Grin (9 page)

He liked to observe, it relaxed him.

He liked to problem solve even more so.

He closed his eyes, pushing the memory of the lovely Danielle from his brain –
after all, she was dead, no one could survive that attack, especially a teenager
– and smiled.

She's dead. It's been over a year. Forget her
.

Corey Cross, Alan Cahill, Jorge Sanchez, and Philip Andrews, the lackeys.

Bradley Innis; the right hand man. The man who killed her family and mutilated her.

Their boss, Ross Rhodes.

Dani scanned her weary eyes down the piece of paper in her hand, the off-white sheet crinkled from multiple handlings over the past year. It held six names, the six responsible for her family's demise. Her father had scrawled them in red ink, neatly and tightly. It detailed their activity and their respective role in their organisation, the organisation her father had worked for until his brutal murder.

His name was next to Corey and Alan, a solid black line through it.

Her handiwork.

After all, he was dead now.

Face facts. He wasn’t coming back to help her.

Dani grunted and sat up. The mattress beneath her creaked as she adjusted her lithe frame. She placed the list on her bedside cabinet next to her parent's platinum wedding rings, linked together via a small silver chain. Her smooth, tanned legs rolled over and her sock covered feet plodded onto the laminate floor. She crossed her apartment, wearing only a pair of blue panties and a sports bra – and the socks – and entered her walk-in shower, a concrete rectangle with a wet floor and wall. She slipped her garments off and tossed them into the hamper, walked behind the partition and started to shower.

Every morning the same.

Washing the tragedy off her skin.

She ran the water to near boiling, until she felt her skin object to the level of heat and stayed there for eleven minutes, as she did every morning. The tingle of searing pain crawled beneath her skin. Her scars itched beneath the heat. Two seconds had extended to thirty seconds and that had extended to one minute, then two, then three. Gradually, over the next year, she'd extended her mini ordeal to eleven full minutes. This time, she didn’t flinch. A murky mist rose around her. Dani inhaled, clearing her sinuses with a deep lungful of steam. Her back became numb under the scorching water. Still, she didn't flinch.  

Not once.

A year ago, she'd have cried tears and probably ran cold water over the burned area immediately.

Now, no such action was necessary.

Progress. 

After all, routine was important. As was discipline. 

Emerging from the shower with hot, pink skin, she wrapped a towel around her, tucked it at the side of her breasts, and walked to her desk. She booted up her laptop and sat down. Her eyes flicked to the brown box on the desk beside her and her mind wandered.

She had time.

A year ago, her BMW ride had taken her away from Nowheresville to a small town in Kent called Royal Tunbridge Wells. It was the first destination on her father's GPS and a stone's throw from London. Her father worked exclusively in the capital, but not for a software firm as his ruse had confirmed.

It was a little more sinister than that.

She'd since learned he was working for the mob.

It had gotten her family killed. Over the past year, she'd come to forgive her father, despite his actions in getting those she loved slaughtered. After all, he’d just wanted to give them a good life. College, education, loving parents.

Dani dropped out of college immediately following the massacre. The physical scars were too much, her mind too fragile and broken to concentrate on education. Her mutilated face was all over the news for four months following the attack. Going to college was not an option; her meeting with Ben all but confirmed that. A day later, she cut her hair, dyed it, and purchased a baseball cap. A suitable disguise. She'd also invested in some snoods, which made covering her face much easier. People didn’t seem to notice her so much after that. 

Dani gazed at the box on the sofa, the one she'd retrieved from her father's vehicle.

The first items in the box had been a credit card and a debit card. The credit card was set up in a fake name. She cut it up and tossed it immediately. The debit card was in Dani's name, the balance just over a million pounds. The money was dirty; there was no doubt about it. She didn’t care. Money wouldn’t bring her family back, but it would help her find those responsible for their deaths.

The box also contained the list she'd read every morning for the past three hundred and sixty five days. It contained her parent's wedding rings – surprisingly, she'd not noticed they weren't wearing them – and a heap of documents and diaries detailing her father's illegal activities. It had been difficult reading. Her father has been a murderer, a gun for hire.

Which explained the final two items. Two Beretta handguns – complete with clips, a box of bullets and suppressors. Dani wasn't familiar with firearms, but she knew, by UK law, that they were illegal. After doing some research, she discovered Berettas were standard police issue in other European countries, which made access to them simple – for criminals anyway. After a lengthy training course, reading up on the ammunition types, suppressor functions, and maintenance procedures, she'd adopted them as her own. She relished the day she could use them. Her eyes flicked to the list on the bedside.

She ran the mantra through her head.
Her father had been a murderer, a gun for hire.

