Contents
Copyright-Kindle
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Dedication
Acknowledgements
Book Blurb
Epigraph
Chapter One - Taken
Chapter Two - The Doorbell Rang
Chapter Three - Yes, Sir
Chapter Four - An Accident
Chapter Five - Why Would God Do That
Chapter Six - Confession
Chapter Seven - Homicide
Chapter Eight - Destroy The Evidence
Chapter Nine - At The Dumpsite
Chapter Ten - Crime Scene
Chapter Eleven - Get A Glimpse
Chapter Twelve - A Meeting
Chapter Thirteen - Memories
Chapter Fourteen - Son And Father
Chapter Fifteen - An Offer
Chapter Sixteen - Like Yesterday’s Trash
Chapter Seventeen - Rejected
Chapter Eighteen - Stung A Little
Chapter Nineteen - Ruthless
Chapter Twenty - My Little Brother
Chapter Twenty-One - Mentally Unstable
Chapter Twenty-Two - Grand Scheme Of Things
Chapter Twenty-Three - The Worst Drug Ever
Chapter Twenty-Four - At Ben Taub
Chapter Twenty-Five - It's Chicken
Chapter Twenty-Six - These Tough Gangster Types
Chapter Twenty-Seven - New Merchandise
Chapter Twenty-Eight - A Blue Infinity
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Slid A Finger
Chapter Thirty - Good Cop, Bad Cop
Chapter Thirty-One - She Was Watching
Chapter Thirty-Two - Like Diseased Dogs
Chapter Thirty-Three - A Little Blood
Chapter Thirty-Four - Pulled Out My Mossberg
Chapter Thirty-Five - The Bastard Cold Cocked Me
Chapter Thirty-Six - Spending Time In A Mental Clinic
Chapter Thirty-Seven - White As A Sheet
Chapter Thirty-Eight - That’s A Big Scar
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Turning The Pages
Chapter Forty - Loved Him Like No Other
Chapter Forty-One - Exterminating Roaches
Chapter Forty-Two - One Down One To Go
Chapter Forty-Three - Leave No Witnesses
Chapter Forty-Four - Towards The Front Door
Chapter Forty-Five - Feeling The Sweet Burn
Chapter Forty-Six - In A Pretty Yellow Dress
Chapter Forty-Seven - The Door’s Handle
Chapter Forty-Eight - The Grooves And Valleys
Chapter Forty-Nine - Rainwater On An Elephant’s Hide
Chapter Fifty - Patted The Pistol
Chapter Fifty-One - On The Coffee Table
Chapter Fifty-Two - Killed The Cops
Chapter Fifty-Three - Killing Anyone That Comes
Chapter Fifty-Four - In Cold Blood
Chapter Fifty-Five - An Espresso Machine
Chapter Fifty-Six - The Pain That Pulsated
Chapter Fifty-Seven - Waddling Down The Sidewalk
Chapter Fifty-Eight - Like A Hungry Dog
Chapter Fifty-Nine - Shoot Him On Site
Chapter Sixty - He Can Kill You
Chapter Sixty-One - Leaving It Unlocked
Chapter Sixty-Two - Shards Of Glass
Chapter Sixty-Three - The Metal Of The Barrel
Chapter Sixty-Four - Rules That Govern
Chapter Sixty-Five - A Wave Of Cold
Chapter Sixty-Six - There Was A Silence
Chapter Sixty-Seven - Delicious And Inexpensive
Chapter Sixty-Eight - Reminded Of The Evil
Chapter Sixty-Nine - Baytown Is Home
Chapter Seventy - Just Wanted To Die
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Human Trafficking
About Shawn
This ebook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First edition published as an eBook, September 2013.
All rights reserved.
“Ungoverned“
Copyright © 2017 Shawn Raiford
Kindle Edition
The right of Shawn Raiford to be identified as the author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
Front Cover Illustration by
Extended Imagery Kindle Edition.
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www.raifordwriting.com
Para mi hija, Milenna, and for my mother, Bonnie.
I could have never written this book if it were not for one person. She has helped me and supported me in every phase of this book. She is my first reader and first critic, giving me valuable advice along the way. She has shown me nothing but love and understanding when I doubted myself or just didn’t want to write anymore. She has, without question, helped me realize my dream of becoming an author.
Thank you Lilly Carbajal!
A sadistic child-sex trafficker orders a hit when two Houston Police Department Inspectors find a dead girl.
Meeting with Lukas Zimmerman, the man responsible for finding the hitter, Chloe—a ruthless contract killer, is offered the job, but violently declines the contract when she discovers that one of the marks is Henry, a man who’s life she values more than her own.
