Any Means Necessary

I have a date. A first date.

Take deep, slow breaths. 

This will be good. I’ll meet up with him, get a few drinks, have some flirty conversation. Maybe make-out a little if the mood is right. It’ll be fun… right?

At the very least I’ll meet someone new and check out a cool bar in the city. Not to mention it’s a few hours not spent fantasizing about the sexy man back at the penthouse that I’m trying desperately to maintain a professional relationship with—I could cut the sexual tension between us with a knife.

Agreeing to go on a date with the golden retriever boy from the dating app has me more nervous than I’d like to admit. I know I look good in my pretty periwinkle dress with a corset top and puff sleeves. I feel pretty and confident. The word shy has never been used to describe me. But I am a little jittery, just like I am before every first date. It’s only natural.

My phone chimes with a location pin and a message from Eric. ‘Waiting for you in the alley near the south entrance.’ Why would he want me to meet him in the alleyway behind the parking garage? Parking is ridiculously expensive in the city, especially in this neighborhood. I assumed we’d be taking the subway.

My hand tightens on the taser in my purse as I round the corner.

Eric stands a few feet down the alleyway, I recognize his mop of black curls from his photos. He stands stiffly, dwarfed by the bulky frame of the man standing right behind him. I stare at the man, the air leaving my lungs. Hazel eyes stare at me over my date’s head.

“Callum.” His name is ripped out of me by the shock, my heart rate picking up speed. One large tattooed arm is wrapped firmly across Eric’s chest, pinning him in place. The glint of gleaming metal catches the light, making me feel like I’m going to vomit.

“I’m surprised you’d meet us back here. I thought you’d be smarter than to meet a man off the internet in a back alleyway. People are found dead in places like this all the time.” Callum’s condescending tone is laced with something terrifying—a deadly intent that matches the darkness in his eyes as he presses the large knife to his captive’s throat.

“Why are you doing this? Let him go.” I inch closer, unable to focus on anything other than the sharp blade pressing angrily against delicate skin. Eric’s eyes on me are a silent cry for help, his breaths coming out in harsh bursts through his nose. I stare back at him, just as powerless to the man holding us both hostage.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, Lexie. But you were drunk, so I’ll make an exception just this once,” Callum says. “I will slit the throat of any man who thinks they can have you.” He means it, and even worse—he intends to carry out this threat while we’re standing here.

“Don’t.” I choke on the word, the air leaving my lungs doesn’t seem to be returning as I try to suck in. “Please, don’t.”

“You didn’t take me seriously the first time. I’m sure you won’t make that mistake again.” He drags the knife across Eric’s neck in an agonizingly slow, controlled movement. The skin slices easily under the sharp edge. “Get on a dating app again, I’ll kill every man who thinks they have a chance with you. You’ll watch as I split them open from ear to ear.”

Eric’s eyes widen in agony as blood ribbons from the clean sever. The choking sound that’s ripped from him echoes between the buildings, a sound that will haunt my dreams until the day I die.

“Stop,” I plead, tears pricking behind my eyes. “I won’t even look at another man. Please, just stop.” It’s a promise.

Callum’s blade pauses its movement, leaving the job half finished. His dark eyes drill into me, a harbinger of death and destruction. Completely unrepentant for the carnage he leaves in his wake, demanding more when it fits his needs.

Any relief I feel when he removes the knife and steps back is squashed when Roscoe steps forward in Callum’s place. In three long strides, Callum is in front of me, towering like the grim reaper. One of his hands is at my waist, the other gripping my skull, spearing through my hair roughly at the nape of my neck. I crane to look him in the eye like his hold demands.

“I don’t know how I can make this any more clear to you. You’re mine, Lexie. No one else gets to have you.” His fury ripples in waves beneath his cold, calm exterior. “Understand?”

“Yes.” My response comes out defeated.

“Good.” Callum gives a quick nod and Roscoe allows Eric to slump to the ground like a bag of rocks, gasping and sputtering. He gapes like a trout floundering on land, clutching at his throat in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It’s no use. Callum stopped slicing half way, but the cut is deep—definitely hitting the carotid artery.

The blood is gushing too fast, spurting in the rhythm of his erratic heartbeat, and Eric is already fading. I move to help him, every instinct in my body screaming at me to save him. But Callum’s punishing grip yanks me back, forcing me to watch helplessly as the man slowly expires.

