Riley
Flashback
Riley was only fifteen, but she had seen too much of the world to feel safe in it anymore. Hell’s Kitchen had never been a place for innocence, but on this particular evening, the darkness felt thicker.
The sharp smell of concrete, oil, and regret hung in the air, mingling with the distant noise of the city. It had been hours since she’d seen the sun, hours since she’d been dragged into the back of the warehouse.
The faint sound of boots against cold concrete echoed from the hall. Riley was in the far corner of the room, her body pressed against the damp, grimy brick walls, her knees pulled to her chest. She tried not to look at the two other girls beside her, both staring blankly at the floor. No one had spoken in what felt like days.
There was a window high up near the ceiling, barely big enough to let in a sliver of light, but it was enough to see the fear in their eyes.
Fear.
The kind of fear that gnawed at your soul and crawled up your spine, making it impossible to breathe, to think, to move.
The door creaked open, the unmistakable sound of heavy boots on the ground—another man. A big man. The kind of man who lived off the fear he inspired. He wasn’t alone. The slithering sound of keys hitting the cold metal floor made Riley’s stomach twist. She could barely stand the thought of what might happen next, the things that would unfold behind those steel doors. But it wasn’t the man entering that made her heart stop; it was the one who followed him. The silhouette of another figure, tall and broad-shouldered.
Then the sound of a gunshot, sharp and unrelenting, pierced through the heavy silence.
Riley’s heart pounded in her chest. She jerked her head towards the man who had fallen, a crumpled heap on the floor, blood staining the concrete beneath him.
But there was no time to think. There was no time to process what had happened, because in the next breath, the door slammed open, and a figure stepped into the room. His face was shadowed, his movements swift and sure. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. He was a force of nature, terrifying in his silence.
The air seemed to still as he crossed the room, stepping over the man he had just shot, as if he were nothing more than a speck on the floor. Riley’s breath caught in her throat, and her chest tightened with confusion and awe.
“Run,” the man said, his voice a low growl. It was rough, like gravel scraping against stone, but there was something in the way he spoke that made her freeze. He wasn’t a hero, not the kind she’d seen in the movies. He wasn’t there to save anyone. He was just… there. But there was something in his eyes—something that made her believe she could trust him.
He held out a jacket, and Riley reached for it without thinking. It was warm, thick, and it reeked of something familiar. She didn’t know why she grabbed it, why she trusted him, but she did. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the fabric.
“Go,” he urged, his eyes never leaving hers.
She didn’t argue. She didn’t even look back at the other two girls. She just ran.
The alleyways blurred around her, her feet hitting the pavement hard as she scrambled through the streets, heart racing, fear still clawing at her chest. She ran until her lungs burned, until she couldn’t feel the cold or hear the sounds of the city anymore, just her own frantic breath and the steady rhythm of her steps.
She never saw him again.
Not after that.
Not until now.
Current Day:
The weight of the night pressed down on her like a suffocating cloud. Riley sat in her car, engine idling, her grip tight on the steering wheel. The same unease that had plagued her for the past few months crept up again, gnawing at the edges of her calm. She had been so sure of her decision. Hell, she’d been so sure of herself when she’d moved out west to California. She told herself it was for a fresh start, a clean slate. But it was never that simple. Not when the past was waiting for you in every shadow.
Five years ago, Frank Castle saved her. He didn’t say a word, didn’t try to make her feel better, didn’t give her some speech about surviving. No, Frank was the man who just handled things. He broke down the door, shot the guy who was holding her and the two other girls, and handed her a jacket. Told her to run. She did. Because in that moment, it was all she could do.
And she’d never forgotten it.
But the truth was, Riley wasn’t that terrified fifteen-year-old anymore. She was something else now, someone who wouldn’t be saved again. Not by him, not by anyone. She wasn’t going to let the past control her. She wasn’t going to let them win. The men who still lived, who kept their business running, were still out there. And she was going to finish what she’d started.
Tonight, it would end.
The warehouse loomed in front of her like a ghost. The same warehouse where, years ago, she’d been taken, terrified, broken. Now, it was just another building full of people who made their money off the suffering of others. Riley had done her research—found the names, tracked the movements. And tonight, one of the men who had escaped that night was here. Alone. A chance to fix it, to erase that piece of her past.
