Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1)

  Red Widow

  Nathan Wilson

  Red Widow is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2013 Nathan Wilson

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved.

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  Cover art: Photography by Ben Heys and Triff

  Discover other titles by Nathan Wilson at Smashwords.com:

  The Undying God

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  ONE

  Vivian Xu lifted her porcelain face to the night sky as raindrops fell. Neon lights wavered in the puddles splashed on the streets, casting a fiery glow on the city of Prague. Her hourglass silhouette sped through the rain, past cafes and night clubs pulsing to the beat of cyberpunk.

  With a quick twist of her ankle, she turned into a maze of alleys that tunneled through the downtown precinct. Nikolai had expressly told her to avoid the front door for obvious reasons.

  Her appearance at the police station would no doubt sow rumors among the officers, a potential stain on Nikolai’s reputation. They couldn’t allow that, now could they? No one could know what would transpire tonight.

  Vivian paused outside a door in the alley and gulped down her anxiety. She was twenty minutes late. Perhaps he had already abandoned hope of her arrival and left. Maybe he would collect her the following day as punishment.

  She shivered at the memory of those handcuffs pinching her wrists. Vivian found herself stroking the marks they left on her fragile arms.

  Her heart skipped erratically as she wrenched open the door and stepped inside. The office was bathed in a bluish glow. The light cast a pall across a dark figure slouched over his desk.

  For a moment, Vivian thought Nikolai Koslov was dead. Then she saw the glitter of his serpentine eyes and she knew that blood still flowed through his cold veins. He was concentrating intently on the crime reports in front of him. Raising his head from the compilation of reality’s horror stories, he smiled coyly at Vivian.

  Had she declined his invitation, she would inevitably be looking at him from behind iron bars.

  Nikolai’s dark hair glistened with rain from poking his head into the alley in search of her. Nonetheless, her delay was acceptable; he could not afford to alienate her now.

  He smiled handsomely at his guest as she sidled into the chair opposite from him.

  “I’m glad you could see me today,” Nikolai said, granting her the illusion of choice. “We’re going to discuss the matter of your attempted homicide.”

  His words were like a vice clenching her airway. Suddenly, Vivian could imagine being arraigned before a court of strangers, held without bail, confined to a filth-encrusted cell. Her earnings had been confiscated and she couldn’t afford a lawyer. She could claim to be destitute, but she would be appointed an incompetent lawyer like all the downtrodden souls. Maybe she could sneak back to her apartment and access the hidden cache of money under her mattress…

  “No one knows about what you’ve done except for me,” Nikolai remarked, interrupting her fantasy. “I’m the only barrier between you and prison.” Ever cautious, Vivian searched his face for signs of deceit, the slightest twitch of his lips or gleam in his eyes.

  “Aren’t you committing a crime by concealing what I’ve done?”

  “I’ve already filled out a report. But let’s say I misplaced it.” He looked down at the newspaper clippings on his desk, and Vivian found herself mesmerized by the words. Family files missing report in slew of mysterious disappearances.

  Nikolai dropped hints here and there about a case that had perplexed the authorities for months. Sometimes, he would have news reports strewn across his desk as though monitoring the media outlets. Perhaps there was something related to the investigation he did not want leaked.

  “What do you know about the disappearances around Prague?” he asked.

  “You mean the runaways?”

  “Is that the headline the media is running with now?” She reached for the article but Nikolai’s hand fell like a guillotine, scraping it closer toward himself.

  “You want me to help track down these women?”

  “No, Vivian, that won’t be necessary. We found them.” Her gaze fell to the folder on his desk. “Contrary to what the media has been feeding you, these women were dragged from their apartments and butchered. Each one.”

  “Sounds like you have your hands full.”

  “No, Vivian. You do.” Her thin eyebrows arched with intrigue.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Nikolai folded his hands and peered at her from across his desk. He must have perfected that calculating gesture many times as he gambled with criminals’ lives over morsels of information.

  “Despite what you may think of me, I am your only ally in this Godforsaken world. You have one last chance to re-enter society, Vivian. I only ask for a favor in return.” The young woman threw her head back and laughed.

  “My life has consisted of nothing but favors. Here, I thought you were different from most men.”

  “I’m sure it’s not your usual request.”

  “You have no idea the things I’ve done.”

  “And I prefer to keep it that way. The less I know, perhaps the less compelled I will feel to arrest you. Now you have a decision to make, possibly the most significant decision in your life; spend the next few years of your life in prison or take a risk.”

  “What does that risk entail?”

