Vengeance (4 page)

V
al stood in the lounge area of the Red Raven, thankful for a moment to collect herself without the Asian woman hassling her to leave.

What the
hell
happened back there? She'd never felt so intensely—
irrationally
—drawn to someone before. It was as if he'd flipped a switch deep inside her she never knew existed. But that was ridiculous. She'd only just met the man. And for God's sake, Robby's body was barely cold. What was wrong with her? She was a defective, weird, coldhearted bitch.

Goddammit, she needed to focus and stop being so selfish. She tried to piece together her next move, but the awful wave of despair returned to cloud her thoughts.

“Got what you came for?” a man said behind her.

She turned to find the Robby look-alike. “What makes you think I came for something different than what you came for?”

“No offense, but you don't look like you belong here.”

Tears welled at the edges of her eyes. “I'm a freak. I don't belong anywhere.”

“Don't say that. Everyone's got a kindred spirit. Hell, even those two weirdos found each other.” He nodded toward the stage where the man and woman, still performing to the music, had moved into mirrored back bends conjoined at the groin. He lifted his hand to caress her face, but she grabbed his wrist before he could touch her. His eyes widened at the strength of her grip, similar to the look Robby got when she surprised him, something she could still do even after their three years together. Why hadn't she married him?

Val asked, “How does this place work?”

“People can stay out here, or there are private rooms in the back.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“The back.”

She released his wrist. “Show me.”

He smiled. Val followed him through the only corridor she hadn't been down off the mingling area and along a passageway similar to a hotel hallway with rooms on each side. Lights above the door marked each room as available or not, though some had windows with the curtains drawn back to reveal occupants engaged in all sorts of fornication, from men masturbating while their partners watched to a woman getting busy with two guys. They came to a vacant room and stepped inside.

A queen-size bed sat in the center of the room, positioned underneath a mirrored ceiling. A glass table with a jar of condoms atop it was pushed up against the far wall opposite a shelf of sex toys. Though the smell of sex was strong, everything looked clean, as could be expected for the small fortune these people likely paid in membership dues.

“My name's John, by the way,” he said as he pulled the window curtain shut.

Val tossed her jacket on the bed. “I'm Jane.”

With his hands in his pockets, he stood so close to her, she could smell his aftershave underneath the musk of his day. “So, Jane, why are we here?”

Val hesitated. She could leave now, go home, and cry. That's what her heart told her to do. It was what she'd done after her sister died, when she was a helpless teenager with no other option except to hope other people would deliver justice. But she was an adult now, in charge of her own life and possessing an ability no one else in the world had. She'd be damned if she would give up now. Her glimpses of the future were always longer and more vivid with another person, and he looked enough like her fiancé to make the task almost palatable. She could get through it, for Robby.

Val grabbed one of the buttons on his thousand-dollar suit coat and yanked it off. He made a silent yelp.

“I've been bad,” Val said. She ripped off another button. “I've hurt you.”

She reached for his remaining button and he grabbed her wrist tight, pulling her flush to him. With his violent reaction and the uncomfortable squeeze of his hand, Val felt the kind of satisfaction she imagined a cutter experienced when the knife sliced their skin. In pain, but in command, substituting loss of control in one part of her life for the illusion of control in another. Her sister had been a cutter, right before the end.

“You've been a bad girl, huh?” he said through a wicked grin.

She used her free hand to grab his crotch, where his erection grew as she squeezed. “You have no idea how bad.”

He leaned in to kiss her and she squeezed him harder until his body stiffened in pain. His lips stopped on their way to hers.

“Don't,” she said. She could fool herself into believing she enjoyed this if it brought her closer to justice for Robby. But kissing was too intimate. “I have your life in my hands and I could crush it. I can't stop myself.”

His breath was a furnace against hers as his chest heaved and his manhood throbbed against her palm. “Then you need to be punished until you learn your lesson,” he said.

John spun her away from him, his fingers still biting into her wrist. With his other hand he loosened his tie, then she let him use it to bind both her wrists together behind her back. She wasn't normally the S&M type, but it fit her mood. She wanted to hurt someone, and be hurt back in equal measures. If the universe wouldn't dole out pain in fair amounts, then she would.

