Warrant (A Vindicator Series Novel Book 2) Read online

  Warrant

  Kathy Coopmans

  Contents

  Dear Readers

  Prologue

  1. Jillian

  2. Chaz

  3. Jillian

  4. Chaz

  5. Jillian

  6. Chaz

  7. Jillian

  8. Chaz

  9. Jillian

  10. Chaz

  11. Jillian

  12. Chaz

  13. Jillian

  14. Chaz

  15. Jillian

  16. Chaz

  17. Jillian

  18. Chaz

  19. Jillian

  20. Chaz

  21. Jillian

  22. Chaz

  23. Jillian

  24. Chaz

  25. Jillian

  26. Chaz

  27. Jillian

  28. Chaz

  Epilogue

  Dear Readers

  Hey, hey readers. I hope you are ready for Warrant. It’s a bumpy little ride.

  This book is fiction, and I in no way claim to know the true life of street gangs, trafficking, or the mafia. Even though this book has topics related to all three, the story is about warranting a revenge on those who have done my characters wrong. It’s a love story too. Full of passion, and taking a chance on love. It’s about letting go of your deepest fears.

  It’s about wishing upon a star.

  Thank you for reading my work.

  Forever grateful,

  Kathy.

  For Jill Sava, my sanity, my friend, and the strongest woman I know.

  Whenever you find yourself doubting how far you can go, just remember how far you have come. Remember everything you have faced, all the battles you have won, and all the fears you have overcome.

  ~Unknown.

  Prologue

  Chaz

  Nineteen Years Old

  My eyes flick back and forth across the blood-stained floor. Rays of light scatter in between the blinds covering the windows as if it wanted me to see the bloodbath laid out across the carpet.

  In vivid fucking color.

  The pungent scented red, not only drips down my walls, it trickles down scared little girls faces.

  From forehead to chin.

  My own blood gushes out of my hand, sliding through my fingers and it burns like hell’s fire through my veins.

  Death. None of us ever know when we’re about to die.

  Static blares across my television and a man named Alec, who used to be my friend is doing the unimaginable. Creating all this enflamed chaos inside a home that was once filled with happy memories. What he’s doing will have me blocking out the good, and seeing what’s happening here instead, for the rest of my life.

  A devastating tragedy.

  Heartbreaking.

  I’ve seen blood before. In fact, I’ve drawn it. Beat people until they were barely breathing. But this scene I’m being forced to watch is what will taint my soul into the darkness.

  Quite honestly, it’s a massacre.

  Of the innocent.

  So much so, that my throat is burning, and my eyeballs are painfully dry from the fire igniting inside of me.

  Never draw blood from a woman.

  Never violate a woman.

  Never hit a woman.

  Never touch one unless she wants to be touched.

  And, when you do touch her, it’s pleasure you bring, not mutilating, unforgettable pain.

  Alec and men I used to call my brothers have.

  Repeatedly.

  There are four young girls with ropes around their necks, hands tied behind their backs, their panties stuffed in their mouths, kneeling naked in the middle of my living room. They’ve been beaten by these monsters in the face. Kicked in the stomach, and made to do things no person should have to do against their will.

  What guts me right down to my center is I can’t do a damn thing to save them.

  “What the fuck are you doing Alec? I told you I was done with the Warriors. Done with you if you kidnapped and sold another girl. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave them here. Get the fuck gone or I swear on my dead father’s grave; I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

  He’s punishing me for walking away from the gang by throwing the very reason I left in my face.

  Literally.

  Christ, the need to warrant revenge is like a rat gnawing at my soul, relentless, unceasing. It can only be stopped by a sharp blade slicing every one of their fingers off and shoving them down their throats.

  Death.

  I warrant it right this very second. I will sign every one with their own blood. If he doesn’t kill me then someday that’s just what I’ll do.

  This has to be the worst crime committed. These girls have barely reached puberty. No doubt virgins, or inexperienced, and they’ll be sold, shipped off to some foreign country and be used for some sick fuck’s debauched pleasure. And once again, I won’t be able to stop it.

  I’ve stolen and sold cars. Dealt drugs. Basically I used to do just about anything to rake in the money we needed to make a street name for ourselves. I ended those days and went straight up legit working as a cook in a restaurant. It doesn’t pay worth shit, but it puts a roof over my head. Food on the table, and the basics for my little sister and me to get by.

  Alec, me and a few other young punks started the Warriors a few years back, shortly after my neighbor Noah introduced me to him. A group of boys going all out to show the world we had what it took to fuck shit up.

  It didn’t take us long to capture the attention of the many who joined us. Black, white, yellow. We didn’t care about the color of skin. Brothers for life and all that shit. Besides, my dad raised me to treat everyone the same, no matter the color or where you came from.

  Our gang grew rapidly. We were fierce and loyal to one another. Dabbing into petty crimes, girls at our feet, keeping my secret from my family while we formed our gang. Not that long ago we began pushing our gang name around on the streets as if we’d suddenly become invincible.

