenge more enjoyable.” She uttered a caustic laugh.

  “You’re not a Miss Nobody. Someday, bebita, you’ll meet the right man, and he’ll make you understand what a beautiful woman you are. Inside and out.” Mateo squeezed her hand.

  For just a second, her eyes blurred. Nishani blinked quickly and silently scolded her descent into emotions. She didn’t do the feelings thing. Not now, not ever. “That there is just a dream, old man. No man can handle me. They’d sooner go after a pathetic, whiny woman who loves shoes and fur coats than a hard woman like me.”

  Mateo cuppe
d her chin and stared her in the eye. “When you do meet him, you’ll be thinking of this day.” He smiled. A confident smirk of a man who thought he could predict the future. For someone who killed men with his bare hands, he sure as hell knew how to be gentle with a woman. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” He dropped a quick kiss to her brow after Nishani nodded. Then he turned, whispered something to Victor, and walked down a passage opposite to the one she’d entered.

  “Let’s finish this.” She cocked her head at Victor.

  “This way.” He turned and led her toward a door. Pulling on gloves, Nishani stepped inside. As she moved further into the darkened room, Victor flipped a switch. Battery-operated lamps flooded the place. “Your plaything awaits.” He sniggered.

  Nishani’s gaze fell on the bastard sitting in the middle of the room, gagged with his hands tied to the armrests. Immediately, her mind became a chaotic whirlwind. Images Mateo had created of love and relationships wiped away clean by murderous thoughts of revenge. Bloodlust spearheaded the need to sink her knife deep inside the bastard’s heart. She breathed in deeply, preparing herself to slow down. Her lips curled in a smile; some would probably call vile. Where was the fun in rushing this? She wanted him to bleed from his pores if it were possible—his last breath painful as he remembered his killer and what he’d done to her.

  Nishani slipped off her jacket, handed it to Victor, and rolled up the sleeves of her sweater. She neared the monster—one of seven—who’d been on her hit list since escaping captivity. Victor slapped him hard across the face. The other man’s eyes flew open. His head jerked around, eyes wide in fear. He surveyed the room until his gaze locked on Nishani.

  “Remember me, douche?” she asked, and he shook his head. “I remember you, though. Thaddeus Nicholson. Judge, businessman—illegal according to my source—classic car collector, wine drinker, animal lover, and a loving family man.” Nishani leaned forward, gripped the man’s thighs, and squeezed hard, nails digging deep. His legs jerked to stop her. “And if I recall correctly. Aka, the dark father.” At her revelation, his eyes became large marbles of panic. “See, I do know you.” Nishani laughed. He shook his head, moaning behind the tape. “What? You’re not the dark father?” He nodded vigorously. “I disagree. Tell me, does your wife know what a perverted fuck you are, Thaddeus?” Releasing her hold, she straightened and slowly circled him. “Pity you couldn’t be more like your namesake. What were your parents thinking, naming you after a disciple of Jesus? You don’t deserve that honor.” At his confused look, she stopped in front of him. “Forgive me, I digress. Have I sparked your curiosity yet?” He nodded. “Funny how, when a man is gagged and bound, he looks weak and pitiful. Nothing like the smug, black-caped asshole judging his kinfolk—nauseating criminals that want a fair chance. What about their victims? Oh, wait, you’re a victim now, right?” Annoyed, Nishani ripped the tape off his mouth. He groaned. She didn’t care.

  “W-who are you?” he mumbled.

  “I’m a nobody.” Nishani pulled the knife from her waist, tossed the sheath, and with a deft flick of her wrist, the blade sliced over his buttons, one by one. When the suit jacket sprung open, she moved to the dress shirt. His paunch tightened the material giving the buttons easier leverage.

  “W-why are you doing this?” Thaddeus’ voice quivered as his gaze followed the knife’s path. With each released button, he flinched a little more. “I’ve done nothing to you. I don’t even know you.”

  She stopped on the last button. His gaze met hers. “You sure about that, Thaddeus.” With a quasi-sweet smile, Nishani unbuckled his belt and slid down his zipper. She snipped his boxers and grabbed his cock. “Maybe you and I should have some fun. Might trigger your memory.”

  Disgusted, she remembered everything he’d done to her when it was his turn. His skin-crawling touch. How he’d bitten her nipples. The bruises he left on her body. His slobbering wet kisses. The creepy laugh when he’d shoved his cock inside her, not caring for her shrieks of pain. Nishani had the sudden urge to vomit.

  “D-did I sentence someone, you know?” He ignored her offer. It seemed like the man wasn’t keen to play. Distress could do that to a person. “What do you want from me?”

  “What do I want from you? Now that there is the loaded question, Thaddeus. Unfortunately, what I want, you can’t give me.”

  His eyes flared in terror. “Do you want me to release someone? If yes, just get me a phone.”

