Her Knightmare

Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2018 Sam Crescent

ISBN: 978-1-77339-723-8

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Karyn White

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

HER KNIGHTMARE

Sam Crescent

Copyright © 2018

Prologue

Fifteen years after Her Monster

He has to be stopped, Caleb Carson said, pacing his brother’s office.

Beast just sat behind his desk, smiling. What’s the matter, Caleb? Afraid of our little nephew?

Will you stop turning this into a fucking joke? This is not a joke, Beast. This is fucking serious. Do you have any idea what they’re calling him? Caleb pointed outside the door, and Beast sat back, watching his brother.

I’m aware.

They’re calling him a fucking nightmare. That’s what he is now. He took out fifty men in a nightclub.

And dealt with the local cops and the cleanup. I don’t see the problem.

You think cleaning up his own mess is the only problem here?

Dwayne has proven himself time and time again. That’s all he ever wanted to do, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s done it. He’s got himself a reputation, he can handle himself. Considering his start in life, I think he’s turned out quite all right.

And when he takes on too many and either dies or we have new enemies?

Then we’ll take care of them, Caleb. I’m proud of all that Dwayne has accomplished. You should be too. Go home to your beautiful wife and children. Sleep easier knowing our nightmare is on the streets hunting. I know I certainly do.

Chapter One

The stench in the downtown bar sickened him. Dwayne had seen many places like this; filth everywhere. The stink of piss, sex, and vomit was heavy in the air, and degradation was part of their lives. No one gave a fuck about what happened in this part of the city. The crumbling apartment buildings, the whores on the street, the useless waste of life walking day to day—no one gave a shit. Kids playing out in the street, filthy clothes on their backs, their mothers probably trying to screw their way to making a couple of dollars. Probably not even to feed their own kid but to shoot up.

He fucking hated this place.

He hated the world and all the scum in it.

No one paid him any attention, but that was fine. He had a lead on some fucking pimp who’d been stealing Carson women off the street.

Their family didn’t have women working on corners, taking whatever fucking john who wanted to get his dick wet, or finally know what it was like to fuck in the ass. No, Carson women were kept safe. All of their punters were run through a program to make sure they were.

He couldn’t stand men who knocked women around.

His father had been one of them.

A wife-beater and child abuser until his Uncle Beast came to get him. Then Dwayne had never heard another word from the man.

There was a time when he was quite young that he believed he’d leave the lifestyle. Beast gave him that option to walk away, but he couldn’t do it. Being part of the Carson family was something he craved. Getting up at the early hours of the morning to train every single day gave him a drive. Fighting, learning his weapons, and honing his craft every single day had given him focus.

His uncles were fearless, and their reputations preceded them. He wanted a name, a reputation, but he also wanted to make sure that when he arrived, people fucking shit themselves in fear.

It kind of amused him to sit down at a bar and watch it slowly empty as they waited for him to shoot up the place. No one took the piss out of him, nor did they believe they were safe.

No matter the time.

No matter the place.

His enemies would always be taken down. He’d proven it time and time again, which was why he was in a shitty as fuck bar at two in the morning, sitting on a stool. The bartender was high on something, and Dwayne saw the bruising around his inner arm from the shit he’d injected. He poured him a shot, but Dwayne had no intention of drinking it. He didn’t touch the bar, but from his vantage point he saw everything. The bar wasn’t that big, but it was crowded. This was a place where Garcia was known for distributing women and girls that he picked up from the street.

This was his own personal task that he’d set himself.

When Williams, their informant in the police force, had told him what was going down, Dwayne couldn’t look the other way. Especially as Williams put faces to the names he was spouting out. If Dwayne didn’t have to think of the faces, the people, the names, he could carry on with his life without a single fucking thought.

Williams clearly knew this, and now Dwayne was hunting, especially as Beast got a visit from a wealthy family. He’d been in a meeting when one of Beast’s men said they were clearly desperate.

To Dwayne, rich people had no emotion. Their only drive was their wealth, but the look on their faces, the devastation, had touched him. Their eighteen-year-old daughter, Charity, had been taken from the street. She’d been gone twenty-four hours, and they were willing to pay anything.

Now, Dwayne was more than happy to do this for free. He hated scum, especially after he saw the security footage of the event. Charity hadn’t been clear to see, but they had sound. She’d screamed for help, begging the men to leave her alone.