He jerked her around again so she faced him, then pushed her backward onto the table. Her feet still touched the ground, and if she looked up, she could see herself in the mirrored ceiling, red hair spread out in a halo around her head. He pushed up her shirt and ripped off her bra, slid his tongue over her breasts, and rubbed her nipples with his thumbs. Val shoved her knee into his groin and kneaded him there, so roughly he grunted in pain as she felt his erection harden into a steel rod.

“Naughty girl,” he said with ragged breath. He cupped her breasts tight, fingers digging into her flesh, and sucked on her nipples. Val moaned as he bit them hard enough to leave a mark but not break the skin. Sweat bloomed across her body and she felt herself ache for release, in her sex and her soul.

I'm sorry, Robby.

John gave her breasts a final squeeze before he stood up and flipped her over so her bare chest pressed into the glass tabletop while her legs braced against the floor. Val blinked at herself in another mirror underneath the table, this one tilted at a forty-five-degree angle so both she and John had a clear view of the action from below. He pulled her shoes, pants, and panties off, then kicked her legs apart. He let his own pants fall to his ankles, cock ready to burst. He reached his arm between her legs and grabbed her pubic hair, then moved his fingers through her wetness and up to her rear, where he pushed a finger into her backside. Val threw her head back and gasped as he thrust his finger in and out while rubbing his erection between her spread legs.

Her body was edging toward climax when he stopped again, and she felt a moistness as he slid his tongue between her cheeks.

“You
are
a dirty girl,” he said with a wide grin.

Val had to stifle a dry laugh. This weirdo was living his wet dream tonight.

He slapped her backside so hard, Val yelped, and again, she felt the satisfaction of swapping emotional for physical pain. “Dirty girl,” he said. She heard the ripping of a condom package, saw him slip it on. He slapped her hard again. “Naughty.” He whacked her ass again and again until her skin burned, then he slammed his cock into her and pumped like a man who hadn't tasted a woman in years. She imagined it was Robby behind her, back from a long business trip.
Babe, let's try something different. Stop me if you don't like it.
Val's breasts bounced against the glass, lightning pulsing through her with every thrust, pushing her to climax.

“Robby, who killed you?” Val whispered as the tentacles of an orgasm seized her brain and pulled her under. “Robby—”

The vision evaporated, and Val was disoriented for a moment when she realized she was on her back now, looking up at the ceiling. John stood over her, his condom removed, masturbating on her chest. He grunted as he came, white goop shooting between her breasts in spasms before oozing down her rib cage. He braced himself on the table with his free arm as he caught his breath.

When John saw the
What-the-fuck?
look on her face, he said, “You passed out for a minute. I didn't want to keep going if there was something wrong with you.”

Val blinked away tears that had welled during her vision. “I'm fine. It's…a blood sugar thing.”

She'd seen a vision of her and Robby's possible future, if he'd lived and she'd married him. Their beautiful son. A life that could have been, that she'd cut short. And
still
no useful information on where to find Chet, or Robby's killer.

A fresh lump grew in Val's throat as John asked, “Can we exchange phone numbers?”

Max watched Val leave his office and let his face fall into its usual deep frown. His headache was finally beginning to ebb, letting the gears of his mind turn without pain gumming them up.

He didn't know what to make of her—a beautiful redhead dressed down and a bit haggard, with gray eyes the color of steel, who assumed he was somehow involved in her fiancé's death. Max had liked Robby; his junior lawyer had been a fun, easygoing guy, quick with a smile and possessing an infectious warmth—basically the opposite of Max. They might have been friends had they met under different circumstances.

Robby had mentioned his fiancée in passing, but Max hadn't pictured her as a woman like Val. He'd imagined a sweet, all-American girl, maybe a blond medical resident with dimples when she smiled. Not the tough-as-nails vision with the delicate face of a Rembrandt portrait come to life, a woman he was convinced could break him in half if she thought it would do any good—and also hair that smelled like apples.

He'd walked her to the door as an excuse to get close to her and take in her aroma. It was a very strange thing to do, he realized, something he'd never done before. Even as he'd leaned toward her and breathed her in, he didn't understand why he felt compelled to do so, only that he did. He expected strawberries, but that's wasn't what he got, and he liked it. A
lot
. The way she'd recoiled from him, though, she probably thought he was some kind of deviant. Which was true.