  “If you aid me in my search for this killer, consider all charges against you dropped.” He flipped casually through photos associated with the case, keeping them just out of periphery of the light. “Your aggravated assault charge will be dropped, as will your numerous… solicitations.”

  “This case means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Nikolai inclined his head to regard her with bloodshot eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in the past twenty-four hours. From the looks of his workspace, he had been frantically searching for something—likely a resolution to the case.

  “Yes,” he stoically replied. “This sick freak needs to be stopped. You have no idea what he has done.”

  “Maybe you should enlighten me before sending me into danger.” A sly smile creased his lips.

  “Trust me, you don’t fit his type. I doubt you will come to harm.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I am protecting you from emotional distress, Vivian. You don’t want to see the photos.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No! Under no cir
cumstance is anyone to see the evidence collected here. The inevitable media frenzy will destroy this case. For all the killer knows, his crimes have gone undetected. If the public learned about this…” He shook his head. “The community doesn’t need to know.”

  “They don’t need to know that a psycho is on the loose?”

  “Are you familiar with the proverb ‘Ignorance is bliss?’” Vivian watched him toy with his pen, wondering where this would lead. He smiled innocently. “Don’t shatter the public’s fragile state of bliss.”

  * * *

  Vivian puffed a cigarette in the alley, excusing herself from the clandestine meeting. She didn’t like the path Nikolai was leading her down. How many others had he extorted under similar circumstances? Was she just another casualty in a long list of forsaken souls striving to re-enter society? She ground her heel into the cigarette on the concrete, extinguishing its last gasp of smoke.

  Vivian thrust the door open to the office. Nikolai’s eyes were fixed on the doorway as though his gaze could penetrate the walls and observe her.

  The scent of smoke trailed Vivian as she begrudgingly rejoined her “only ally.”

  “I’m confident you can help me,” Nikolai urged, wasting no time. “Your relations with the… shady sect of Prague will give you an edge. You can do things that I cannot do as a member of law enforcement.”

  “What exactly?”

  “You can gain their trust.” He leaned back in his chair with a boisterous sigh. “Vivian, how do you want this night to end?”

  “I want to wake up and learn this was just a terrifying dream.” Nikolai regarded her with a façade of pity. Perhaps his sympathy was genuine.

  “And if you don’t wake up… then what?”

  “I wish I could turn back. I wish I had never …” She didn’t need to elaborate on that thought. Nikolai already knew what she was guilty of. “I wish I found a better way to pay for college.” Nikolai reached into a metal drawer and produced a manila folder.

  “I have your academic transcript from college. You have a G.P.A. of 3.8, well above the average. Your first two years at college were strewn with 4.0’s. Why is a smart girl like you on the streets?”

  “I… I don’t know anymore.”

  “I’m willing to help you, Vivian. I can drop the charges against you and aid you in the application process for a university.” Her eyes lit up like once hazy streetlamps infused with light. Albeit, her eyes glistened with scarlet contacts that would no doubt keep wary travelers at bay. “I will arrange for scholarship opportunities,” Nikolai continued. “You have the potential to amount to so much more than… this. The reward for information leading to the arrest of this killer is substantial. Do you realize how much it is?”

  “No,” Vivian confessed.

  “Fifty thousand American dollars. I’m willing to give you sixty percent of the reward.”

  “Sixty percent?”

  “You honestly think I need the money? Breaking this case will catapult me to fame and pull me out of this wretched hole. I’ll have my time to make a higher salary when I’m promoted.”

  “How can the police afford a reward like that?”

  “You have no idea the kind of figures drawn to this case, people with deep pockets… The victims’ families are hungry for justice, or more appropriately, retribution.”

  And you’re going to feed this killer to them, Vivian thought. The fog of her thoughts scattered at his husky voice.

  “Scholarship opportunities lie within your reach. The only thing hanging over your head is a brief criminal record. And I can expunge that. Your freedom is hanging by a thread, and it all comes down to whether you say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

  Vivian almost felt like the recipient of a perverse wedding proposal. Her composure melted away in face of the looming choice. Her heart fluttered like a sparrow thrashing to break free. While they wouldn’t exchange vows or diamond rings, they would almost certainly forge an alliance for better or worse, in sickness and in hell. They would become more intimate than most couples. After all, what could be more intimate than delving into the realm of a serial killer together?

  Vivian looked down at the numerous crime reports sprawled before her and her gaze swung back to Nikolai. He outstretched his hand in a tempting gesture that would dissolve a year’s worth of crimes.

  How could she resist?

