The Monster Hunter Ch. 11-20

Red Wings. Turning them over, she recognized the pattern. "It doesn't mean anything," she told herself. "It's one of the most common work boots around." She set them back down and walked out to hand the clothes to Daniel. He pulled them on, and they walked downstairs together.

Angel started reheating their dinner, and the smells of Thai food had them both hungry. They ate chicken satay, fried calamari, and shrimp pad thai, all washed down with Singha imported beer. When the leftovers were in the fridge, she made him wash up thoroughly. "No touching the lady bits with Thai spice residue on your hands," she warned.

"The voice of experience?" He laughed at her as she rolled her eyes. "I made salsa once and learned not to touch your junk after cutting jalapenos."

"Same idea." When they finished, she took his hand and led him back upstairs. This time, she was the aggressor, pushing him back onto the bed after pulling his shorts down to his ankles. Angel tossed her shirt aside before climbing over him into a 69. It only took a minute before he was so hard a lineman couldn't climb it, and she was more than ready for him. Scooting forward on her knees, she grabbed his thick cock with one hand and settled down onto it in a reverse cowgirl. "Riding time," she said as she started moving up and down.

"Giddyup."

Ch. 16

Angel woke up to a bad dream. It was not the worst of the ones in her rotation, but it was bad enough that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. She closed her eyes, shaking her head to clear the images of her abusers from her head. Looking over at her clock, it was five-thirty in the morning. She moved the arm from across her hip and slid out of bed.

She felt that delicious ache from her lady bits as she stood up. She was a little saddle sore from all the riding time last night, but it was worth it. Daniel was a fantastic lover, and she'd never had someone like him in her bed.

His ex-wife was a fool.

She made her way to the bathroom, grabbing workout clothes out of her dresser along the way. She was out of the bedroom and in the basement gym ten minutes later, doing her yoga routine to stretch out. When she finished, she put on gloves and went over to the heavy bag. Taking her MMA stance, she started with jabs, dancing around the bag as it rocked back and forth. She started mixing in combos, including kicks and knees.

She had a good sweat going when the images came into her head again. Hundreds of guys had paid to use her as a young girl, but some were worse than others. The easiest repeat 'clients' didn't even use her for sex; they liked to take a bath with her or feel her up while reading her stories. The next level would use her for sex but didn't try to hurt her. The ones who liked to hurt her? They were the ones who haunted her dreams.

She'd identified seven of her attackers by the time she graduated from college, using public databases of convicted sex offenders. She found the same problem that Michael ran into with the coach; her witness was worth almost nothing due to her age at the time of the abuse. With no corroborating evidence, no District Attorney would take the case on. She kept mug shots of them on a bulletin board at home, then in her Milwaukee apartment after her parents died.

She'd only watched two of the seven get justice under the law, both in more recent cases of abuse. She sat in the courtroom while the victims spoke of their suffering, and the judges sentenced them to long prison terms.

Two more died before she could face them. One fell asleep while smoking in bed and died in the resulting house fire while she was in college. The other was the Monster Hunter's third victim, five years ago. The last sighting of Corey Underwood was of him riding out of the parking lot of trailhead in Janesville in late September. A month later, hunters forty miles away found his body next to his ATV. The Monster Hunter gagged him, then tied his feet to a tree, and attached his bound hands to the winch on the front of his ATV. The Medical Examiner said stretching could have taken hours, dislocated his joints one after another. The winch finally ripped his arms free, causing him to bleed to death. It was the medieval rack torture using modern equipment.

The other three she was keeping an eye on. Sooner or later, they'd do something, and she would watch them go down for it. She'd promised herself and Michael that she would get them after she joined the FBI.

As she continued her workout, she imagined the face of the man she'd dreamed of earlier. Her punches hit harder as she remembered him holding her arms together behind her back and pulling her hair as he abused her. She sent a flurry of kicks into the bag, making it dance before she grabbed it and started kneeing it violently. She pushed the bag away and nailed it with a brutal spinning kick, and then she heard the applause.

"Feel better?"