  People started running the other way when they saw us coming. Other gangs started learning not to cross into our territory in the rough neighborhood of Harlem, or we’d fuck them up.

  Of course, I knew there’d come a time when beating the shit out of someone wasn’t going to be enough to maintain our territory. Along with making our name, we were also making enemies. A ton of them.

  Everyone knew the ins and outs of gangs. They hated each other. Every single one wanting to stake that claim. To gain the power of the other.

  Drive-by shootings were a real fucking thing. They happened on the daily. Right on your front porch.

  Take a beating or give one.

  Kill or be killed.

  A never-ending string of crimes.

  I knew it was wrong, knew shit was going to come to a head and blow up in our faces, yet I kept on recruiting. Kept on thinking we were eventually going to own this town.

  I quit about a month ago after Alec and the rest of the leaders decided to get involved with the Russian Bratva, doing their dirty work of kidnapping girls in exchange for money.

  Not to mention I was chancing losing more than my own life by doing the shit I was doing. All of which could have put my ass behind bars. But, sex trafficking? It would send me away for life. I had to start putting my sister first like the big brother I was born to be.

  My sister Charlotte is my world. We were all each other had since our dad kicked the bucket about a year ago. Losing her wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

  We had both already lost so much.

  I wasn’t into harming a woman either. They were meant to be
worshipped and cherished, not sold like they meant nothing.

  I shake my head, blood flying off my battered face.

  I walked into my home about two hours ago to the sounds of muffled screams, clothes being torn, skin being slapped and these girls who if I had to guess, can’t be over the age of eighteen being tied up and thrown around.

  Thank fuck Charlotte isn’t here to witness this shit. She’d never comprehend why someone would kidnap a young woman before sending her off to be brutalized inhumanly for the rest of her life.

  Fuck, even I don’t understand.

  Cringing as I hear a gagging sound. I drop my head to the young girl on the floor in front of me. One I can’t take my eyes off of. The defiant and strong one of the group. The one who silently screams ‘I’d rather you kill me than to give you the satisfaction of seeing my fear.’

  To a man like me, who respects women. I admire it, to men who don’t give a fuck, they will decimate her before they kill her.

  I can tell she won’t say a word, no matter how hard they try and break her. It’s in the weight of her murderous stare compared to the other girl’s whimpers and cries toward the men who are violating them with fingers pumping in and out of their pussies as they test their ability for weakness. Getting them to answer questions. Names? Age? Date of birth? The other girls are spilling their guts out, while this one refuses to say a word.

  This girl refused to kneel, so Alec shoved her to her ass right in front of me. Tore her clothes off, forced her to open her mouth and shoved his dick in her mouth. He’s making her an example of what the other girls will be forced to do if they don’t listen and obey.

  I lunged toward Alec the minute I walked in the door. Every instinct in me was ready to slice his throat. Only I was grabbed before I had the chance to pull out my knife. Someone shoved me to my knees, secured my hands, and legs behind my back while they did their best to beat me senseless.

  “Yeah well, we all know you don’t have a say whether you leave the gang or not,” Alec grunts out while pumping his hips and groaning when she stops sucking. His hand gripping her jaw, and taking over by slamming his dick down her throat.

  “I’m fucking sorry,” I mouth. Because fuck, what else can I say.

  “You were right there. Right by my side when we made the rules. No one walks away from the gang unless the president and vice president say. You fucked up, my friend. Being you were the VP and decided on your own to walk out, I made Mason my new second in command.”

  “You want a fucking cookie for making the asshole your slave? Fuck you, man, the only thing you’ll be getting is the say on how you die.” I shrug. I might not be around when death comes knocking on his door. If I am though, he’ll get a choice on how he wants to die.

  Slow and painful or fast and furious.

  I keep my focus on the girl. Her eyes going wide as Alec grabs her by the back of the head and forces her to swallow his release. He shoves her backward, tucks himself in and sinks down in front of me.

  “You are one sick motherfucker. Better kill me, because there will come a day you’ll wish you had.” I spit. Right in his face. The blood I’d been holding in my mouth from the multiple punches and kicks to my face hitting his cheek.

  I was a mangled up mess. Could feel my eyes swelling shut, my jaw was possibly broken, teeth loose and fairly certain my nose was shattered. Alec and his handful of fuck-wits who thought this shit was okay each took a turn with sucker punching me. Every one of their punches packed with a death threat behind them.

  His vision darkens.

  Mine clouds in a haze of red.

  “Pry his eyes open as far as they’ll go. I don’t want him to miss the grand finale. I’m not going to kill him. I have something much more exciting for this traitor to live with. Something that will kill him a little more each day.”

  Silence hangs in the air, my heart pounding, teeth grating as the static on my television went to a brightly lit screen.

  A girl with hair the same color as mine sits in a chair.

  Naked.

  Her delicate neck barely able to hold up her head.

