Chapter 2

7th January 2015, Rooftop of Rose's Apartment Building– Hell's Kitchen, NYC

Rose and Mike moved to the roof with the unconscious man. The wound on his head was still bleeding and Rose tried to suppress her instincts to tend to it. She felt conflicted but knew that there was a child's life on the line so she did nothing while Mike tied the man to the water tank's ladder.

"You find anything?" Mike asked her, referring to the phone they had found in the man's pocket.

"No. You smashed the hell out of it with that extinguisher. I think it's dead." Then, unable to suppress her thoughts any longer, she said, "he had a badge. What if you're wrong?" She didn't really think he was but she still had doubts about the whole situation.

"I'm not," Mike answered, absolute certainty in his voice.

"This is way past what I signed up for." She crossed her arms in front of her chest, a way to ward off her confused emotions.

"What exactly do you think that was?" The almost flippant dismissal in his voice infuriated her.

"I found a man who needed help so I helped him." She reached him in quick strides, vibrating with sudden fury. She didn't even know why she was angry.

"Oh yeah? That simple?" He was testing her, she knew. That made her even more angry.

She took a deep breath and looked at the tied-up man still appearing unconscious. She lowered her voice and said to Mike, "Do you really want to get into this in front of him?"

"He's out."

"Maybe he's faking."

Mike tilted his head, like he was listening to something. "He's not."

And that was enough to cause the dam to burst. "Okay, that right there, that's what I'm talking about. I find a guy in a dumpster who turns out to be the masked vigilante from the other night at the docks, I discover he's blind but can do all of this really weird stuff like smell cologne through walls and sense whether someone's unconscious or faking it. And trust me, I'm used to some crazy shit. On top of that, he can take an unbelievable amount of punishment without one damn complaint."

Mike turned a lopsided smile in her direction, a little self-deprecatingly. "The last part's the Catholicism."

"So, what? I'm supposed to take it on faith that I'm on the right side of this? I'm supposed to help people, not help torturing them."

Mike sighed, before approaching her with cautious steps. "You don't carry a masked man bleeding to death into your apartment on faith. You knew which side you were on the moment you found me."

She couldn't deny that.

Mike came even closer. "I get it," he said. "You don't have to be here for this."

Rose didn't move. She wanted to leave but she also wanted to stay.

A few moments passed in silence.

"Why'd you help me, Rose?"

She bit her lip. "A few weeks ago, I heard about a man in a black mask who stopped some guys from robbing tourists. Apparently, he took issue with their activities and decided to step in. They had nine broken bones between them when the cops found them. A few days after that, I heard about a 19-year-old waitress who was attacked by some guy she knew. He waited for her after work in the parking lot, tried to drag her in the alley. She said she screamed and screamed, and a man in a black mask heard her..." At the end of the tale she was almost smiling, "and he saved her life." She couldn't completely hide the awe in her voice.

"And then I saw you at the docks three nights ago," she continued, crossing her arms over her chest. "You were fighting the Russians, saving those women from human trafficking. I was there for the same reason—I was looking for one of those girls. We fought side by side, and I saw firsthand what you're trying to do in this city." Her voice grew more confident. "So, yeah, I want to believe in what you're doing. I really do. But this?" She pointed to the tied-up man.

"I know you're afraid." Mike's voice was gentle, even as he maintained that low growl. "But you can't give in to the fear. If you do...men like this win."

Rose laughed but it was a bitter laugh. "You think this is what it is about, that I'm afraid? I mean, yes, I am afraid—I'd be stupid not to be. The Russian mob isn't exactly known for their forgiveness. But that's not what this is about. I just want to know, I need to know, that this is the right decision." She close the remaining space between them and took his face in her hands. Then she lifted his mask so she could see his eyes. Mike looked surprised at her gesture but didn't stop her. He couldn't look straight into her eyes but she could look into his. She cupped his face in her hands, his slight stubble prickling her palms, and begged him, "I need you to promise me that you will save that child and that you will bring him home to his father. Please, I need you to."

Mike placed his gloved hands over hers, squeezing them in his, and, in a solemn voice, he said, "I promise you."

