I found the note sitting on the sink counter next to the empty bottle of pain killers she had taken.

A note that haunted me. That told me the truth.

A note that set my life in a whole new direction.

I spent a year in and out of foster care or in group homes before I finally decided I was better off on me own. Better off not having my shit stolen. Better off not having creepy foster fathers come in my room at night. Better off learning how to take care of myself, making my own way.

So that was what I did. Working whatever jobs would pay me under the table. Saving up. Getting cheap places to live. Buying myself the equipment I needed to start the process of slowly dismantling Lex Keith's life.

Closing in on ten years and I hadn't managed much. I siphoned a little money every year. Money that was tainted in blood so I rewired it and sent it to charities that helped women who survived sexual assault or domestic abuse. I had created a minor annoyance when I released a nasty bug into his cell and computer systems.

Mostly though... it had just been gathering information. Getting to know him. Learning how he operated.

Alright, so I was a little obsessed.

But taking him down was the only thing that mattered in my life.

Which was kind of sad if I thought about it.

So I didn't think about it.

I checked the time on my cell (a burner, I was like a drug dealer with an aversion to contract plans), powered down my laptop, put a bottle on the door (I couldn't afford the good kind of security and it was a bad area, but my methods had always proved effective enough), then I turned out the lights and got into bed.

The bottle crashed sometime after I had finally fallen asleep. My body moved before my mind was even awake enough to react consciously. I was half off the bed, my heart hammering hard in my throat, trying to grab one of the bats (or even one of the knives) that I had stashed around my bed.

The light flicked on, half blinding my sleep-tired eyes.

And then there was a man.

With a very nasty gun.

Pointed at me.

“Where the fuck is Alex Miller?” he demanded, his voice gruff, guttural and brooking absolutely no argument.

Actually, everything about him, head to toe, was intimidating, meant to scare the ever loving hell out of anyone he crossed paths with.

He was well over six feet of solid, unyielding muscle underneath his black jeans, tight black tee, and leather jacket. He had on huge, heavy combat boots and leather gloves. The gloves struck me as weird before I realized that he was likely trying to not leave fingerprints during whatever the hell he was going to do to me.

His shoulders were wide, pulled back. The hand holding his gun was steady. His head was shaved on the sides in a deep undercut, the hair on top long and falling to one side, a really pretty natural shade of blonde.

His face was strong. Wide of jaw, chiseled, with a full beard that was a shade or two darker than the hair on his head.

Then there were his eyes.

They were the lightest shade of blue I had ever seen. A color I could only describe as ice. And the look he was giving me, well, it matched.

If he wasn't there to possibly rape and murder me, I would have said he was really good looking. In a truly terrifying way.

“I'm Alex Miller,” I said, deciding to go with the truth. If he did any kind of digging at all, he would find that out for himself. I wasn't exactly in the position to piss off the bad guy.

And with that, to my utter shock, he looked stricken.

Like... maybe he didn't want me to be Alex Miller.

Why, I wasn't sure. But it was there. In the tightness around his eyes, his clenched jaw, the way his spine seemed to straighten all the more.

Then he was tucking the gun away and going through my purse to validate my claim. And then he took my purse. Slinging it over his shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It was then I realized what was going on. Because he didn't want my purse. He went through it. He was in my wallet. He knew I didn't have any money. So he would only take it with him if...

Oh god.

He was taking me.

“What the fuck did you get yourself into?” he asked, sounding sad almost. And resigned. Like he didn't want to do it, but he had to.

“I don't know what you're...” my sentence cut off as his hand moved out fast. I saw the flash of the needle before it plunged into the side of my neck, the pain sharp and instantaneous, making me cry out. My eyes flew up to his, silently begging, and to his credit, I saw regret there before my vision and mind started swimming.

Then there was nothing.

Blissful oblivion.

I woke up being jostled around, my body slamming down on something hard and cold. I felt my lashes flutter, but kept my eyes mostly closed, able to only see a slit of vision, but it was enough.

Enough to see that I was inside what looked like an old, dirty, gutted out train car, illuminated by construction lights hung from the roof of the car, the wires snaking out of the open doors where I heard some kind of humming noise. A generator. Outside the dirty windows, it looked like I was in a train station. Except it wasn't. Or, at least, it wasn't anymore. It was abandoned.

My captor turned back to me and I made my eyes shut completely, not wanting him to know I was awake yet. And then the weirdest freaking thing happened. He reached out and brushed my hair out of my face.

“Damn it,” he mumbled to himself, the words carrying some kind of weight that I found myself wanting to understand.

But then he was moving, from the sounds, away from me.

I slitted my eyes again and saw him manually closing the train car doors and doing something to them. I imagined, locking them somehow so I couldn't escape. Then he turned, shoulders slumped forward, as he tore up the staircase.

I slowly pushed myself upward, forcing my dead limbs to work, both annoyed and horrified when they moved like dead weight- completely useless to me. But I eventually got myself up into a seated position, looking around.

I was right. Gutted train car. There weren't even any seats. Just the metal hold bars for standing passengers and filth covered floors.

No. Not just filth covered.

Blood.

There was dried blood on the floor as well.

Damn it.

I knew it.

My heart refused to pound in my chest, still dulled by whatever drugs he had forced into my system. But the fear managed to permeate my foggy brain.

He was huge.

There was no way I would be able to fend him off. And I didn't have any kind of weapon on me. I was screwed. I was going to be tortured and end up in a dumpster or shallow grave somewhere.

Without taking down Lex Keith first.

God damn it.

All those years for nothing.

And he would just go on doing what he had always been doing with no one willing to stand up to him.

I might have been a girl. Young. Weak. But somehow I was the only one with the balls to chink his armor. How long would it take for someone else to step up?

Would anyone even bother?

I should have at least found a group who would release the incriminating evidence I had in the case of my disappearance or death. Just so the information was out there if someone started looking. So their job would be easier. God, I was so stupid. And arrogant. Thinking no one would touch me. That I had been careful. I had been careful. But there was simply no such thing as careful enough when you were dealing with someone who ran a criminal empire.

Great.

That was just great.

I should have created fall backs. I wasn't exactly dealing in legal operations. I was fucking with people's lives in my business. People got pissed off and did stupid things. Like having girls kidnapped.