A murderer.

A gun for hire.    

Apparently, he wasn’t very good at it.

Teddy and her mother were testament to that.

Dani uncurled the damp towel from her hair and ran it through her damp locks. She flicked her head back and heard her soggy hair slap her bare shoulders. For a moment, she ran her fingertips through the locks, remembering when she'd cut them a year ago, remembering with no fondness the dry, rough strands that made her scalp itch. She pushed them against her face, savouring their damp feel, smelling her candy shampoo.

She shook her head.

No, not now. You've spent a year getting away from your past.

Dani ran her hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ears, and sighed. She then removed the towel and dried her slick body.

She dropped and did fifty press-ups. Then, she rolled over, onto her back, and did fifty sit-ups. Finally, she stood up and did fifty pull-ups in the doorframe, using its rim for support. Her muscles ached and burned, her fingers tingled. Dani looked down at her naked, sweat-covered body and smiled gently, her fingertips caressing the mounds of scar tissue on both sides of her mouth.

A year had gone into her preparation.

At first, Dani didn’t know the goal, the objective. As she'd built herself up through exercise, discipline, and research, the goal slowly became clear to her. Tears no longer spilled. She'd kept Teddy's duvet to this day, but it no longer emoted the feelings it had in the aftermath of the massacre. Even looking in the mirror didn’t have the same effect anymore. Initially, she couldn’t look at her reflection; tears were automatic on seeing her visage. Now, she didn’t give it a second thought, merely turning the emotion into rage, a rage she buried deep. When the time came, it would emerge. Every time she stroked the scar lines in her face, it fuelled her, added to the vengeance building within. 

She'd evolved. She no longer saw Danielle.

Not a teenager or a kid or a promising student, nor a daughter to two devoted parents.

She saw no one, a shadow, a blur. Someone she no longer recognised.

She'd evolved. Into what, she still wasn't sure yet.

Only time would reveal the answer.

A day ago, time delivered. Dani ran her fingertips gently down her stomach, across her waist, up between her breasts and over her shoulder. Sinewy muscle, every inch of her golden body was like granite. She touched the scar on her waist, a thin pale line of damaged skin. For months, that very scar had burned with anger, itched with vehemence. She gazed in the mirror, looked at her Chelsea grin and ran the plan through her head one more time.

Preparation is everything.

A burning raged within her, her mind focused and clear. She stepped to the bed and collected the list.

Reading the names, a crooked smile full of malice crossed her lips. 

She was ready.

"I'm telling you, that chick is giving you the eye. Go over and say hello."

"
Fuck you
," Corey Cross yelled as he necked a shot of tequila and licked the salt covered rim of the glass. His face screwed into a grimace. His hazy, alcohol tainted eyes searched the darkened room for the mystery woman his colleague was alluding to. The strobe lights flashing in time to the thumping techno music weren’t helping his cause.

Alan Cahill gulped a quarter of a pint of beer and wiped his lips, stroking his ragged moustache with his sleeve. He pointed across the room, roughly in the direction of the woman, his alcohol fuelled confidence affecting his motor functions. He leaned in close to Corey. "I'm telling you, the chick in the leather coat with the dyke haircut is giving you the eye. I want you to go over there and take her home. I'll give you twenty bucks if you
fuck
her."

Corey downed another shot of tequila. "Twenty? Try thirty."

Alan nodded. "Done."

Corey climbed off his stool, staggered and balanced himself on the bar. Using his left hand, he slicked his hair back onto his greasy head and put on his best smile. The effect was two scrunched lips forming a crooked grin, which only emphasised his yellowing teeth rimmed with plaque, his gums receding from the poor hygiene. He straightened his clothing, hoisting his loose jeans to his waist, ambled across the room, head bobbing to the music, and finally set his eyes on the woman.

"Hi," he said.

Dani knew Corey was going to approach before she sat down. She was wearing a tight leather jacket with a white t-shirt that stretched tightly across her toned form, riding just above her belly button. The starkness of the shirt enhanced her tan and perfectly accompanied her belly button ring, a double diamond that hung provocatively. Her blue jeans, Dani's preferred attire, created curves in all the right places. As she sipped her orange juice through a pink straw, she eyed her foes at the bar. She tugged on the short, blonde wig that hid her long, brown locks. It held firm.

Is the makeup good enough?

It will be.

You've never tried it before.

The scars aren't visible in broad daylight with it; you'll be fine in here.

Dani closed her eyes and composed herself.
Besides, they’ll be too drunk to notice.