Rose nodded and let him go. "Alright, then. I think it's time we wake him up." Her voice filled with sudden determination, her decision made.

Mike nodded as well, putting his mask back into place.

The man returned to consciousness slowly, his heart's rhythm changing from a slow and steady beat to a pounding staccato. His breath accelerated in his chest when he realized he was tied up. His head was still bleeding but it had slowed down.

Matt took two steps closer to him. Rose remained behind, standing immobile and silent, face and body now completely covered with the same attire as three nights ago when he first met her.

Her heart returned to the tranquil rhythm he had gotten used to during the night. Whatever doubts she had seemed to harbor before, she was steadfast in her determination now.

Matt admired her bravery.

"Here's how this is gonna work," he said to the Russian man. "I'm gonna ask you some questions. You're gonna answer them. If you're lying to me...trust that I will know...and I will be unhappy." The man kept silent."Where's the boy?"

"He's dead," the man replied, arrogance dripping from his voice.

Matt heard his heart skipping a beat, then accelerating. He was lying, luckily. Matt punched him in the face, holding back on most of his strength. "This is what unhappy looks like." His voice took on a colder edge that belied his fury. Rose, behind him, didn't flinch. "Where's the boy?" He asked again.

"What do you care? If he's not dead yet, he will be." The man kept his air of arrogance.

"Why did you take him?"

"Figured you'd come running."

"And after I was dead?"

Matt thought the man would have shrugged if he hadn't been tied up, he was so nonchalant in his reply, like it didn't matter to him one bit. And it didn't. He didn't care at all. "Sell the kid, like all the others."

Matt punched him again, this time stronger. He would have broken his jaw but he still needed him to speak.

Rose's heartbeat quickened, her breath deepened, like she was finding it difficult to control. In fear or anger? Her adrenaline was still high. Perhaps it was a mix of both.

"I was telling the truth on that one," the man said.

Matt's jaw tightened in response. "I know."

"We got you good, didn't we?" He sounded amused, like it was all a big game to him.

"Who do you sell the children to?" Matt asked him.

"I don't know. Whoever has the money." Matt felt his fury rising. His breath synchronized with Rose's, in aneffort to control their emotions.

"Where's the boy?" Matt asked for a third time.

"So you find him. So, what? We'll take another. Kill me, somebody takes my place. Long as people are buying, we'll be selling. Nothing you do tonight will change that. But go ahead. Keep hitting me. Let's see who drops first."

Matt was about to do just that when he felt Rose's hand on his arm, stopping his movements. For a moment he thought she was trying to stop him. In fact, it was the opposite.

"Try stabbing him in his trigeminal nerve." Rose's voice was as cold as the Arctic Ocean.

"Where is it?"

"Go in through here," she said, touching his forehead over the mask to show him, "right above the eye. That's the supraorbital foramen. You want to go in right under there."

Matt nodded and turned back towards the Russian, a knife in his hand. He pointed to the place just below the man's left eyebrow. The man was finally showing nervousness, fear even. "Hold still. I might do some serious damage if you squirm." He tilted his head back in Rose's direction. "How will I know when I find it?"

"He'll tell you." Her voice was eerily calm, but her heart was thumping against her ribcage.

Matt pushed the tip of the blade a few centimeters in, but for the scream of pain the man let out he might as well have been stubbed in the gut with a sword. Matt covered his mouth to muffle the sound, worried someone could hear him and come investigate.

"You're right...what you said before," Matt said when the man had stopped screaming and he had taken off the knife from inside his cranium. "I kill you, somebody takes your place, but they'll end up back here just like you, and sooner or later, one of you is gonna tell me what I need to know."

He didn't give the Russian time to answer. He released him from the rope that tied him to the ladder and lift his body until he was hanging over the parapet. Rose followed him, but didn't intervene. He picked the man back up so that he could be turned in his direction. "This is important. Shh!" He put a finger over his mouth in a shushing gesture when the man let out a whimper of fear. "Listen, I need you to know why I'm hurting you. It's not just the boy. I'm doing this 'cause I enjoy it."