He had no doubt she wouldn't stop until she found Robby's killer, if Robby had in fact been murdered. Thank God she wasn't a real police officer investigating the death of Max's father. If she had been, Max guessed he'd probably be in jail by now.

What information could Val's source possibly have that would exonerate him of his father's death? Maybe it was a scam to blackmail Max out of his father's fortune, a fortune that hadn't truly belonged to Lester even before the old man died. If money was the ultimate goal, then whoever his blackmailers might be could have it, he didn't care. He just wanted to be left alone to rebuild his life.

Max extinguished his joint and returned what was left of it to the silver cigarette case. He walked to his tapestry, then flipped a switch behind the rough fabric. The tapestry rolled upward to expose a window overlooking the club's sex rooms. From his bird's-eye view, he surveyed the menagerie through the one-way mirrors that comprised the rooms' ceilings, his guests in the throes of passion, connecting with each other on the most basic level. Max could only imagine the burst of euphoria that drew them to this place—the orgasm, the climax. The best part of sex—so he'd heard. He'd read about it many times. At least they were capable of feeling such a miracle.

As his eyes drifted from room to room, he did a double take when he spotted the redhead being rammed from behind by a middle-aged businessman. Max believed Val's sorrow was genuine; why would she spontaneously fuck some random guy only days after her fiancé's death? Her eyes were closed and her face was pinched like she concentrated on something other than her own pleasure.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he muttered. He watched them for a while, the man jackhammering away while Val continued to look somewhat distracted, like she wasn't having much fun. A form of self-flagellation maybe. But whatever she felt, it was enough to get her off, because after a few minutes her body tensed in orgasm, then went limp. Odd, maybe she had a condition, or…
or
—

Max froze as raw excitement seized him. Could she be the one? The thing that had haunted his visions for as long as he could remember? Her hair was the same color as his raven, he now realized.

He watched as her partner stopped, jostled her for a response, then exited her and gently turned her over. She fluttered with the aftershocks of climax, but her eyes remained closed and her face placid.

Yes, she
could
be the one.

He looked at his assistant, standing at the ready like she always was. “Kitty, would you mind?” He unbuttoned his pants with trembling hands. “I need to check something.”

Kitty's face lit up in an eager grin. Of course she didn't mind; this was her favorite part of the job. Originally one of the club's performers, Max recruited Kitty to be his personal assistant after he'd discovered her impeccable organizational skills and work ethic—and love for no-strings-attached sex. She was so much easier than the roller-coaster ride of emotions and painful soul bearing that came with a real girlfriend.

Max pushed his trousers down to his knees and sat in his chair, his eyes fixed on Val. Kitty kneeled down in front of him, then wrapped her succulent lips around his penis and sucked like a pro. He slipped a hand into her halter top and ran his fingertips over her ample breast, feeling her nipple harden at his touch. Her mouth moved up and down the entirety of his shaft, lingering on his tip to run her tongue around its circumference. Below, Val stirred and her eyes popped open. She seemed upset now. Either she'd been turned off by her partner, or…

She'd seen something.
She
was
the one.

Max usually had stamina in spades—his condition demanded it—but at that moment he was so excited Kitty could have breathed on his cock and he would have come. He closed his eyes as the climax hit him fast and hard, and his mind snapped away—

He resurfaced to the present. Hot damn, he'd been right. She was the one. The string of prime numbers on the end confirmed it, and the numbers were never wrong. Kitty wiped the corners of her mouth and gazed up at him expectantly, ready to help again if he said the word. He pushed away from her and shot up from his chair, yanked up his pants, grabbed a pen and paper, and wrote down every number he'd seen. Then, like a crazed college student, he pulled a slew of books off the shelf:
Fourier Analyses
,
Boundary Value Problems
,
Partial Differential Equations
,
Advanced Calculus
. He flipped to their appendices and circled chunks of numbers from his vision that coincided with the information in the books, adding arrows between the chunks to denote how he thought they connected, until the paper looked like a bizarre football diagram. Finally he consulted the Internet, and underneath his scribbling wrote down an address, a day, and a time.

“Clear my calendar for two days from now,” Max told Kitty. “Make up some feasible lie if anyone asks where I am. And get me a pair of bolt cutters.”