Her stare was piercing and seductive enough to catch their attention. They took the bait as men do…easily. When Alan looked too, confirming both of their attentions, she flicked them a coy smile, making sure she licked the tip of the straw.

Bingo
.

See! It worked.

Dani surveyed the room. Multiple people of all ages and genders were partying the night away, erasing their daily woes born from work and marriage and poor finances. Some performed with youthful abandon, many danced timidly, hands close, heads down. One or two were harassing strangers, asking them to dance or trying to impress them. One man was strutting his stuff, thrusting towards a female rump only hidden by a tight mini skirt and dark shadow.

Dani never got to experience a proper Friday night, a night out on the town with her friends. That 'luxury' was ripped from her life. On observation, as her unimpressed eye roamed the room and it's shameless, oblivious occupants, she wasn’t missing much. She remembered tasting vodka once and retched, spitting it out. That, combined with the loud music, the heavy bass already inducing a throbbing migraine in her skull, convinced her she'd missed absolutely nothing.

No, she was fine as she was.

She averted her gaze to her targets.

Show time
. 

After a moment, Corey stumbled over, acting cool and confident, an intoxicated swagger nipping at his walk, his legs nearly giving way. He took a few seconds to adjust himself in front of Dani. "Hi."

"Hi," Dani smiled, leaning her chin down slightly to sip her drink, ensuring her glittery lips and radiant eyes did the work. Corey groaned; his fluctuating gaze not subtle about his ambitions. Dani felt sick inside, and squirmed a little at the perverted stare, but continued.

Not long now, just play dumb
.

"What's your name?"

"Corey."

"Cool name. Like the singer of that band?"

"Huh?"

Dani rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Where's your friend?"

"Oh, he's going home to his wife." Corey snorted as if telling the funniest joke he'd ever heard. Dani smiled, humouring him. "Shame."

"Shame?
Baby
, I'm more man than you'll
ever
need."

"I'd like to see that." Dani stood up and stepped in close to Corey. "I hope I can handle you…" She glanced down at his groin and turned away.

"Where you goin'?"

"I'm a two man woman. No friend, no play."

"What? You want us
both
?"

"Yes…why? Got a problem with that,
Corey
?"

Corey's alcohol slurred mind did the math in about three seconds, but took about thirty seconds to comprehend. He gulped, the blurring image of the attractive woman before him swirling erratically. His brain kicked into gear, the fear of losing his conquest dictating everything. He had to find Alan.

No friend - no fucky fucky.

Insane!

"Wait here, I'll be right back."

Corey stumbled away to find his friend. As he did, the smile vanished from Dani's face and she opened her purse. Checking she had everything required, she closed it and waited.

Just a few hours more. Get them drunk.

Then, the fun begins.

"This alley here will be fine…we can’t go home…the wife won't appreciate it."

Alan, who was leading the way, staggered into the dimly lit alleyway behind the bar. He stumbled against an empty dumpster, a piercing clang echoing down the narrow street as he shouldered into it. Corey followed slowly; his hand wrapped loosely around Dani's. As all three emerged in the vast, dark space between the buildings, Corey let go of Dani's hand and put his arms in the air, punching it with drunken happiness.

"
Wooo!
"

He joined his friend and they hugged, ardently slapping one another on the back. Dani didn’t smile. It didn’t matter; the low light hid the scorn that darkened her face. She edged towards the slimy, piss-stained wall, lurking in the shadows, keeping her distance. Now, the mood was joyous and innocent, but Dani expected it to change at any second.

It didn’t take long.

Corey spun around, his left foot dragging in a puddle of yellow liquid. "Now…Sarah…that's your name, isn't it? I want you to fuck me first…it'll benefit me financially I have some serious moolah riding on it –"

"– you fucktard, its thirty measly quid," Alan quipped.

"Whatever! I'm getting paid to
fuck
. That makes me a whore…wait…" He prodded the tips of his fingers, then laughed, the logic disappearing on a warm, fruity belch. He pointed at Alan, who laughed merrily. "You challenged me, I get dibs. Besides, I don't want your sloppy seconds.

Alan shrugged, his eyes flickering closed for a second.

Corey continued. "Then, I want you to suck his cock…and then he'll fuck you in the arse. He's married, he can't fuck cunt…but everything else is okay." Alan chuckled. Corey attempted a high five with his friend and completely missed in his drunken stupor, slipping comically to the ground.

Alan shuffled to his feet and did a little dance. "The wife will never know…"

Corey rolled around on the soaked ground. "Make sure you wipe the shit off your bell end though…I heard that happened to Jeff. His wife could smell the curry from his hooker's back door. She surprised him on his return home, dropped to her knees, and got a curried mouthful. It coated the inside of his foreskin and, in turn, her mouth." He stumbled to his feet, leaning on the battered brick wall beside him. "She nearly rumbled our organisation. Apparently, she went up and down the streets, looking for the whore responsible. Rhodes ordered Jeff to kill her for that; it was too close to home. Tragic really, Jeff's wife was a fitty."