Her voice, even in panic, had a sweetness to it that called to him. Pushing those thoughts aside, he continued to survey the bar.

There was a woman on the floor, kneeling in dirt as she sucked one guy off, and worked the other with her hand. Both men were smoking, drinking, and laughing as she did this. He saw the wad of cash on the table, clearly payment, which, he knew from seeing this kind of thing, she’d never get. The woman should have taken half before the act, and then just walked away. As it was, they wouldn’t even pay her for a job well done.

Moving past that, he saw several men and women dancing, wrapped around each other, but he wasn’t buying it.

Then he finally saw the guard. He stood out like a sore fucking thumb. Perfect suit, pristine, clearly cost him a pretty penny, and he stood in front of the door, guarding it.

They always stood out.

Tapping his fingers on his thighs, Dwayne waited, made sure everything was in place, and then he got to his feet.

For the most part people ignored him, and for that, they’d keep their lives tonight.

Where the fuck do you think you’re going? the guard asked.

Dwayne stood in front of him, assessing the situation.

Let me past.

Fuck off. I’ve never seen you, and it’s for friends only. Now get before I decide to end your life, you fucking idiot.

Dwayne took a deep breath and flicked his arms out. The point of the blade hidden at his wrist came out, and he jammed it into the man’s neck. Holding him up with the blade in the neck, he flicked the catch of the door, opening it.

To anyone else nothing looked out of place.

By the time he withdrew the blade, closed and locked the door, the guard was dead on the floor.

You should have just let me inside.

Wiping the blood on his black jacket, he clicked the blade back into place and walked down the steps toward his destination. The lights were dimmed, and he heard the screaming, the crying, the begging.

In between that, he heard the male laughter.

Pulling his guns out of his back holster, he clicked the safety off both, and then looked through the window in the door.

Charity Frank was clear to see in the center of about six men. Her face was bloodied, her clothes torn, and bruises were already starting to appear from where she’d been fighting them. She kept her arms wrapped around herself and was trying to escape. Every time she kept moving toward the door, someone would push her, another would grab her, squeeze a breast, and then throw her to the ground, where she’d get a kick for her efforts.

They were damaging the merchandise, and he wondered if this was on purpose and who they were selling her to. Some people loved to see a bruised woman up for purchase.

It went against everything in him to watch them do this. To see one of the men pick her up by her hair and force her to do it again. As she fell down the second time, and they were distracted by kicking her, he made his move.

Opening the door, he didn’t ask questions.

He fired his weapon with precision and ease, not even trying to wound them.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

By the time they realized that he was there, they were already dead on the floor. Charity was curled up in a ball, her hands over her head, begging them to leave her alone.

The guns he used had silencers on them so she hadn’t seen anything, but she would have heard them, being so close. Stepping over the bodies, he saw the blood leaking out, and he had to move otherwise she’d be covered in blood.

Crouching down, he called her name.

Charity, listen to me, he said.

The crying slowed, and she moved her arm, looking at him from underneath it. Her blue eyes struck him first. They were pained. The innocence he’d seen in them from one of the pictures her parents sent was long gone. In its place were pain, suffering, and fear.

Your parents sent me. I’m here to save you. No, don’t look around you. Look at me. They’re not going to hurt you anymore.

It’s a trick. It’s always a trick. You’re going to hurt me.

He gripped her chin. I’m not going to hurt you, but we’re going to leave here. Do you know of a back entrance anywhere?

She shook her head. I don’t even know where here is. She sniffled, and her throat sounded hoarse, probably from all the screaming.

I’m going to pick you up. We’re going to go out of that door, and then I’m going to take you back to my home, okay?

I want to go back to my home.

You will. I promise, but you need to be taken care of, okay? A shower, a doctor to make sure you’re not hurt.

You can’t pick me up, she said. I’m too heavy.

Dwayne didn’t bother to debate this with her. Sliding his hands underneath her body, he picked her up with ease, holding her against his chest.

She stank of piss, but he didn’t release her or let her go. Holding her against him, he stared at the door as she tensed in his arms.

He wondered how long they’d been playing that game with her.

Stepping over the bodies, avoiding the blood, he walked out the door, and he heard her sigh of relief. She gripped his jacket, tucking her head against his chest, and began to sob.