The air was cool as she stepped out of the car, her hand shaking slightly as she gripped the knife she’d kept hidden in her jacket. She’d practiced. She’d trained herself to be calm, to make sure the job was done right. No hesitation.
She was ready.
Riley crept through the alleyways, moving in the way she’d taught herself over the years: silent, invisible. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, mixing with the anger that never quite left. Anger at the men who took her, anger at herself for letting it happen in the first place.
The sound of muffled voices reached her ears, and she instinctively dropped to a crouch, moving silently closer to the entrance of the warehouse. There. She could see him. The one who got away. The man who had lived on while others had paid. His back was to her, his attention elsewhere as he spoke to a couple of his men.
Perfect.
Her fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife. She had no backup plan. No one was going to stop her. She wasn’t going to let him get away again.
She moved fast. No hesitation.
The first step was quiet. The second was a burst of speed, closing the gap. She brought the knife down hard, slashing at the man’s throat. He gasped, turning just in time to see her face, to recognize the woman he’d left behind all those years ago.
She didn’t give him a chance to react. She kept slashing, faster, harder, until his body crumpled to the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. It was over.
But Riley didn’t feel relief. Not yet. She stood there for a moment, breathing hard, watching the man die. It wasn’t enough to kill him. It wasn’t enough to fix the damage.
But it was a start.
Her hands were trembling now, slick with blood. She stood over the body, staring down at the aftermath of her decision. Her breath was unsteady, the weight of what she had just done crashing over her. This wasn’t her victory. This wasn’t some moment of triumph. It was just a broken piece of her trying to fix something she’d never been able to let go.
But then she heard it.
The sound of boots hitting the concrete floor behind her.
“Riley.”
The familiar voice cut through her thoughts. It was Frank.
Her heart stuttered in her chest as she turned around, the blood-stained knife still clutched in her hand. Frank stood at the entrance, his gaze unreadable, his expression dark.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, wiping her hand against her jeans, the blood smearing across the fabric.
“Same thing as you,” Frank said, his voice low, controlled. “Cleaning up a mess.”
“Cleaning up a mess?” Riley repeated bitterly. “You don’t get it, Frank. This is my mess. This is my fight.”
He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “This wasn’t your fight, Riley. This was my fight the second you decided to come in here with that knife.”
“I didn’t need you!” she shouted, her voice shaking. “I didn’t need you to save me again! I’m not that kid anymore, Frank! I’m not the one you save. I’m the one who takes control!”
Frank didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stared at her, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, his hand reaching for his phone.
“Get rid of the body,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ll clean this up. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“I don’t need your help,” Riley muttered, but she could hear the fear creeping into her voice. She wasn’t as confident as she tried to appear. She wasn’t sure what she had just done, what it meant, or how to deal with it.
Frank didn’t respond, his attention already focused on the phone call he was making, the calm efficiency of his movements reminding her of just how much she wasn’t in control.
She wanted to run, to disappear again. But she couldn’t.
It wasn’t until they were back at her apartment, the body already taken care of and the evidence wiped clean, that the gravity of it all hit her. She was sitting on her couch, hands still trembling, and Frank was standing near the door, watching her with that same unreadable expression.
“You’re not the person I saved anymore,” Frank said, breaking the silence. “And that’s a problem, Riley.”
She looked up at him, her throat tight. “I don’t need saving, Frank.”
“I didn’t say you did,” he replied quietly. “But you’re not doing yourself any favors by carrying this alone.”
Riley stood, pacing across the room, the anger and frustration bubbling up once more. “You don’t get it. I don’t need anyone. I don’t need you.”
Frank didn’t argue, didn’t try to change her mind. He just looked at her, his face hardening as he spoke.
“You’ll learn,” he said, his voice low, a slight edge of something she couldn’t quite place beneath the words. “You’ll learn that no matter how far you run, no matter how much you try to fix, you can’t do it alone.”
The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Riley thought he might walk out. But instead, Frank gave her one last glance before turning to leave.
He didn’t say goodbye. He just left. And Riley was left in the silence, the weight of the night sinking in deeper with every passing second.