Chalk Outline

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Reeve Hardy

Burn — The Cure

Present Day

My grip tightens around the crowbar in my right hand as I scan the framed photos on the wall. The streetlights spill in through a nearby window, illuminating them enough to see their faces.

Nice family.

They all flash bright smiles at the camera.

Maybe they mean it, too.

I unzip my thigh bag, pull out a photograph, and hold it next to one of theirs.

A tough-looking, bearded man with tattoos covering his shaved head stares back at me.

But those brutal eyes… that’s what I remember—the way his icy gaze pierced through me.

I knew right then that if I got out alive, we would meet again someday at his funeral pyre.

I won’t make the same mistake he made.

I won’t let him walk out of here alive.

Timothy “Third Eye” Kent.

The man who calls the shots.

The woman he had slept with left an hour ago, and he went straight to dreamland afterward.

I did pay her to drug him after all.

I expected him to be more sophisticated, considering he beat the shit out of me once while I was shackled to the ceiling. But when you think with your dick, details may drop like loose screws, shame that they can’t make a sound when they’re figuratively spoken about.

That’s the problem with men who think they’re invincible. An insignificant shadow like me is what kills them in the end.

Some people are better off dead. Sometimes I can’t torture a man, even if he deserves it. I just have to make sure he never tortures anyone else ever again.

I quietly move to the winding staircase, taking one step at a time until I reach the second floor.

He owns several houses and visits them during business trips, but not to shake hands with suited business owners.

He is too good for that. Pleasure is a kryptonite that weakens the body, and Timothy is incredibly weak when he cheats on his current wife while he is out of Salem.

Can’t he chew gum like normal people and wait until he returns to his wife?

These days, loyalty feels like a concept from a far galaxy.

Every choice we make has consequences. And his choice made it easier for me to locate him in their Florida vacation house. We both have busy schedules. There are too many people I need to kill, and when I do, I need to be precise. Plus, I don’t like wasting my precious time on these criminals.

I usually go in and out, disappearing quickly to another country and staying under the radar. But today is a special day, and Timothy Kent will receive all my attention. He has earned it, and you reap what you sow.

The plan is in motion, and tonight, every house he owns will be burned to the ground except for the one where his family lives—I don’t kill innocent people; I only settle scores with those who threaten what is mine.

The door is wide open, and the window inside is yanked up, but the obnoxious humidity prevents the slightest breeze from filtering in.

He lies on his stomach, hands shoved under the pillow to cradle his head. The thin, pearly sheet covers his waist, leaving his sweaty back exposed.

What a pathetic pile of garbage.

It’s time to take it out or burn it.

I swing the crowbar in the air and strike him in the head repeatedly. Splatters of blood fly everywhere, covering the sheets and the creamy bed frame in messy strokes of brain matter and arterial spray.

I guess the third eye he tattooed on the back of his head to show he has “eyes in his back” isn’t working.

So delusional, it makes me want to pluck that eye out.

The crunching sound of his bones breaking echoes in the room as I strike his hands and legs next.

He made a huge mistake putting a price tag on my wife’s head that is worth millions, making her the target of hit men and women from all over the world. Sacrificing myself to ensure her safety is something he would never understand. Not in this lifetime. Maybe the next. If he is lucky.

No one will hurt her as long as I’m breathing. I will hunt every single one of them down and kill every person who gets involved.

Unlike him, my wife means everything to me. I wouldn’t rest until I wiped these cold-blooded monsters off the face of the earth.

The flesh dangles off his head and bounces as I flip Timothy on his back. His skull is cracked open, eyeballs hanging out like bloody egg yolks, and his bones are smashed to pieces—most people would flinch, pass out, or vomit at the sight.

I’m used to it by now.

Pulling out my pocket knife from my thigh bag, I flick it open with practiced ease and begin cutting into his chest. I hum to myself as blood pours out. The subtle movements become those of a cold-hearted monster feeding on its prey.

I’m so fed up.

And I’m fucking furious.