Angel had her hands on her hips, breathing hard as she looked over to the stairway where Daniel was sitting and watching her. He was wearing only the thin athletic shorts she'd given him. "A little."

"I was hoping you'd come back to bed after your nightmare woke you up. I've been watching you for ten minutes, and you didn't notice me."

"I knew I wouldn't sleep," Angel replied. "I've been living on four to six hours a sleep a night my whole life. My demons won't let me have more."

He stood up and walked to the padded area. "Up for a spar?"

"I could hurt you," Angel said.

"You don't know me or what I can do, and all I've seen is you hitting a bag. Do you ever spar with anyone but your brother?"

"Only in the FBI gym, and most of them avoid me now."

Daniel laughed at that. "I don't have a mouthguard, so boxing is out. If you want to work on your grappling, I'm game."

Angel smiled; that played into her strengths. "Why not?" She took off her gloves and moved over to the open area of the basement. She started in her MMA stance, while Daniel got his butt low like a wrestler. Daniel moved first, stepping forward and grabbing for her right leg. Angel reacted quickly, moving her leg back and countering by latching onto him over his right shoulder and under his left arm, gripping her hands together in front. She used her weight on his back to push him towards the ground.

A moment later, she was flying through the air as Daniel tossed her over his hip. She slammed to the mat with Daniel on top, and her grip loosened just enough for him to escape. As the spar progressed, she gained an appreciation for his Greco-Roman wrestling skills. He was strong and fast, but a discipline focused on the pin didn't work for tap-outs. She got him to submit with an arm-bar. "Nice match," she said.

"I need to update my skills. I haven't wrestled since high school," Daniel said. "I played lightweight football at the Academy, and since then, it's been mostly running and swimming." He was in good shape, with lean muscles and low body fat. He stood up and extended his hand for her. "Shower and breakfast?"

Angel shook her head. "Hot tub," she told him. Angel led him upstairs and told him to grab some condoms, then get water and juice from the fridge. She pulled the cover off and got the bubbles started before he came out and set them on the edge of the spa.

"I don't have a suit."

"You won't need one." She pulled off her sports bra and tossed it on a chair, followed by her yoga pants. She was settling into the hot water when she saw Das D's periscope go under the waves. "Is he ready for action again?"

"Only one way to find out." He pulled her legs forward, and Angel squealed and held onto the side of the tub to keep from going underwater. That worked perfectly for Daniel, who put her legs on his shoulder and attacked her needy pussy with tongue and lips.

"Daniel!"

He licked up to her now-swollen clit and smiled. "You better keep it down, or the neighbors will talk." He worked her over good, giving her two orgasms before he stood up and put a condom on. He pushed his thick cock into her as she moaned in pleasure. "You look so beautiful this way," he told her.

"Fuck me, baby," Angel replied. He did, in three positions as she tried and failed at staying quiet. Angel ended with her leg on the seat, leaning over the edge as Daniel pounded her to an explosive shared orgasm. He pulled out, tied off the condom before tossing it in the garbage, and pulled her back to sit between his legs as they caught their breath. He opened a bottle of orange juice and handed it to her. "Thanks."

"Want to talk about what woke you up?"

Angel leaned her head back against his chest. "You know what it was."

"Did the workout help? Do you imagine hurting him instead?"

"Yes, and yes. I'm not a helpless girl anymore, Daniel. I might not find the ones who did it to me, but I've put dozens of men like him into prison. I wish they weren't raping me in my dreams, though."

Daniel hugged her into his body and let her cry. He wished he could do more for her, but he didn't know what to do. He had to do something; he was falling hard for Angel Johnson.

She fell asleep in his arms. He didn't want to wake her up, but he couldn't leave her in the tub. He picked her up, holding her close as he stepped out and through the sliding glass door. He laid her out on the couch, drying her as best he could before covering her with a blanket.

He sent a text to her brother that she was sleeping in and would let him know when they left. He walked out to his motorcycle, grabbing a change of clothes before going back inside to shower. He sat in front of the couch and read articles about the treatment of survivors of child sexual abuse on his phone while she slept.

Angel woke up four hours later, without a nightmare.

