Angel's Messiah (31 page)

I kissed Danny one final time and raised my hand to wave goodbye, then thought better of it. I blew him a kiss, blinked, and disappeared into the lights.

Take me to those who killed my daughter.

Nothing.

Take me to those who killed Regina Malakh.

Nothing.

Take me to one of the people responsible for plotting the death of Regina Malakh!

The lights faded and I found myself in a basement, not unlike the one my father had been executed in when I was a child.

Busily typing on a computer keyboard was a gaunt man, with little hair on his head. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on the desk, within arm’s reach, and a cigarette burned in the overflowing ashtray sitting next to his mouse. I stood behind him, looked over his shoulder, purposefully breathing gently on his neck as I did so. I was not there as far as he was concerned — invisibility has its advantages. He shivered and turned the collar up on his checked shirt.

I looked at the long list of addresses he’d selected to send the message to — well over a hundred — and committed them to memory. It was likely that some of the people on his list knew others, and so on. With this type of scummy operation you didn’t know everyone, only those you would directly, or indirectly, associate with. But over a hundred, that was a lot. These
believers
probably had a larger network than I’d imagined. If this arsehole was anything to go by, they were white supremacists with a strong dislike, possibly a loathing, of women.

So what’s new?

It was time to have a little fun. I wanted to see this arsewipe piss his pants and beg for mercy before I was done. In the poshest, most feminine voice I could muster, I read the email out loud.

“The bitch is dead. What’s there to worry about? So some smart-arses have posted messages about retribution. Big deal. They don’t know who the fuck they’re dealing with. The next woman who thinks she’s
God’s gift
can suck my pox-ridden dick before she dies. Let them show
that
on the Net. Harley.”

Before I’d finished, Harley had pushed his chair back, a pump-action sawn-off shotgun in his hand —
where had he been hiding that?
— and was searching for where the voice had come from.

“I’m goin’ stir crazy,” he said, shaking his head.

Harley walked to the top of the stairs and checked the door. It was still bolted from the inside. I laughed and he took a potshot from the top of the stairs. It missed.

“What sort of a name is Harley?” I asked. “Sounds like someone’s been taking
you
for a ride.”

Another potshot and I laughed again.

“You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread
woman.
”

“Damn bourbon must be off,” he said, coming back down the stairs. “I’m hearing things.”

“Bourbon is the devil’s water,” I said, and upended the remains of the bottle over his keyboard.

“What the
fuck
is going on?” Harley called out.

“If you promise you won’t shoot me I’ll show myself,” I said coyly.

Harley lowered the gun, though he didn’t put it down.

Fair enough, I wouldn’t relinquish my only weapon either.

I appeared next to the chair, smiled and waved. Harley raised the shotgun and quickly pumped two cartridges into my chest. At such close range there was no way he could miss. My blood splattered his computer and the wall behind it. There was a sizeable hole in my chest and most of my right breast was gone, leaving me a bit lopsided. Not to mention it hurt like hell. You’d think I’d be used to this kind of pain by now.

“No fair,” I complained. “I’m weak enough as it is without having you spray what remains of my blood everywhere.”

After Harley has been taken care of I’ll need to feed before tackling the others.

He pumped the shotgun, ready to fire again. I wasn’t sure how many cartridges one of those things could hold. It smarted and I didn’t really want to be shot again.

“Isn’t that getting a bit hot to hold?” I asked, smiling.

The metal began to glow red and Harley dropped the shotgun, crying out in pain. I looked at the gun, then at Harley, and my smile widened.

“Matches the colour of my eyes, don’t you think?” I said as I batted my eyelashes.

My body had healed itself. The bra and catsuit were a mess, exposing more of me to Harley than I’d planned.

“I really hate it when that happens,” I said.

I brushed my hand over the catsuit. Everything was repaired and back in place. Harley fell to the floor and heaved his guts out. The smell was awful.

“It’s nice to see someone else throwing up for a change,” I said smugly.

I crouched down beside Harley and did a bit of housekeeping. There was no way I was going to put up with the stench of his vomit or unclean body while I interrogated him. I grabbed his arm and dragged him back to his chair. He was so shocked by what was happening that he put up little resistance.

“Show some balls, for goodness sake,” I chastised him.” I’m only a
woman,
after all.”

He spat at me.

“How original,” I said, clearing his spittle away. “Like that’s
never
happened to me before.”

“Who the
fuck
are you?” he asked.

“Forgive me, how rude,” I said meekly. “Where
are
my manners? Harley, my name is Helena … Helena Malakh. I think you knew my
daughter
.”

I could
see
the blood drain from his face. I thought he was going to faint and quickly summoned a glass of water.

“Here,” I said, pushing the glass into his hand, “drink this.”

“Trying to poison me, are you?” he said as he threw the water in my face.

“That wasn’t very nice, Harley. It was only water. I don’t need to poison you, but if that’s your preferred way of dying I can arrange it.”

“Fuck
you
bitch!”

“I’d rather not, Harley. You’re
not
my type. Now, if you’ve finished having your little temper tantrum, let’s get down to business, shall we? I want you to tell me everything you know about Gina’s death.”

Harley folded his arms across his chest, pressed his lips firmly together and looked in the other direction. I grabbed hold of his wrists and pulled his arms away from his chest.
Don’t feed, don’t feed,
I told myself. I could feel his muscles flexing and straining as he fought to regain control.

