When her legs needed to stretch after hours of crouching, she decided to take a walk in the shadows, keeping her head down and moving slowly between buildings. She was ready to turn toward home when she heard a noise from behind, somewhere across the street. She saw the shadow of a man approaching, although he didn’t follow a path. He looked like he was searching for someone he feared.
He was looking for her.
And then her eyes were no longer fixed on the shadow, but the men who walked directly toward him. They were not empty-handed—one carried a machete, the other a baseball bat.
This was the whole purpose of her nighttime doings, to protect the defenseless. She quietly scurried to the man’s aide, hesitating only when she saw his face.
Marcus.
Riley was certain he would be more than capable of defending himself, and although she was tempted to leave him to his own devices, she found herself quickly kicking into defensive gear and hurrying to intervene.
The area where Marcus stood was quiet and empty; so late at night most people didn’t like to leave their houses and only those who worked nearby remained. The police station was the only place with a light on and people inside, but not many. There was no way he would get anyone else’s help if he was attacked. Both men moved forward toward Marcus. One attacked him with no hesitation, the baseball bat hitting his stomach, sending him to his knees with pain. He had no opportunity to stand up when another hit came again, and again, and again until he couldn’t move anymore.
The second man, with the machete, stepped forward and it was that moment when Riley knew she had to interfere.
“Fuck.” Riley ran toward the fight just in time to stop Marcus from being massacred.
The man tried to attack her, but she fought, baton in hand, until the machete was dropped on the floor and the man was bleeding profusely from his nose and head. He was too tipsy to fight back and Riley was too angry to let him go. So she sent one last blow to the man’s stomach, one that sent him onto his back. The next move was a shot in the head, and he was gone.
The second man followed, and despite Riley being absolutely pumped to kick him, he had dropped his weapon to the floor and was ready to make a run. Though she wouldn’t let him, of course.
Two seconds later he was dead next to his partner.
Riley was left alone, partially, for Marcus was still flat on his stomach, eyes shut. She dragged him with all of her strength, to the side of the road, checked his wounds weren’t too problematic despite the amount of blood, and called an ambulance. With luck, they would be there in no time.
She was about to walk away when he, surprisingly, got ahold of her arm and she froze. Marcus looked at her with narrowed eyes, Riley watched him as he tried to speak but was too weak to utter a word.
“Shh, don’t try to talk. Help is on the way,” Riley whispered. She was certain, if his reasoning was intact, he would recognize her voice, but she found reassurance in the blood dripping from his hairline.
He didn’t say a word, but simply gave Riley’s hand a light squeeze before his eyes closed again. When she heard the approaching sirens, Riley stood and raced into the dark, finding solace that one of her many enemies would live to see another day.
Adrian had lost all desire to go to his office and work. He felt too miserable and angry to write an endless mountain of paperwork, so he took the day off. Because he wanted to and because he could. No matter what his partner would say. The argument with Riley had left him emotionally drained and a tiny bit sad. It was pretty much like heartbreak, but with less tears and more disappointment.
He was about to keep feeling miserable when his phone rang. Marcus’s name flashed on the screen and he was more than tempted to ignore it, having no energy to speak to him about the Vigilante or Riley, which were his main topics lately.
When the call became insistent he decided to pick it up, with the shocking realization that it wasn’t Marcus but a nurse who had called.
His partner was in the hospital, after being beaten. Two men were dead, shot in the head. There were no witnesses, no murder weapon besides a baseball bat. Adrian was terrified to think it could have been Riley. But then erased that thought; if it had been her, Marcus would be dead.
If the Vigilante was actually involved, Riley owed him an explanation. A very good one.
Chapter Forty-Seven
When Adrian visited his partner in the hospital, he quickly realized that whoever hurt Marcus might not have wanted him dead, just hurt or scared. Adrian also realized that someone had intervened and prevented Marcus from being killed—the nurses had said the emergency dispatch received an anonymous call for an ambulance.
Marcus had two broken ribs and a concussion, which the doctor wanted to monitor for a few days. Marcus didn’t remember much, just that he’d been beaten with a bat and thought he’d seen a machete.
Adrian just hoped the savior in the street had been Riley, rather than that someone had saved Marcus from Riley.
There was only one way to find out.
Riley closed the door behind her and breathed heavily. Perspiration ran down her forehead and onto her cheek, which she wiped away.
The night had been incredibly accelerated and she was