  * * *

  Vivian basked in the caressing downpour outside the office. If not for her amoral past, she wouldn’t be standing in this alleyway, pondering her uncertain future.

  Vivian had always dreamt of obtaining her license as a registered nurse, but that future seemed shrouded in the distance. She had spent countless nights poring over anatomy charts and medical journals. Ironically, she didn’t want to know any more about anatomy now, having seen far too much skin in her profession. Her second year of college was financed by collecting tips at a strip club, scraping together what little she could.

  Discouragement came in the form of a letter that arrived one summer evening, informing her she failed to meet expectations for the nursing program. Vivian immediately crumpled up the letter and screamed into her pillow, devastated by the blow.

  What now? Would she spend another year trapped in basic courses before administrators reviewed her application? She should be complaining to her boyfriend about how her professors scheduled all their exams at the same time, while he plants a consoling kiss on her cheek.

  That boyfriend was a fantasy. Her parents may as well have faded into another dimension, too.

  Vivian closed her eyes as the rain misted her eyelashes, mercifully disguising her tears. She would likely never reunite with her mother and father under pleasant circumstances. They were revolted when they learned how she financed her education.

  Her father discovered a wad of cash in her jacket, triggering an explosion of events that played out like a pile-up collision. He accused her of dishonoring their family and threatened to pull her from college. His threats escalated to include talk of a rehabilitation program. The idea of being transported across the Czech Republic for a special sex victims program horrified her. She would be isolated from family and friends, monitored like an inmate in an institution.

  Her parents arranged for social workers to collect her the next day like an animal in need of euthanasia. That night, Vivian pictured the uniformed men who would come for her, their hands outstretched to take her away. Like any cornered animal, she scavenged her belongings and fled into the night. Her escape was paved with the scarlet fog of neon lights, leading her to the gentlemen’s club that had altered her life in so many ways.

  The manager reluctantly agreed to let her lodge at the establishment, providing her with a room no larger than a closet. However, her paycheck continually shrank over the following weeks. When Vivian confronted her boss about the cuts, he tallied up the cost to “housing expenses.”

  After a month of holing up, Vivian stepped foot outside the club with a new level of initiative. She would operate by her own rules. She carved a niche for herself in the alleys of Prague, treating her customers to whatever they desired—within certain limitations.

  Perhaps it was no coincidence she specialized in “pain and pleasure.” It was conceivably her only way to express the frustration and contempt that festered within. Sometimes she didn’t hold back when a man solicited her for domination. Guilt mingled with pleasure when she hurt the disgusting males who viewed her as a toy.

  Her medical future seemed to slip further away with every exchange of cash that passed from a man’s hands into hers. Instead of healing others, she was inflicting pain.

  Adding to her sensational list of offenses, she had nearly committed murder two months ago. She had crossed the line with one customer, a line that manifested itself in yellow police tape stretched across the alley. She could still picture the blood freshly splashed across the pavement, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember the source of the red river.

  The n
ext thing she recalled were icy handcuffs sinking their fangs into her wrists. Before she knew it, she was babbling for mercy in front of Nikolai, promising to do anything to avoid prosecution.

  He served his judgment in a chilling ultimatum she wouldn’t dare refuse: Become a criminal informant or share a cell with other felons. Vivian lunged at the opportunity to stay afloat the court system. Even the prospect of working alongside a homicide detective seemed a viable alternative.

  Consider this your community service, he so eloquently said.

  One glance at Vivian was enough to confuse her with any ordinary inhabitant of the streets, certainly not a criminal informant. A waterfall of red hair rippled down her back, streaked with cherry black highlights. Flora, angels, and ancient script were inked into her flesh.

  Vivian boasted a petite face worthy of gracing magazines, not these desolate alleys. She was blessed with an exotic level of beauty, although she often regarded it as a curse. She clearly saw the way men viewed her, their eyes flickering from her body to her face. They would study her from afar, peeping at her eyes, wondering if her face was asymmetrically set just right.

  To fifty percent of the world, she was just a body to fulfill their lust, not a person to be loved.

  She sighed in exasperation. Love was just a figment anyway, something invented by romantic films, novels, and American Valentine’s card companies. For all the healing power of love, more than half of marriages imploded in divorce.

  Besides, what kind of man would take her as his bride now?

  She glanced down at her bare midriff. An hourglass-shaped birthmark glistened on her belly, earning her the title of Red Widow. Her vicious behavior toward her male recipients no doubt contributed to the notorious moniker.

  Vivian piqued every eye that fell upon her, taunting men who knew she would fulfill their most wicked fantasies.