“Perhaps you’d prefer arm wrestling,” I said. “Best two out of three wins. You win, you walk, you lose, you talk.”

He wasn’t biting.

“You’re not going to be any fun at all, are you Harley?” I sighed. “Fine, have it your way.”

I took his hand in mine and stroked it gently with my other hand, before slowly crushing. I could feel and hear the bones in Harley’s hand cracking and splintering under the pressure. He grimaced. Perspiration started to form on his forehead. I eased off a little to give him a rest and tried to mop his brow with a handkerchief. He swatted my arm away with his free hand.

Ingrate!

I started crushing his hand again. I’d grind his bones to fine powder if I had to — he lost consciousness before I could get that far. It was my turn to throw a glass of water on him.

“Wakey-wakey, Harley,” I said, tapping the side of his wet face with my open hand. “Do you need something for the pain?”

“Fuck you!”

“I don’t like your attitude, Harley,” I said sharply. “I think you need an adjustment.”

I pressed my thumb into his shoulder.

“Is this the spot?” I asked, tilting my head from side to side. “I can’t remember. Grief can make you forget a lot of things, Harley, so can pain. I hope your memory improves soon. What was my question again? Oh, that’s right, I want to know everything you know about
my daughter’s murder.
”

Harley was a stubborn little bastard. The amount of pain he could take was really quite impressive. I guess it had something to do with being a white supremacist — thick mind, thick skin. Kind of no brain, no pain stuff.

“Listen, Harley, I don’t have all day. Well, that’s not exactly true. I certainly don’t want to spend all day with a
dick
like you. I’m
aching
to get back to Gina’s father. Violence seems to get me hot and bothered these days,” I slid a hand up and down my body, caressing my curves, to emphasise my point. “I do so
love
a bit of violence, but if you’re not going to tell me, I’ll just reach into that little head of yours and pull out what I want to know.”

“No fuckin’ woman will ever understand what goes on in a
man’s
mind,” Harley sneered.

“Harley, Harley, Harley,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t
want
to understand anything. I only want information.”

I slammed the heel of my palm hard against his forehead. His head whipped back. With my other hand I pushed down on his chest, where his heart was, breaking ribs. I was selective about what memories I took, and what I gave to him in return. He wouldn’t get warmth, bliss or peace. Instead he’d feel the ice from my veins, the turmoil, hatred and rage. It would buck him wildly on a ride from which there was no end.

I saw everything in his mind that was related to Gina. All the hatred of women and the bigotry. I turned those things back on him.

I could feel his heart beating rapidly now. The perspiration running down his face was making my hand slick. I pushed the heel of my palm harder into his forehead until I heard his skull crack. Harley’s eyes widened as he was bombarded with all that raw emotion, magnified ten-fold. I felt something burst beneath the hand resting on his chest. His body went limp.

“There are worse ways to die, Harley,” I whispered into his ear. He couldn’t hear me. He was already dead.

One down, at least a hundred more to go. I wanted the head honcho — the top dog, the man at the top — and I wanted his balls on a plate, ready to feed to him. I wanted to cause unimaginable pain.

I had to make a quick detour before continuing on, though. I knew I’d still be able to manage if I didn’t feed, yet I’d feel a lot better if I was at my peak strength. It wouldn’t matter what they tried to do to me — shoot me, stab me, skin me alive — maybe I’d lose a bit of blood. There’d be plenty to go around. Okay, if there were a few thousand and they all shot me like Harley did I might need to feed a couple more times. Big deal. It was a small price to pay for the required end result.

I headed to my old stomping ground, to find scents I didn’t know. It was too easy. Drake’s replacement hadn’t prepared the new troops half as well as Drake had. Perhaps he thought both Drake and I had died in hell — that
she who kills
was all but a distant memory. I didn’t play with my food. I was far too eager to get back to my other hunt for that, yet I did feed until I thought the blood was going to pour out of my nose. I disposed of the bodies quickly, with a touch, and blew their ashes to the wind.

Take me to the next one on the list.

Another basement.

How droll,
I thought.

The difference here, though, was that there were five men playing poker. Which one was I after? I looked to the door at the top of the stairs and locked it from the outside, the bolt on the inside also sliding silently into place. No one was getting in or out, much like Satan’s private chambers, unless I said so.

Obviously this was a social game, with no need for secrecy and nothing to be hidden. What a dilemma.

Come on, Helena, just call out the name and see who looks up.

“
Luther,
” I called out softly.

All of the men looked to where the ghostly voice had come from, curse them.

“Luther, I
need
you,” I called out.

“Damn, Luther, you got some sort of intercom down here? Sure sounds like your wife’s
needin’
you ‘bout now.”

Four men, including the one who’d spoken, laughed. That meant the odd one out must be Luther. Okay, so now I knew who my target was, although who was to say the others weren’t
believers
just catching up socially.

“Luther, what do these men know about Gina?” I asked softly.

“What the
fuck?
” he said.

“You told
your wife
about Gina?” one of the other men asked.

“Who’s Gina?” another man asked.

“Ah, just some slut I banged a while ago, Cleet, nothing to worry about” Luther said, trying to cover up.

“And you told
your wife
about her?” Cleet asked in disbelief.

“No, she don’t know nothin’,” Luther replied.