“We’re leaving,” Callum announces, pulling me a step towards the garage. I dig in my heels, pushing against his hold in an attempt to resist. His hand in my hair tightens painfully, keeping me on a very short leash.

“I can’t let him die. Let me help him.” He leverages his hold on me until I’m looking up at him, his gaze demanding to be my sole focus. “Please, Cal.”

“Once you’re in the car I’ll let you call for help and maybe they get to him in time.” His hand in my hair turns my head to look at the man bleeding out on the pavement, the man who will die. Because of me. “Or we can both stand here and watch as he bleeds out.”

In the close proximity, my chest presses against Callum with each shallow breath. His domineering presence engulfs me. I’m so overwhelmed with emotion, an eerie numbness settles over my body. I don’t want to leave Eric like this, he’s nice. But I don’t really have any other choice, not if leaving with Callum gives Eric a chance to survive. I can’t stand here and watch him die, I’ll never get over it.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what? Use your words, Lexie.” The words are said in both taunt and triumph.

“Okay, I’ll get in the fucking car.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his eyes lighting with victory. My loathing for this man swells, anger leaving a bitter taste in my mouth as I allow Callum to pull me away. Unable to help myself, I twist to cast a glance over my shoulder, trying to get one last look at Eric before we turn the corner. Roscoe’s crouching over him, probably promising to finish the job if Eric breathes a word to the authorities when the ambulance arrives.

True to his word, Callum pulls out his cell phone once I’m buckled in the car and allows me to call 911. Keeping it short and vague, I inform the operator that a man is bleeding out and provide her with the location before hanging up.

“Do you think they’ll make it in time?” I ask. Pulling out into traffic Callum holds out a hand for his phone, his expression telling me he doesn’t give a shit. Guilt gnaws at me, making me nauseous. My arms wrap around my middle, hugging myself in an attempt to stop feeling so sick to my stomach. Sirens sound around the corner and I pray that’s Eric’s rescue.

“Probably. If not, I’m sure his wife will make good use of his life insurance.”
“Wife?” I couldn’t have heard him right.

“Yes, wife.” Callum over enunciates the word. “Eric and Jenna have been married for three years now. He never mentioned that?”

“No, of course not.” Married? I’m gonna be sick.

“Then he probably didn’t mention their one year old daughter, Stevie.” My stomach rolls. “Seems like you both have a thing for wanting what already belongs to someone else.”

“Pull over. I’m going to be sick.” He has a daughter and a wife. Cheating bastard. Oh god, I’m not just a homewrecker. I probably just made some poor woman a widow and a baby girl fatherless.

“No, you’re not,” he says, weaving through traffic. “You’re going to breathe slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

“You’re a sick bastard. The fact that you probably just killed someone in broad daylight doesn’t bother you at all.”

“No, it doesn’t. His decisions led him there, just like yours led you here,” he states, swinging the car into the parking garage.

“Going on a date with someone you met online doesn’t mean you deserve to die. Cheater or not.”

“That fucker deserves worse that what I did to him. I would say that you should really try to pick better next time, but there isn’t going to be a next time,” Callum says darkly.

As soon as the car is in park, I’m wrenching the car door open. Callum’s getting out right behind me, slamming his door shut behind him. When his hand grasps my elbow to stop me, I whirl on him.

“There was no way for me to know he’s married.” I’m practically shouting, my voice echoing off the walls of the parking garage. “Eric isn’t a monster, he’s not like you. He was fun to talk to. It’s next to impossible to find guys on dating apps that aren’t total creeps, let alone ones who can carry a conversation. And he was nice.”

“Nice.” He snarls the word like it disgusts him.

“Yes, nice,” I repeat, seething. “You wouldn’t understand that, Callum. You’ve never done anything for anyone that wasn’t directly profitable to you in some way. But some people actually care about others without wanting something from them.”

“Oh really? Here.” Reaching into his pocket, Callum pulls out something and tosses it at me. I catch it, confused. It’s a tiny ziplock about the size of my palm holding about half a dozen small white tablets.
“What is this?” I ask, agitated. He’s trying to distract me from the point.

“That’s Rohypnol. I found it in that asshole’s wallet,” Callum says. “I wasn’t going to show you this, but since you seem to think he’s so nice.”

