Pure Vengeance

Prologue

Languished

Mark Lawes

Darkness. Peering around the limited expanse of his cell, Mark Lawes found nothing except the overarching shadow of night. Closing his eyes, he blew out a breath. Why torture himself by searching the same dank space for the thousandth time? Even if the lights had been switched on in the cellblock, there was nothing to see except aging mold and peeling paint.

I deserve better than this.

Nothing was ever going to change while he was entombed in that damp Victorian crypt.

“Hey, Lawes.” The gruff voice of his cellmate, Paul Dylan, interrupted his dismal train of thought. Mark tensed, already sensing where the so-called conversation would lead. He seemed to have had the same ‘chat’ with a number of Dylan’s mates. “Are you awake?”

Mark considered ignoring Dylan’s call, but weeks of sharing what little personal space he had with the idiot had taught him there would be little point. The moron wouldn’t stop bleating until he’d been heard.

“What do you want?” Mark ground his teeth together, trying to quell his growing irritation. He’d been stuck in confined places with troglodytes like Dylan for too damn long.

“I heard what you were in for.” Dylan’s voice sounded gleeful. “Kidnapping all those women and keeping them in the basement. Nice!”

In the gloom of the lockup, Mark rolled his eyes. “What about it?”

He’d been listening to cretins like Dylan jerk off to reports of his crimes ever since word had got around about why he was there. So what if his current cellmate had finally heard the rumors? He had nothing to tell Dylan.

“So, it’s true?” Dylan’s chuckle echoed around the suffocating space. “You sneaky bastard! I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

“That’s because you don’t know me.” And that was how Mark wanted it to stay.

If he had to endure the ongoing nightmare of serving time, then he’d do so alone. He didn’t need allies. The inmates and the screws were as bad as each other.

Whatever the judge said, Mark didn’t consider himself to be a criminal. Dylan and the other scum held in the place were genuine delinquents, while he and his old dental partner, Fuller, had only acted in good faith. Sure, they’d indulged themselves in their fantasies, but they’d also taken care of those women, and despite the theatrical performances some of the alleged ‘victims’ had displayed in court, he and Fuller had only given those whores what they wanted. Those women had been too afraid to ask for what they most craved, too ashamed… but shame meant nothing to him.

“Tell me about it.” Apparently undeterred by Mark’s curt tone, Dylan sounded eager to hear all the gory details, but Mark had bad news for the goon—that wasn’t going to happen.

The things that had happened in the swanky dental surgery facility he and Fuller had built, along with the joys of the basement, were for their consumption only—his and his old friend’s. Mark’s attention flitted fleetingly to the memory of Brandon Fuller. He hadn’t heard what had become of him since the end of his trial.

“What were the women like?”

“None of your business.” Mark squeezed his hand into a fist, resisting the urge to smack it into Dylan’s not-so-pretty face. “Go to sleep, Dylan.”

“Don’t be like that.” Dylan’s voice lowered to a snarl. “We could be friends, man. I’ve heard you could use a friend or two.”

“I don’t want any friends.” Mark hissed the words over the edge of his bunk, waiting for the inevitable wallop from below as Dylan kicked out at the flimsy metal bedstead. The impact came as expected, shaking the rickety frame in the shadows. Clenching his jaw, Mark disregarded the tremor. Let Dylan take it out on the bed.

Better the bed than me.

“You ain’t gonna last long in here.” Dylan practically sang the prophecy, his insight breaking into a deep cackle.

I won’t be here long enough to care, you dick.

Mark bit down on the retort, knowing there was no point in articulating it. Men like Dylan were common thugs and robbers. They didn’t have real intellect and couldn’t understand what Mark had hoped to achieve. They were all looking for an excuse to kick off and beat the seven bells out of prisoners like Lawes, but Mark wasn’t going to give his nefarious cellmate any justification. He’d meant what he’d said—he didn’t want friends—but he could also do without a long list of enemies. Adversaries were difficult to avoid in the narrow rooms and corridors of the crumbling prison.

“Wait until I tell my mates about how you don’t wanna share.” Dylan laughed. “They’ll all wanna ‘chat’ with you.”

Mark pressed this hand to his temple with a sigh. He knew the types of chats that went on in this place, especially in the abandoned shower block. When were those guys going to get it through their thick skulls that they just weren’t his type? Mark preferred them bound and with a uterus.

“I can’t wait.” Mark wondered if Dylan was bright enough to discern his sardonic tone. After so long being forced to keep company with lowlifes, he realized he wouldn’t be surprised either way.

“You shouldn’t be so tightlipped.” Dylan was still whining about Mark’s refusal to share the details of his crimes. “My pals could make your stay here more comfortable, ya know? They could get you chocolate and cigarettes.”

Chocolate and cigarettes? Was Dylan joking? He wasn’t a kid.

“Those are really bad for your teeth, you know.” Mark smiled into the darkness, the gesture relieving some of the tension in his body. He knew Dylan wouldn’t understand the connection between his prior career and dental hygiene, but his cellmate’s ignorance made the scenario all the more amusing.

“Girlie mags, then?” His cellmate sounded increasingly desperate. “Whatever you want.”

“What I want is to be left alone.” The last thing Mark wanted was some fifth-hand porno magazine from the 1980s. Scum like Dylan would never understand he had rather specific proclivities that needed tending to. After the things he’d enjoyed with Fuller, no amount of pornography would ever satisfy him again. “Just go to sleep.”

“You just turned down the best offer you’ll get.” Dylan’s voice was full of scorn. “We could have got you what you wanted.”

What Mark wanted was for his true friends to sign the appropriate papers and expedite his early release. That’s what he’d been promised weeks ago. That’s what he longed for. He’d languished in the disgusting hellhole of a prison for long enough, and every time he closed his eyes, the mental picture of why he was there sprung into his head.

Hannah Bowman.

There had been plenty of women—recollections of their frantic faces as they clutched the bars of their cages were available to him any time he liked—but it seemed only one of them had the power to haunt him.

“You’ll regret it.” Dylan sounded annoyingly sure of himself.

Mark longed to wipe the cocky grin from his face, but some battles weren’t worth the effort.

“Just you wait and see…” His voice droned on, throwing around threats Mark had no interest in hearing, so he muted the grating noise coming from the bottom bunk.

Mark had other things on his mind.

Better things.

Far more enticing thoughts than those that were garnered from listening to Dylan ramble on.

For starters, Mark enjoyed musing on what he was going to do when he finally got out of jail. What he was going to do to the little girl who’d testified against him and stamped the final nail into his proverbial coffin, where he’d take her and all the fun times they’d have together.

By the time Dylan had stopped ranting, Mark had a clear mental image of her fate.

Hannah wouldn’t know what had hit her.