Dani remained stoic; a sense of achievement arose inside at the mention of Rhodes' name. She was definitely on the right track. Dani made a mental note of Rhodes' activities, cataloguing the details from the inebriated conversation.

"Man, that's fucking sick. Jeff should have known better though. You don’t fuck with Rhodes. His wife found out the hard way."

"Yeah, you don’t
fuck
with the merchandise. And you don’t fuck it either."

Corey and Alan erupted in a fit of laughter, neither paying attention to Dani, who remained silent. The two men patted each other on the chest repeatedly, balancing on one another, and stumbled towards her. Corey started to unbuckle his belt. Alan placed a hand on his friend's chest. "Whoa, whoa, I just thought. If we have a three way, make sure you keep your dick away from me. I ain't queer."

"What?" Corey uttered, realising the implications. His eyes widened. "You do the same; I don’t want you in me or on me or even getting your spunk on me. Gross."

"So we're clear…we only fuck 'er," Alan aimed his wobbling thumb at Dani and missed completely. Corey nodded silently.

Alan's glassy eyes pierced through Dani, sending a shiver up her spine.

"Time for some fun," Corey spluttered. "Come sit on my cock."

Dani stepped forward. "What if I say no?"

"Then that's called being a prick tease. Do it," replied Corey.

"You can't bring us out here and not fuck us…," Alan didn’t finish his sentence, losing his train of thought. After a second, he continued. "Yeah…"

"What if I changed my mind?" Dani decided to test the waters.
If she was going to do some damage, might as well have a good fucking reason
, she thought. She looked at Corey, loading the question to him.

"You don’t get to change your mind, Sarah. This isn't a fucking bake sale."

"Some people call that rape," Dani said, her voice controlled.

Corey grinned. "Rape…a funny word that. Yes, no, who cares. I'm fucking you whether you like it or not. Get your jeans off. I bet that pussy is wet and tight."

Corey lowered his trousers, working his semi-erect penis beneath his briefs. The trousers dropped and the belt buckle clanged loudly on the wet ground below. Several coins spilled from the pockets and rolled into a puddle of urine by the wall. In the background, Alan was tensing up.

Dani stepped forward once more.

Corey smiled. "Feeling a bit groggy are we?"

"How do you mean?"

"My friend slipped some pills into your drink…you know, to get the
mood
going."

"Did he now? Does he know that's illegal?" Dani placed a hand to her forehead.

"The law doesn’t apply to us, lady. People like us are untouchable. We had a feeling you might change your mind; whores do that on occasion. We don’t take chances."

"But I thought you were the whore? You're the one getting paid," Dani uttered, sidestepping from the shadows.

Corey smiled. "Oh, yeah. That’s true. However, that’s a technicality. You're the real
whore
in this situation. You want to fuck two cocks. And I
ain't
changing my mind."

"So we're agreed, you're the whore?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Does that mean drugs don’t work on you?"

"Huh?"

"You're not the only person who spiked a drink tonight."

Almost on cue, Alan toppled to the wet ground, smacking his head on the wet concrete, his face landing in a puddle of piss. Corey turned around, the smile vanishing from his face. "Alan? Get up you dumb shit."

Dani took her opportunity and stepped forward. "And I didn’t drink mine." Corey spun to face the woman. "What the…?"

The bowie knife in Dani's hand shot up and sliced into Corey's penis. The blade spliced the erect member, the tip ripping through the engorged shaft and emerging through the skin and muscle on the top side with a sick, soggy punch. Corey gasped, overwhelming pain crippling his body, the wind ripped from his lungs, instantly reducing him to a gibbering wreck.

Dani gripped the knife and moved it back and forth, tearing the skin and muscle even more. Blood dribbled and sluiced to the ground with frequent, heavy splats. A low whine slipped from Corey's lips, his face pale with pain and his body shivering with shock. His eyes began to roll into the back of his head.

"Try fucking me now, cunt." Dani removed the blade. Blood gushed from the wound, spraying Corey's legs and Dani's boots. Dani stepped back, watching him bleed out. He wouldn’t survive the night. Dani stepped to a puddle, paused, and dipped her boots in them, washing the blood off. Corey, a mumbling, shaking wreck, curled into a ball. Dani felt a hint of a smile on her face. It tugged at the scar lines, which prompted her to stop.