While zigzagging across the city of Houston, leaving bodies in her wake, Chloe learns that a monster—who she called, Uncle—has come back after twenty years in hiding.
Only Chloe possesses the brutal and cold-blooded skillset to deal with the monster and cadre of maniacs out to kill her and Henry.
Can she act fast enough to save this man she loves so dearly?
Be sure to get your copy of Ungoverned today! Fasten your seat belt, and join Chloe for an adrenaline-infused journey that will surly exhilarate and delight until the very last page!
“To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."
Friedrich Nietzsche
Chapter One
Taken
Los Reyes, Michoacán Mexico
Bernice’s hands trembled in her lap.
“Sit there and don’t talk!” the ugly man snapped in Spanish.
With big eyes and sealed lips, Bernice moved her head up and down. Her heart beat so fast and hard she thought it might jump right out of her chest like the alien did in that old movie.
Where are they taking me? What do they want?
Her mama had told her to never leave the house by herself, because she was too young to go out unescorted. But Bernice had forty pesos and wanted something sweet. The store was at the end of the block, so she snuck out of her house. It would only take five minutes.
She had bought a candy bar and a Pepsi, and was heading home down the empty sidewalk when this van pulled up to her, and its side door opened. The man who just yelled at her had appeared, close enough to reach out with one strong arm and grab her shirt, pulling her inside the van.
By now her mama knew she wasn’t at home, and Bernice hoped she
wouldn’t be too mad with her for sneaking out.
Maybe God had sent these two men to take her as His way of punishing her for not obeying her mama.
A warm sensation trickled in between her legs and butt, and when she finally reached down, her pants were wet.
She wanted to cry, but couldn’t.
The ugly man sat next to her and smelled gross, like her papa and uncle did when the family went to parties and they drank beer or whiskey.
The ugly man just grabbed her off the street and shoved her into this van. Her elbow and knee hurt from hitting edges of the armrest when he shoved her inside. She tried to scream when he grabbed her from the sidewalk, but he had put something over her mouth.
A young boy sat on the other side of her against the wall of the van. She remembered the boy from the plaza, his dad had a cart where he sold candy.
When Bernice went to the meat market with her mom or her abuela, this boy played with a street dog. Her abuela always told Bernice to never feed the dogs in the street, because they were dirty and nasty, and could bite her.
The boy started crying and she glanced at him as the ugly man hit him on his head.
Bernice didn’t dare say anything or start crying.
The ugly man and the man driving spoke in another language, which she was sure was English, but she didn’t understand them.
Bernice grabbed the boy’s hand, tears running down her cheek.
This was her punishment for disobeying her mama and she told God she was sorry.
Chapter Two
The Doorbell Rang
Houston, Texas—River Oaks
Bradley, looking like a well-dressed Gollum clutching his precious, sat behind the large, mahogany desk in his study, which spoke of luxury and wealth. Next to him, on the far wall opposite the entrance, the moon glinted through the study’s only window
He sat quietly, not moving, looking at a Polaroid picture, smiling at the memory of her, his finger tracing the soft, young lines of her smile. He would miss her innocence.
A cherubic face, jet black hair, and mocha skin, made Samantha so beautiful. Bradley truly enjoyed his time with the girl, cooking her meals, washing her clothes, braiding her hair, reading her bedtime stories, loving her so much, her corpse lying on the floor next to his feet.
The doorbell rang, snapping Bradley out of his reverie.
He placed the Polaroid in his desk drawer along with the others, and stood, expecting company. He walked towards the door, stopping in front of the big wall mirror in the hallway leading to the house entrance, checking his appearance. He made a couple of minor adjustments to his Armani tie and French cufflinks, making sure his Cartier timepiece showed. Then he picked imaginary lint off his sleeve, stepped towards the front door.
Bradley took a deep breath, opened the door to find a well-dressed, and clean-shaven man, wearing a gray, wool driving hat. The man’s nose supported thick black designer glasses. A fashionable jacket, a versatile military style in a thick wool blend draped across his shoulders, and a dark, knitted scarf wrapped around his neck. The shoes and gloves appeared to be Italian.
He did not see a timepiece, but Bradley liked him anyway. He stood stiffly. “Yes, can I help you?”
“Hello, good evening, sir. I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night. Are you BM?” The man asked in a heavy, New York City brogue.
“Maybe? Who are you?”
“I’m Art, I heard BM had a little problem,” he answered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
Bradley looked back down into Art’s eyes. “I’m BM. Please come in.” He moved to the side so Art had enough room to enter the house, and then closed the door.
Art pulled his hands out of his pockets, interlaced his fingers in front of him, and enquired, “Where is it?”
“Down there,” Bradley said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. “Please follow me.”