Ch. 17

Angel freaked out a little when she woke up, and it was just past eleven. "We were meeting my brother and his date for LUNCH," she said as she got off the couch and headed for the stairs.

"He was fine with it; it gave him more time to screw around getting out of bed. They're checking out of the hotel in Gettysburg now," Daniel replied. "They'll meet us at Casa Rico in Frederick, off 40, at noon. We'll get some lunch before heading north into the mountains."

"I've got time to shower?"

"It only takes thirty minutes to get there," he replied.

"I'll be down in ten," she said.

Daniel smiled at her; the last woman he'd dated couldn't go from a dead sleep to out the door in under an hour if you held a gun to her head. There was something to be said for military and law enforcement training. Eight minutes later, she came downstairs holding a bag with her overnight things. Angel had her long brown hair tied back in a low ponytail for the ride. She'd dressed in jeans, boots, a long-sleeved Harley shirt, and her shoulder holster. She grabbed her jacket from the door and locked her house while Daniel was starting his motorcycle.

She locked her things in a saddlebag and swung her leg up, getting in place behind him. He roared out of the driveway, heading for Interstate 270. "Did you tell them we were on our way?"

"They left just before we did," Daniel said. The drive was smooth and fast, and they talked about their plans for the day and the western Maryland scenery. Angel was glad he didn't pry more into her past. Twice now, she'd broken down in his arms, and she hated feeling weak and emotional.

Daniel had learned a lot while she was sleeping, most of which said he should be there to support her as things worked their way out. He was steaming through mined waters, and there would be explosions with no warnings to survive. The fall colors and cooler weather made for a nice ride, and they pulled into the parking lot at the Mexican restaurant early.

"I don't see his ride," Angel said.

"Let's get a seat," he replied. They got a table, and the chips had just arrived when Amber and Michael walked in. After introductions, the girls ended up across from each other at the table. It was a fun lunch; Angel and Amber quickly bonded over margaritas and stories about Michael's youth.

Michael planned the ride through the Catoctin Mountains to be scenic, not fast. It was a good thing they had all afternoon. The leaf tourists were out in force, and in some places on the winding road, they were barely moving. Their group made a dozen stops to take pictures or hike to historical sites along the way. The group exited the mountains to the west at Smithsburg, then went around Camp David and back across the range to the Liberty Mountain Resort. "Go check-in, and we'll meet you at the Eagle and the Owl in thirty minutes," he told them.

The resort wasn't full, as it was between golf season and ski season. The room was decent, and since Angel was going to be drinking, she locked up her pistol in the room safe. They met at the sports bar, where Michael already had beer and wings on the table. The pair sat down and started in, hungry and thirsty from the day's run. They ordered their dinners from the standard pub fare and relaxed as they got to know each other.

Daniel took a drink and looked across the table. "So what exactly do you do, Michael?"

"I'm a security contractor working for one of the big companies with overseas contracts," he replied. "It pays well enough that I only have to work four to six months a year and keeps me in health coverage. Most of my time is escorting oil company executives or other VIP's in places where there are terrorism or kidnapping threats."

"How'd you get into that line of work?"

"I spent my Marine tours in embassy security and got to know some of the Diplomatic Security Service guys from work and my Arabic classes. They were professionals, both Federal Law Enforcement and members of the Foreign Service. They get posted to embassies for multiple year tours, and they got to leave the embassy at night. The ranking agent, called the Regional Security Officer of the embassy in Iraq, convinced me to apply. I spent a year in training and ended up in Pakistan, wearing a suit instead of a uniform."

"I've never heard of the DSS before meeting you," Amber said. "What kind of training do you get?"

"I had three weeks of orientation, followed by twelve weeks at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Georgia. There, I completed the Criminal Investigator Training Program. After that, I had thirteen more weeks of training in Washington, DC, that included planning, leadership, tactical medicine, weapons, tactics, personnel recovery, and moving and static security procedures."

"Personnel recovery?"

"Hostage rescue. Our training is similar to what the Secret Service gets, but we don't have their advantages. Anywhere they go, they have the cooperation of law enforcement and foreign security services. In the DSS, you might be operating in a country that wasn't cooperative with you. The training wasn't easy, but when it was over, I had a gun and a badge."