Once again, the upper part of the man's body was hanging over the parapet. "No, no, no! No, no, no!" He loosened his grip a little and the man fidgeted and wriggled, trying to free himself. "Where is he?" The man still didn't answer. "Where is he?" He raised his voice and loosened his grip even more.

"No! No!" Another moment of silence and then, finally, "underneath Troika restaurant. Eleventh and 44th." He heard Rose sighed in relief. Matt nodded, relieved himself. He was telling the truth.

Matt let him go, back on his feet, safe on the rooftop. As soon as he was sure he wasn't going to be thrown off a roof the man resumed his arrogant manner. He laughed mockingly at Matt.

"They'll be waiting for you. If you're lucky, they'll kill you before they start in on the boy." Matt smiled to cover his rage. "It would be a shame for you to have to watch what they do to him... Oh!" Matt didn't let him finish. He simply grabbed the man's shirt with one hand and threw him off the roof.

Rose screamed, an instinctive response. She ran to see where the man had landed, taking off her mask.

"It's all right. He landed in the dumpster you pulled me out of."

"Is he dead?" She asked him.

Matt checked but he already knew he wouldn't be. He had no intention of killing him—or anyone—as tempting as it was sometimes. "He'll live."

Rose nodded. He heard her approaching him, steps light and sure, her alluring scent filling his nostrils. It was a pleasant distraction from the pain racking his body. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was starting to feel it in full force. He stumbled a little and felt her warm hands on his hips, holding his weight.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Matt grinned at her, a little sheepishly. "But, I'm thinking...if I make it through the night, I may need some help getting patched up."

Rose frowned. "You will make it through the night. You made me a promise, remember?" She asked in a tone so serious, she almost sounded harsh. Then her voice softened. "Let me come with you."

Matt's head tilted in surprise. "What?"

"You know what I can do. You know I can fight." Rose stepped closer, her heartbeat steady and determined. "I can help you save that boy."

Matt shook his head slowly. "I appreciate the offer, but I have to do this alone."

"Why?" There was no accusation in her tone, just genuine curiosity.

"Because..." Matt paused, his jaw tightening. "They took that boy to get to me. They used him as bait, and he's suffering because of who I am, what I do. This is my responsibility." His voice softened. "And I won't put you in danger. The Russians are ruthless. Even with your abilities, I can't risk someone else getting hurt because of me."

Rose was silent for a moment. "Alright," she finally conceded with a small nod. "Just...be careful. And come back, alright? This city needs you."

Matt smiled, feeling affection filling his chest towards this woman he barely knew, this woman who had saved his life and helped him without ulterior motives, simply because she was a good person. People like her reminded him why he did what he did, risking his life night after night.

He didn't know how to express what her concern meant to him so he simply said, "I guess you'll see me later then."

Rose grinned back. "It's a date."

7th January 2015, Rose's Apartment – Hell's Kitchen, NYC

Rose sat by her living room window, fingers drumming a restless rhythm against her mug of tea that had long gone cold. She checked her watch for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. It was nearing three in the morning.

The window was left slightly ajar despite the January chill, and she'd pulled the curtains back just enough to let her see the rusty outline of the fire escape. Her eyes constantly drifted to that dark lattice of metal, searching for movement, for any sign of him.

He'll come back. He has to.

Rose hadn't slept at all. After what had transpired on the rooftop, how could she? The night had been a whirlwind of blood, violence, and revelations. And somewhere in the middle of it all was a blind vigilante who had promised to save a little boy. A promise made while holding her hands, his sightless eyes somehow seemingly able to see straight into her soul.

A soft thud from outside jolted her from her thoughts. Rose was on her feet in an instant, setting her mug aside.

There he was. The man in the mask—Mike, as she'd dubbed him—hanging onto the railing of her fire escape with what looked like the last of his strength. Blood gleamed darkly on his suit, fresh and wet against the black fabric. He was breathing heavily, his movements stiff and uncoordinated as he tried to push the window further open.

Rose rushed to help him, sliding the window up all the way. "Jesus Christ," she breathed, reaching out to support him as he practically fell inside. "I was starting to think you weren't coming back."

