Kenzo Book 4
In a world where power and control are everything, Kenzo, a man with a dark past, is on a mission to rescue missing women from a dangerous trafficking ring. As he delves deeper into the criminal underworld, he must confront his own demons and navigate complex relationships, including a tumultuous and intense dynamic with Rebecca, a woman who has endured unimaginable trauma. With enemies lurking at every corner and secrets threatening to unravel, Kenzo's quest for justice becomes a perilous journey of redemption and survival.
Chapter 1: Unknown Enemy
Book 4: 9
UNKNOWN
Are you puzzled about who I am and what my goal is? Let me introduce myself—Kenzo’s and Rex’s most feared enemy. From the moment I stepped into their lives, there was no hiding for them.
For instance, when Vinx’s memories were fading away with every punch I delivered to his face, that was an exciting moment! Even better, after hitting him one last time, I called him Nikki.
Traumatic as it may be, that was exhilarating for me, a feeling I will never erase from my mind. Then came Vinx’s beloved wife—she was delightful to play with.
Right now is the perfect opportunity to aim for Rex. My plan is to target his weak spot—Trish—and see if I can make a dent in his tough facade.
With rush hour setting in, commuters are scurrying about with intent, faced with daunting challenges of traffic jams and late arrivals to work.
On the streets, army ants scurry orderly across the pavement—rats on parade, as some would call them—illustrating how even animals have difficulty surviving the hustle and bustle of our hectic world.
Spring is the season of renewal and growth. With the sun shining brightly, trees are regrowing their leaves, and the grass is turning lush and green. The cool, refreshing air fills the atmosphere.
People don thick waterproof coats to stay warm in the damp weather, while birds build nests using sticks and animal fur to provide homes for their families.
I take a quick glance at my watch and mentally note the time, nine o’clock. Taking out my phone, I dial 19 for an update. This is something I do every weekday, except for weekends.
After noting down the bus number that has just arrived, I make sure to save in my notes the timetable of buses in the vicinity along with their expected arrival times.
BUS SCHEDULE – 30 MINUTES
No. 1 – 08:40 a.m.
No. 40 – 08:57 a.m.
No. 72 – 9:00 a.m.
No. 54 – 09:01 a.m.
No. 108 – 09:10 a.m.
Targeting her from the shadows, I admire the waves of her straight brown hair as it flows over her shoulders and frames her beautiful face.
Despite the cold air that turns her rosy cheeks and pale skin to a deep-pink color, she remains unaware of my presence.
Her petite frame is clothed in a red coat and black dolly shoes, which crunch and flatten the leaves scattered on the ground beneath them.
As she steps onto the bus and reaches for her large bag, I suppress a smile at the struggle she faces to lift it onto her shoulder.
Taking a seat halfway up, she turns to face out the window while gripping a book in her right hand. Despite not making eye contact with me, my green eyes remain steadfastly fixed on her direction.
It’s the next day, and the shadows of darkness loom in the depths. That is me, my presence known only by those who are brave enough to look.
Peering into the gloomy abyss, those who can sense my presence may experience a sudden awareness and realization. She stands there in her red university dress with its skirt just ending at her knees.
I bear witness to her every movement, like the traffic around us that noisily beeps and inches forward tirelessly and monotonously. She nervously squeezes a strand of hair between her fingers as she makes her way home.
Though it has become almost routine, I can never shake off the feeling that follows—my eyes start to water, and a chill runs through me while I observe her carefully.
Her father picks her up and drops her off at home every day, leaving her all alone for four precious hours.
Unbeknownst to her, I watch over her intently—I know how lonely she must feel, what she eats and drinks, how much time she spends by herself.
In this solitude, I become the darkness surrounding her—familiarly known to me, yet still unknown to her.
As darkness falls, I watch from a distance as she goes through her familiar nightly routine.
I can’t help but appreciate her flawless pale skin in the moonlight; new bruises adorn her kneecaps, which send a thrill through me remembering the sound of it shattering against the gravel floor last night.
Her cries and pain spark something inside me that gives me satisfaction. A twisted pleasure ran through me as I watched her tears fall and pain etch upon her face, yet she still had no clue about my presence in the darkness.
The young woman, twenty-six in age, plays in total obliviousness to the darkness of her world. She worries about college and assignment marks, and she shows such a bubbly innocence that promises much for her future.
Those on the dark web, whom the elite call useless, know better—they have seen the dangers lurking in the shadows around her.
The police are ever diligent with their knowledge of and attention on what is seen and unheard; yet still threats remain sworn by secrecy. Despite being surrounded by a world of secrets, problems still seem to be unresolved.
If only she can look further beyond what is immediately before her might she see clearly the danger around her.
Once again, for the umpteenth time, she climbs on board the same bus and walks to her habitual seat in the middle aisle.
She cradles in her hands a book that she’s read several times—so much so that she could recite it word for word if asked.
Even though she is of an age that she should understand the necessity of changing one’s routine—be it climbing on the train or taking a cab or simply not leaving home for a day—this girl chooses to stick to what she knows.
One glance at her after a night without slumber reveals little more than redness along her eyebrows from overexcitement gone awry and slightly imperfect teeth, two minor signs that herald in upon her nothing but darkness.
Despite the stillness of the night and the absence of her mother, she will go about her usual routine. She will eat dinner, take a shower, and crawl into bed at nine o’clock sharp.
I will watch with an eagle eye, taking mental notes. I watch from underneath the owl perched on the tree near her bedroom window; its hoot is the only sound in the darkness.
The branches swing slightly from side to side in the breezy night air.
Darkness shrouds the girl in her red coat as she moves down the bus with a hot coffee poured into a cup from a nearby cafe.
The phone clutched tightly in her right hand is forgotten as she reads her book, lost in its pages while oblivious to the world around her.
With one last knowing look between two old friends, it is agreed that tomorrow morning at nine o’clock will mark the start of something new—their own opportunity to make a difference amid the darkness and take back their power.
She pulls her coat tighter around her shoulders and sips her hot coffee, unaware of the plans that are being plotted against her. Unbeknownst to her, tomorrow morning will mark a sinister change.
As she steps off the bus and onto campus, it will be time for me to act on my intentions. Undetected by her, I am ready to make my move.
It’s time to enact our plan of vengeance. I offer no mercy or sympathy to Kenzo and Rex—may they reap what they have sown. Our revenge shall be swift and complete, with undeniable ramifications.
The unknown.
9 o’clock.
What could that mean?
Time will only tell…
