Chapter 3 Face to face with the monster

The house was larger than she'd expected and for a moment Autumn sat in the car, jaws clenched, wondering what percentage of it was bought with the blood Finn Maxwell had spilled seven years ago almost to the hour. Slipping the balaclava back over her head, she left the car and sprinted to the front gate, hoping that there wasn't another woman warming his bed in his wife's absence. Cayennes men weren't renowned for their faithfulness. The gate was secured with a length of chain and a solid-looking padlock that would take several minutes to pick. She didn't have time to tackle it and didn't want to use the small bolt cutter she'd brought along. She'd seen too many stories where the cutting edges of tools had linked perpetrators to the crimes they had committed. Instead, placing her hand on the top of the concrete wall, she vaulted smoothly into the yard. She didn't bother trying the front door. From the size of the lock on the gate, Finn appeared to take his security seriously. Back door locks were generally easier to access-people often spent money and effort securing the front of their property but left the rear exposed. Finn was no exception and Autumn was in the house in less than a minute. The man's nephew had slept with a nightlight, like a child keeping night terrors at bay. The glow had helped her easily navigate her way to his bed. There were no lights on in Finn's house; he clearly had no fear of the dark. But Autumn had come prepared. Pulling out the newly purchased EyeClops night vision goggles from her backpack, she slipped them on over her head. As she surveyed the kitchen, taking note of the placement of objects, the sound of heavy, even breathing from above reached her ears. The snores led her up the stairs and to the largest-looking of the three bedrooms. And there, thankfully alone, sprawled on his back and naked except for dark-colored briefs was the man who had irrevocably changed her life. Autumn stood glaring down at him. A slowly oscillating fan used either to keep him cool or keep mosquitoes at bay, swept over her as it passed and chilled the cold sweat that she realized now covered her body. Even lying down, he was still the physically imposing monster she remembered, though his stomach now protruded like a woman in her first trimester. His once enviable, thick, jet-black head of hair had receded and was now speckled with gray. He should be fucking banged up in jail, she thought, vulnerable and at the mercy of younger, stronger men who, if there was any justice in the world, would use and abuse him without mercy night and day. Instead, he was laid out in the comfort of his bed, totally relaxed, sleeping the sleep of the dead. She would make that a permanent state. It's just a pity that he won't know what hit him, she thought as she reached backward for her knife. He had boasted often about being bulletproof, saying that he'd returned from his tour of Iraq without a scratch. Let's see if you're knife-proof, too. She unsheathed the knife and took a steadying breath as she wrapped both hands securely around the handle. Fuelled by seven years of rage, she brought it up and over his broad, lightly-furred chest, positioning the blade so that it would plunge straight into his heart. Seconds ticked by as she stood frozen in place, not believing that now the moment had come...she...couldn't...do...it. This was all she thought of doing for the last seven years. This was what she'd carefully planned for months. This was what he deserved. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't kill another human being in cold blood, no matter how vile he was. She just couldn't do it. Backing slowly away from the bed, she sheathed the knife, automatically securing the clasp so that it didn't fall out as she made her escape. The bitter taste of bile filled her throat as a band of disappointment squeezed her chest, emptying the air from her lungs. She knew that she had to get out, had to get to safety before the blackness at the edges of her vision completely enveloped her. Taking a trembling breath, she reached out a hand to the nearby wall to steady herself. The framed photo she hadn't noticed was dislodged and started to fall, its metal surround grating against the painted concrete wall. She caught it before it hit the ground. "What the fuck?" Finn Maxwell sprung upright with shocking speed, his right hand delving beneath his pillow and unearthing a silver object in the same movement. Stupid fool! She raged at herself as she grabbed for the knife, taking several hasty steps backward, giving herself room to throw it. The man was not only a highly-trained military operative, he was a cold-blooded killer. How could she have so grossly miscalculated his capabilities? How could she have not anticipated him being armed in bed? The knife's handle resisted the tug of her hand. Damn! She'd forgotten the thick leather safety strap. She fumbled with it, bracing herself as Finn raised his arm and pointed the object in her direction. This is the end, she thought dully. But relief instantly replaced her fear. She welcomed death. It had cheated her seven years ago-Finn had intended a through shot that would have killed both her and Stella. Instead, the bullet had ricocheted off one of Stella's ribs and exited her older sister's side. Just as Autumn recognized its shape, Finn switched on the torchlight and flashed its powerful beam straight into her eyes. Most people would scream in terror to be awakened from a deep slumber by something that looked like a creature from another planet with three black protuberances on its face. Finn Maxwell wasn't most people. He swept the flashlight down the length of her body, visibly relaxed, and then laughed scornfully. "Who are you, bitch?" "The bitch you should have also killed seven years ago!" she spat back at him, throwing caution to the wind, bristling with rage that with one glance he'd dismissed her as a potential threat because she was a woman. "Is that you, little Bae, all grown up and sexy?" She wanted to scream that he had no right to call her by the nickname her family had used. The family he'd killed.