“Rohypnol?” I stare at the tablets, my mind racing.

“Apparently your date had a lot more planned for you than just dinner and drinks. He definitely wanted something from you, whether you were willing to give it to him or not. Still think he’s not a monster?” he rumbles darkly. I shake my head, Eric’s friendly smile flashing through my mind. There’s no way. Callum could’ve gotten these anywhere.

“I don’t believe you.” I can’t. But even as I deny it, my stomach begins to sink. A dark luxury SUV pulls into the parking garage, rounding the corner and turning expertly into a parking space. My hand closes around the bag, crumpling it tightly in my fist.

“You think I’m lying?” Callum challenges angrily. “Roscoe was there. Ask him.” His words are punctuated by the sound of a car door closing. Roscoe steps out from around the driver’s side, his eyes darting between us as he gauges the situation he’s walking in on. He stops to stand warily a few feet from me and Callum, the third point in a triangle.

“Roscoe, what did you find in Eric’s wallet?” I ask, my voice shaking. Roscoe looks at me for a moment before turning to his boss. Callum nods to him.

“Tell her.” With permission, Roscoe’s eyes cut to me again hesitantly.

“Date rape drugs,” he states finally. “Roofies.” The air leaves my lungs harshly, my brows coming together as I stare first at Roscoe then at Callum. Meeting his hazel gaze, I blink—once, twice, three times—as I process the realization of what might have happened to me tonight.

Eric had seemed so kind, the conversation was fun and flirty. In the years I’ve been on dating apps, I thought I’d mastered how to weed out the crazies and predators. How could I have gotten him so wrong? The man was married with a child, for god’s sake. Sleeping with him wasn’t the goal for tonight, the plan was to meet him and see where the night would take me. Apparently it would’ve taken me to be drugged. Roofied.

Raped.

Taking the few steps to close the gap between us, I slap the bag of roofies against Callum’s chest. “You’re right, I sure know how to pick ’em.” Stepping back, he catches the baggie before it falls to the ground. A line appears between Callum’s brows as I turn to Roscoe.

“I don’t want to be here. Can you please take me to Harlem?” I ask him, struggling to remain calm.

“Lexie…” I ignore Callum’s warning, gazing at Roscoe expectantly. Roscoe looks between me and his employer, the muscle ticking in his jaw.

“If you don’t drive me, I’ll take an uber.” My tone makes it very clear that I’m not asking permission to leave, just looking for a ride. One way or another, I’m getting the fuck out of here. Keeping my eyes on Roscoe, I watch him have a silent conversation with his boss. After a long moment, I get tired of waiting and turn on my heel to start walking towards the exit.

“Come back, Lexie. I’ll drive you,” Roscoe calls, making me stop half away to the street entrance. I turn to look at him, ignoring the other pair of eyes fixed on me as I try to decide if I believe it. He jerks his head towards the car, his expression serious. If he’s lying to get me back over there, I’m gonna lose my shit.

Relenting, I walk back towards the men, giving them a wide radius as I head straight to the car. Callum and Roscoe exchange a few more hushed words before Roscoe meets me at the car.

Climbing into the passenger seat, I sit stiffly while I wait for the car to start. Even when the engine is started, we don’t move. A large figure approaches my side and the window is being rolled down without permission. Callum stands on the other side of the door staring me down, tension coming off him in waves. I meet his gaze head on, not even trying to hide my anger and contempt. He runs a hand over his beard, leaning into the open window to speak through clenched teeth.

“If you’re not back by morning, I’m coming to get you,” he states tersely.

“You got it, boss,” I say coldly, pulling my eyes from his to sit back in my seat and stare straight ahead. Callum doesn’t budge for what feels like an hour, then finally pushes off the window and takes a step back. Roscoe backs the car out of the spot and navigates us out into the city traffic. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“He admitted it, you know. Eric.” Roscoe speaks up after twenty minutes of silence. “He told us what he was going to do to you.” His announcement has my head turning to look at him. I knit my brows, my gut wrenching at the mere thought of it. His knuckles turn white with his death grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight.

“Was that before or after Callum started torturing him?” We both know the answer, Roscoe’s silence only confirms it. Callum might have stopped me from getting raped, but he’s no hero. “That’s what I thought.”