"What did you do?"

"Almost all DSS work is overseas, mostly Embassy and VIP protection details, but we also investigated passport and visa fraud and couriered diplomatic packages around. I spent six months in Washington, mostly on courier duty. I'd fly halfway around the world, hand off the package to my counterpart, get a new package, and fly back to Washington."

"The whole 'guy with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist' thing?"

Michael nodded. "I racked up a lot of frequent flier miles, especially since they bought the seat to my left to rest it on. It sucked getting the center seat all the time, but I could put the armrest up."

"Why did you quit your job? God, I'd LOVE to see the world."

Amber's question was innocent, but the answer was anything but innocent. "The world isn't all tourists and beaches," Michael replied. "There are lots of bad people in the world, people who want us dead just for being Americans. There are others out there who make me sick. Do you know what a 'bacha bazi' is?" No one did. "The literal translation is 'boy play.' There is a custom in Pakistan and some parts of Afghanistan of powerful and rich older males taking young boys as sex slaves, often against their consent. Some boys get recruited into the relationship, but it's more common to take them from enemies or their parents as a debt payment. Officially, it's against the law, but tribal laws and customs have more sway as you get farther from Kabul."

"That's horrible," Amber said. "Can't we do anything about it?"

"The official US position is that it is an internal matter. There have even been cases where boys get brought in with local officials onto US military bases, and our troops were not allowed to stop it. Maybe eight or nine years ago, while I was in the Marines, there was an incident in Afghanistan. A mother reported her son had been chained to a bed and raped for two weeks by a local Afghan Police Commander. Our Special Forces troops confronted him, he admitted it, and they beat the crap out of him. Guess what our government did?"

"I'd give them a fucking medal, but I bet that's not the answer," Michael said.

"They court-martialed the two men and kicked them out of the service. It took years for the decision to be overturned so they could return to duty and retire honorably."

"That's horrible," Amber said.

"My last time outside the Embassy there, I was in northern Pakistan with a Deputy to the Ambassador and a CIA guy. We were meeting one of the local tribal chiefs, and he came out of a bedroom, still hard, leaving a boy crying on the floor behind him. You can imagine how well that went over with me, given my history. I'm a victim of child sex abuse."

Amber's mouth dropped open; he hadn't told her that, but how would something like that come up in polite conversation? She leaned into him, hugging him to her side. "Did you kill him?"

"I wanted to. I settled for punching that Chief in the face so hard that it broke his jaw. The CIA guy was pissed because he had a bag of money for him; he'd been a US asset for a year, and I threatened that relationship. He called a doctor and stayed with him while I took the Ambassador back to the safe house. My boss was furious; he demanded I apologize to the Chief publicly, and I refused. The CIA paid him a lot more of our money to settle things. Three days later, we returned to Kabul, and I was put on a plane for the United States to face charges. I resigned instead."

Daniel just shook his head. "What happened to the tribal chief you punched?"

"Someone slit his throat as he slept the next night, and all his money disappeared."

Ch. 18

Monday morning came way too soon for Angel. She spent the day before riding through West Virginia with Das D, and the previous night riding ON Das D. He'd left at five-thirty for Annapolis, needing to change and get to work. Michael had left Amber in Gettysburg and swung by the condo to pick up stuff for a week of training in South Carolina. Angel parked in the underground garage at the FBI's Washington field office and took the elevator up to her floor.

Not much changed over the weekend as the team took some well-deserved time off. Angel's team settled into a routine, working off the list from the first known victim of the Monster Hunter. They were now just over six hundred names cleared from the list of over a thousand.

Dan Robinson told everyone it would be a long post-lunch update meeting, and he was right. Angel briefed her group first. "We're making decent progress, but we are running into some problems," she told the assembled task force members. "We are relying on publicly available data, and for some people, that is scarce. Not everyone posts everything they do on social media," she said to laughs. "The older associates are more difficult to clear because of this. I expect that we will have between fifty and a hundred and fifty people left on the list when we exhaust the information we can get from here. Reducing the list from that point will require search warrants or agents in the field."