"Promised... didn't I?" he replied, his voice a ragged whisper. He stumbled forward, and Rose caught him, feeling his weight against her. She guided him to her couch, where he collapsed with a barely suppressed groan.

She immediately went into nurse mode, retrieving her medical kit from where she'd left it ready on the kitchen counter. "I need to check your wounds," she said, already pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "Where are you hurt?"

"Everywhere," he released a pained laugh that turned into a cough. "But... the stab wound... reopened." He gestured weakly to his right side, where blood was seeping through the fabric.

Rose carefully peeled back his shirt, revealing the wound she'd treated earlier. She cleaned it methodically.

"The boy?" she asked, not looking up from her work.

Mike's split lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "Safe. Back with his father." He winced as she applied antiseptic to the wound. "They were keeping him in a locked room under the restaurant... just like the fake detective said."

Rose felt something tight in her chest loosen at his words. "Was he hurt?"

"Scared... hungry. But physically unharmed." Mike's hand found her wrist, fingers wrapping around it. Despite everything, his grip was still strong yet gentle. "I kept my promise."

"I never doubted you would," Rose replied, and was surprised to find it was true. Despite barely knowing this man, there was something about him that commanded trust. Even when she usually struggled to trust other people, especially men.

As she continued treating his wounds—a new cut on his forearm, bruised ribs that needed wrapping, various scrapes and contusions—Mike told her about the rescue in short, clipped sentences. How he'd found the restaurant, navigated past the Russian guards, located the boy.

"They weren't... expecting me," he said, a hint of dark humor in his voice. "Not after what happened last night."

"They thought you were out of commission," Rose said, understanding.

Mike nodded. "The element of surprise... it made all the difference." He hissed as she probed a particularly tender spot on his ribcage.

"Sorry," she murmured. "These ribs might be broken, not just bruised."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Rose shook her head, a mix of admiration and frustration coloring her features. "You're going to get yourself killed, you know that?"

"Worth it... for that boy." His face grew serious. "You should have seen his father's face when I brought him home. The relief in his voice..."

For a moment, they both fell silent, the only sound in the apartment the soft rustle of bandages as Rose worked.

"Thank you," Mike said eventually, his voice low. "For your help. For believing me."

"I should be thanking you." Rose secured the last bandage and sat back on her heels, studying him. His mask was still in place, though pushed up slightly to reveal more of his face. Even battered and bloody, there was something striking about him. Something that made her pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with fear or adrenaline.

"Why's that?" he asked.

Rose hesitated, weighing her words. "For reminding me that there are still people willing to fight for what's right. No matter the cost."

Mike tilted his head in that curious way of his, as if listening to something beyond her words. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Your heartbeat just changed."

Rose felt heat rise to her cheeks, grateful that he couldn't see her blush. "That's... invasive," she said, though there was no real annoyance in her tone.

"Sorry," he replied, not sounding sorry at all. "Hard to turn it off."

She cleared her throat, packing away her medical supplies. "You should rest. Those wounds need time to heal."

"I should go," Mike said, though he made no move to get up, his body clearly too exhausted to follow through on his statement.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're in no shape to be moving around right now." Rose stood, gathering the bloodied gauze and wrappers. "Rest for an hour or two. You need to regain some strength before you head back out."

"Just for a little while," he conceded. "I need to be gone before sunrise."

"I know," Rose said quietly. "Can't have the Man in the Mask seen in broad daylight."

She went to dispose of the bloody materials. When she returned with a blanket, she found him with his eyes closed, mask now resting on her coffee table, his breathing already deepening toward sleep. She gently draped the blanket over him, careful not to disturb his wounds.

As she turned to leave, his hand caught hers. "Rose?"

She looked back at him. "Yes?"

"There are more of them out there. More children," he said, voice heavy. "This isn't over."

Rose felt a chill run down her spine. "I know," she answered softly. "But you're not going to solve it tonight, Mike. Now get some rest."

His fingers squeezed hers once before letting go. Rose stood there for a moment longer, watching as exhaustion finally claimed him, his features softening in sleep.