Chapter Three
Yes, Sir
They walked past what Art assumed to be the living room.
A truly massive room, filled with high-end furniture, a chandelier hanging like an old man’s beard from the high ceiling. He slowed to survey the room. Very nice.
He stopped momentarily to gaze at a painting, knowing nothing about fancy art. Prison didn’t offer any art appreciation classes. It only housed deadly, soulless animals.
If you weren’t a violent person when you entered prison, you were when you left, if you ever left. He never wanted to go back, happy to have this job. Mr. White, his boss, paid well, but could do without that psycho Carter, his right-hand man.
They walked down the hallway and entered a study.
A blanket was spread out on a section of the floor next to a large desk. Art grabbed the corner of the blanket and raised it to take a peek. A dead girl.
Art thought she might be ten years old, Hispanic, dressed like a doll, wearing a little white dress, white socks, and black shoes, with a small flower in her hair.
He was there only to dispose of the body, not to judge.
While in prison, he learned to keep his head down. He kept his nose out of any business that wasn’t his, it helped him to survive.
“She started crying and wouldn’t be quiet. Talking about wanting to be with her mommy. Can you believe that? I told her she didn’t have a mommy anymore, but she just kept on crying and I got angry. I tried to explain to her that she belonged to me now, but she didn’t listen to me.”
Art said nothing. All White’s clients were sick pervs, but this was the job.
“I guess I’ve been running low on sleep lately, and she just kept on crying. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I only wanted her to be quiet.” Bradley put his hand over his face, and the other on his hip.
He thought BM would cry, but didn’t.
Art inspected the body on top of an area rug. “I’m only here to help you.”
The rug appeared to be expensive, but would do the job. Art rolled the body up in it.
“Do we have to do it this way, Art?”
“Yes, sir.” Art picking up the rolled-up rug. Tossing it over his shoulder.
They made it to the front door when BM said, “I need to ask you something.”
Chapter Four
An Accident
After helping BM, Art drove down West Gray St, heading home.
The night was cold, and nice. He loved being out during nighttime. It was much quieter at night than the day. Less people to deal with at night. Art wasn’t much of a people person.
He thought about what BM asked him while he placed the body in his trunk. “I need another one, how soon can I get another one?”
Art dumped the body and was on his way home, then went straight to bed. BM would have to wait. He would give Carter a call first thing in the morning.
He glanced at one of those Smart cars moving next to him along the street and rolled his eyes. It moved like an oversized bug. He didn’t know much about Smart cars, but thought they were the dumbest thing the Germans did since Adolf.
He headed west on West Gray, approaching an intersection, Taft Street. He remembered that he needed to grab a few groceries before going home. He grabbed some TV dinners, Cokes, and a package of Snickers. Art didn’t have the best diet, but he was happy about not having anyone tell him he needed to eat better.
The memory of his ex-girlfriend entered his mind. She told him a couple of times to order a salad, instead of always having a burger or pizza. He told her that he had salad when he ate a burger, because he ate his burgers all the way. Tomatoes, onions, and lettuce.
The traffic light turned green. He halfway checked for oncoming traffic, and observed movement in his peripheral vision. A car, and he assumed it would stop.
The thoughts about his girlfriend lingered. Art thought how he would miss her blow-jobs. The woman could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.
Time slowed when Art heard metal hitting metal, glass shattering, and tires screeching. Jarred from forward motion, no
w moving in the wrong direction.
No time to question anything. Outside the windshield the world rotated. Something hit his head, but it didn’t hurt. He lost his grip on the steering wheel, and watched his arms thrash about in front of him.
Art lost count of the number of revolutions before darkness overtook him.
Chapter Five
Why Would God Do That
He awoke in a hospital, in the Ben Taub Medical Center.
His nurse, Julie, told him he was being heavily medicated. She informed him that his left arm, left leg, and four ribs were broken, not to mention he had a few hundred stitches in his body. She then told him that the doctor would be in to see him soon.
“Thanks.” The nurse, very easy on the eyes, had nice child-bearing hips. Pretty women made everything better, even hospital stays.
Bandages covered most of his body, he agreed with Julie and was glad to be on the pain meds.
She fluffed his pillow. “Do you have anyone that you want me to call Art?”
God, how he wished she would lean over and bury his face in her ta-tas. “Nah, not right now. Let me talk to the doc first.”
“No problem. Push that button if you need anything.” She then left him to rest.
An hour went by while Art flipped through a thousand channels on TV. Nothing was on, except stupid reality shows. Who gives a shit about stupid bimbos in California, and for that matter, Atlanta or New York?
“Hello,” said a male voice.
Art turned as a man approached. The man appeared to be a doctor. “Hello.”