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Chapter 32 by micdan282 micdan282

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Flashback

The air in the apartment was thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and rain. Thatcher stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, a half-empty glass of scotch sweating in his hand. Outside, thunder grumbled over the city. It was almost midnight.

Sandra was late.

Again.

He glanced at the old clock on the wall, heart pacing like it already knew what his mind refused to admit.

Then the door creaked open.

She stepped in, soaking wet and stone-faced, eyes heavy with something she wasn’t saying. Her leather jacket was spattered with rain…and blood.

Thatcher’s stomach dropped.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said quietly.

Sandra peeled the jacket off and tossed it onto the chair without meeting his eyes. “I was working.”

He walked forward slowly, setting his glass down on the table with a quiet clink. “Sandra… whose blood is that?”

She paused. The silence said more than any answer ever could.

Thatcher’s voice was harder this time. “Sandra.”

She finally looked up. “He was a trafficker. Had women locked up in a warehouse on the south end. I stopped him.”

He stared at her like he didn’t recognize her. “Stopped him?”

“I ended him, Luke,” she snapped, stepping forward, her soaked boots squeaking on the floor. “He would’ve slipped through the cracks like the rest. Just like the man who killed your sister almost did. You know the system doesn’t work.”

“That’s not your call,” he growled. “You said it was just once. Just Black Vice. That was vengeance. This…this is something else.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me,” she hissed, eyes flaring. “You didn’t see what he was doing to those women. If I’d waited for a warrant, they’d be dead or gone.”

“You’re not judge and jury, Sandra! You’re just a damn executioner!”

She crossed her arms tightly, jaw clenched. “You felt differently when I did it for your sister.”

Thatcher’s face twisted. “That was different. That was personal and I have the decency to be ashamed about it.”

“And this isn’t?” she asked, voice cracking. “How many times do we sit at dinner and talk about the scum walking free in this city? How many nights do you come home frustrated that no one cares, that nothing changes?”

“I swore an oath,” he said. “To protect people. Not punish them. There’s a line—”

“Well maybe I’m tired of lines. I’m skilled enough to do something about the crime in this city so why not?”

That silenced the room like a punch to the gut. He looked at her then, really looked. At the tired eyes. The blood under her fingernails. The weight in her shoulders she couldn’t put down anymore.

“Jesus, Sandra…”

She stepped toward him slowly. “I never meant to hurt you. But I can’t stop now. There’s too much rot, Luke.”

He shook his head. “I can’t be part of this.”

“I’m not asking you to be,” she said, her voice suddenly small. “I just… I have to do this. It would be selfish not to.”

With that Sandra left, she didn’t slam the door. She just pulled it closed behind her, quiet and final.

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