Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
TRAVIS “RED” CONNOR
“We interrupt this program to bring you this special update on billionaire and tech mogul Steven Smith. Let’s go to the press conference outside of Generations Medical Center.”
I washed the rest of the black dye out of my hair, inspecting it and my dyed eyebrows in the mirror.
I’d just started shaving my beard and mustache when the news broke into my favorite program.
I grabbed my towel and rushed into the living room, plopping down on the edge of the couch.
I’d shot that fucker three times. I wanted to see the grief-stricken admirers and the chaos his death caused in Chicago.
There would be fighting over his empire, but I didn’t care. I wanted my money.
The chief of police cleared his throat. “Thank you for joining us today. I’m Chief Sanderson, and Mr. Smith’s team has given me a chance to implore to you how important it is to find this guy, Travis Connor.
He is extremely dangerous and wanted for the attempted murder of Ms. Erica Faulk a few weeks ago.
The suspect is described as being around six feet, three inches tall.
Orange-red hair with a full beard and mustache.
He may answer to the name Red. If you see this individual, please do not try to approach him.
Call the police immediately.” He nodded, then a drawing popped up on the screen.
“On your screens is a composite drawing from an eyewitness. Again, do not approach him. He is armed and dangerous. Call the police. Now, I turn it over to Bryan Andrews, Mr. Smith’s assistant. Thank you.”
The police chief stepped back, allowing a tall, slender man with cropped brown hair and glasses to the podium.
I sat back in my chair, putting my feet up and crossing them on my glass table.
The woman I’d often seen with Smith was right by the assistant’s side.
She touched her ear. And appeared to be talking with someone.
I made out the communication device. I leaned in closer to see if I could read her lips and smirked when she did a once-over of the crowd, covering her mouth.
“Clever girl.”
“Thank you, Chief Sanderson, and thank you all for coming.” He smiled.
Why the fuck was he smiling?
“I’m sure you all are eager for an update on Mr. Smith.
I’m happy to report that he is doing well.
He is doing light rehab today for his leg and getting fit for a boot.
The wounds were not life-threatening, we are happy to report.
Mr. Smith is excited to be up and moving. I won’t use his exact words.”
His admittance got the crowd laughing; however, my blood was boiling. I didn’t fucking believe it. I don’t miss. I hit Steven Smith three times, the shoulder, the side, and the fucking thigh. If anything, he should’ve bled the fuck out. There was no way this son of a bitch survived.
“Doctors tell us he will be monitored overnight, but we are confident that he will be released in his cousin’s care to travel back to Chicago. I have nothing else at this time other than to say we appreciate your continued support and to please be patient with us at this time. Thank you.”
As the assistant stepped away from the podium, the faint ringing of my cell caught my attention as the media hurled questions at the backs of the conference participants.
“Fuck!” I screamed, kicking at the table as I jerked from my seat. “What?” I answered my phone without looking at the caller ID.
“You failed.” A familiar voice came over the line. “How could you be so fucking incompetent? You had one damn job. Kill the man who put my father in jail, and you couldn’t even do that. They have your description. It’s over.”
My breath came harder, sharper, over the line. I was about to explode. It wasn’t over. I always got my mark. I’d get this one too.
“You don’t worry about that. I’ll get the job done.” I ran my hands through my now jet-black hair. “You just have my money ready.”
I ended the call and replayed the information I heard in my mind. I formulated a plan that ended with Steven Smith dead and me millions richer.