  Her feet tied at the ankles, hands appear to be tied behind her back. Dark multi-colored bruises on her face.

  I wanted to hang my head in shame.

  Her torture is my fault.

  “What in the fuck? No. You sick son of a bitch. Where is she? Tell me, goddamnit.” I begged him for hours while I watched in horror as a man I will never forget beat and teased and taunted my sister on the screen.

  Signing his death warrant with every lash.

  For two years I searched for Charlotte while I lived on the streets, hiding from the Warriors, and the people they associated with.

  I couldn’t find her.

  I never gave up my search, not even when I joined the Army.

  A few months ago Charlotte’s bones were found upstate in the woods.

  My little sister was dead.

  My warrant to kill the bastards has now begun.

  And my target?

  Alec’s sister.

  1

  Jillian

  Star light, star bright,

  First star I see tonight,

  I wish I may; I wish I might,

  Have this wish I wish tonight.

  I can remember my mother telling me to wish upon a star before she’d tuck me in bed. She never asked what I wished for. There was a time after I came home from school one day to find my brother had moved out without telling me why, I think she knew.

  I wanted everything to be right in our world.

  I wanted my brother to come back. I wanted a family like everyone else.

  Whenever I asked who my father was, or why, when I asked why my brother was gone, she admitted to kicking him out, she’d brush it off. Often, telling me neither were the men she thought they were. That we both deserved someone to love and cherish us, and we didn’t need them in our lives as long as we had each other.

  I didn’t understand. I never met my father, but my brother was my hero. I wanted him to come home.

  When I played on my own, I’d pretend I had a dad. He’d sit across from me on a little pink plastic chair that was much too small for him. We’d have tea. Eat cheese and crackers until he’d tell me it was time for him to tuck me into bed and read me a story about a princess.

  And, even though my brother didn’t live with us anymore, I still loved him. And as young as I was, he meant everything to me, and I thought I did to him too.

  Sadly, I didn’t.

  Stretching my aching limbs, I feel my lip quivering, and my throat getting tighter with every sharp swallow. My mind fogs up, and my eyes feel heavy with tears. I try to hold them back, I try to bite back my tears and not lose it, but my will is too weak. I wish I could push my emotions down so deep that I could forget them. If only it were that easy.

  So, I lay here and cry until there are no more tears left to shed.

  I’m scared. The fear surrounds me like quicksand. Never getting pulled all the way under. The only things above the mushy, thick mixture are my mouth and nose. There’s just enough air to breathe, allowing my heart to beat, my mind to race, and my lungs to burn.

  In real life, I walk, I talk, and I smile like I always did, except my insides are slowly dying.

  Rolling over, I stare out the window, guilt scrapes at the ridges of my dry mouth as I fight against the anger at the person I blame for leaving me to rot in hell on earth.

  My brother.

  The stars fill the sky like symbols of hope for all the lost souls of the world. Like a promise of life in the darkness, a sense of warmth before slipping off into a dreamless sleep.

  They don’t comfort me like they used to.

  The problem for me is, the stars, my warmth, my mind fail me when I drift. Therefore, wishing my life would change. Wishing I wouldn’t close my lids and die a thousand deaths in my sleep keep me from wishing, from hoping anymore.

  So, I just stare. I gaze. I watch, and I beg f
or a sign, for a little bit of hope from the darkening sky.

  There’s never a sign. Every night the sky looks the same.

  I still ask for forgiveness. Wondering if one of those bright shining stars is the same one another woman used to wish upon.

  A young woman whose death haunts me.

  Did she wish someone would save her? Did she have someone who would if they knew how to reach her?

  I’d like to hope she did.

  My lids grow heavy, and like every night, I fight drifting. I don’t dream of fairy tales and white nights when I give in to sleep. I don’t dream of what could have been, or what should be. I dream of the evil walking the streets. The men who damage, destruct, and destroy. I dream of a young girl. A girl who wasn’t me, but very well should have been. Because, the day she took her last breath, was the day I made a wish to die.

  Tucking the ratty blanket the social worker from family services gave me the night my mother died under my pillow, along with my phone, my mind begins to fade, letting the memories of what happened on the night that changed my life replay on a never-ending vicious loop inside my head.

  The man standing on the landing across the room hasn’t spoken a word as he watches me with his predator-like stare. I’ve never seen him before, yet, I can tell he held power. He had money, and he’s the one who ordered my brother to drag me here.

  I don’t like him.

  My fingers splay wide open, wanting nothing more than to get up and poke his eyes out.

  “Tempting. Red hair, just like her mother. Teach her what happens to those who threaten my kingdom. If you don’t, I will. She is no longer your concern. Do you understand me, Alec?”

  No longer his concern? What the hell?

  Confusion. It flames inside of me like a stick of dynamite.

  “Clearly,” my brother answers, a twinge of amusement in his voice.

  My stomach wobbles, and the worried roll from when I was dragged down the steps of the police station and brought here before I made it inside, surge into a full-on tidal wave of panic.