  “See, there’s the corrupt judge I know.” She yanked his shirt apart, exposing his chest and flabby stomach.

  “Corrupt? What do you mean? I’m an honest judge.” Nishani almost believed the sincerity in his voice.

  “Do you even know how to spell the word honest?” With a snort of disgust, she flicked the blade and sliced it down his chest. The man screamed, his eyes filled with tears. Nishani stared at the crimson liquid swerving down his body. “Will you look at that. You bleed red. And here I thought pigs like you bled the color of self-importance.” Her lips thinned. “Let’s agree to cut the bullshit, okay. Or, you’ll end up with a lot more holes than a sieve.”

  He whimpered. “Please. Please don’t do this. I’m begging you, please.”

  Every pore filled with pure rage, and with a quick, sharp jab, Nishani stuck her blade into his cheek, first one side then the other. The man struggled against his binds; his screams resonated through the empty warehouse. Her breathing erratic, she closed her eyes and forced back the memories—compartmentalizing like she’d trained herself to do when she couldn’t control her anger.

  “You okay?”

  Nishani opened her eyes to find Victor at her side, his usually hard stare, now tender. He understood she wasn’t the sharing of personal information type of person, but Mateo’s instructions had been explicit when he requested Victor to help her. He’d asked Victor to make sure no one hurt her, whether physical or emotional. “I’m fine.”

  He nodded then turned to Thaddeus. His face, between the tears, blood, and snot, resembled a child’s unstructured painting. “I suggest you don’t use the word ‘please.’” Victor stepped away.

  Surprised by his words, Nishani wondered if Mateo had shared her experience with Victor. Only Mateo and his wife were privy to the significance behind that word and its impact every time Jiten Rai raped her. That word had become her mantra—taking her into a faraway place where nothing but she and paradise existed.

  Then she remembered Victor had witnessed the other torture sessions. He would’ve picked up on something. “I’m giving you exactly one minute to remember me, Thaddeus. I’ll even give you a hint: March 2006, the pink room. You and six other men, professionals just like you, kidnapped and raped a seventeen-year-old girl. Ring any bells?” She glared at him.

  Thaddeus’ sobbed like a little boy. “I-I didn’t rape anyone.”

  “Wrong answer.” Nishani stabbed the knife into the top of his thigh and dragged it down to his knee. The sharp weapon made easy work of the thick skin. Thaddeus’ leg jerked, causing blood to spurt like a faulty fountain. His howls bounced off the walls. “You probably don’t remember because I wasn’t the only one you bastards took in March, right? Tell me, Thaddeus, how many girls does Rai kidnap a month and fuck in front of his buddies?” Nishani squeezed his wounded thigh, and the man’s wails resembled a pitiful dog. “Let’s try this again. Do. You. Remember. Me?”

  Panting between harsh groans, Thaddeus struggled to open his eyes then squinted at Nishani. “You-you’re the girl Jiten caged?” It was a question, not a statement.

  “So, you do remember? See what a little persuasion can do. How many girls has Rai held captive?” Nishani leaned forward and held the knife above his other thigh threatening injury if he lied.

  Thaddeus squirmed as though his fat body could get any smaller. “I only know about you. I swear.”

  “You’re a lying, cheating, lowlife, what makes you think I’ll believe you,” she hissed.

  “What do you want from me?” he mumbled betwe
en sobs.

  “Want?” She uttered a caustic laugh. “As I said earlier, what I want, you can’t give me.”

  “Name your price. Anything.” Guessing by the way his leg shook, the man was in severe pain and would probably do anything to stop her from inflicting further injury.

  “You morons stole my life. Think you can give me that?” she asked. He hiccupped on a sniffle. “I didn’t think so.” She crouched in front of him. “Apart from his home, where he kept me, prisoner, where does Rai keep the girls he kidnaps?”

  “Please. I don’t know,” Thaddeus cried, his head shook vigorously.

  “Don’t fuck with me.” Nishani sprang up, slashed the stained blade through the back of his open hand, and took two fingers in its path. Shrieks of pain mixed with agonized grunts tore through the man’s throat. The sound like music to her ears, Nishani inhaled deeply. His pain released a sense of pleasure. She glanced at Victor, his features a hard mask of stone, then he smiled. An eerie rendition of his satisfaction.

  “He’ll kill me.” Thaddeus blurted through spit induced breaths.

  “And what makes you think I won’t? Because I’m a naïve girl, you and your buddies fucked?” Nishani leaned closer to his face. Smiling, she stuck the knife into his arm.

  “Please...” Thaddeus shouted while his body shuddered.

  “I’m just as twisted as you bastards.” With deliberate slowness, she drew the weapon down his arm tearing through both clothing and skin. “I might be considered worse by some.” She caught Victor’s snigger and smiled.