Chapter 29
Meet Anderson—and fucker Michael—and kill Leslie-bitch? And with Calvano’s blessings? I feel like Alice in Wonderland who just got high.
I step outside his office, feeling my ego soaring.
Even with her in my life and pretending I’m something better, the itch never went away. It just sits there, carved in my brain, reminding me how good it would feel to hurt someone on purpose. Ah, that sick, smug certainty that I’d enjoy every second of it and never feel bad after.
I still get off on the idea of it. Breaking bones, hearing begging turn into noise, watching the light die while I decide when it’s enough. That part of me never weakened for her. If anything, it got greedier.
Because now, the fantasy has a target.
Now, it’s personal.
Some idiot put their hands on her and signed themselves up for whatever’s been rotting inside me, waiting for an excuse.
Suddenly, Wes shoves me back against the wall and presses the gun up my jaw like it’s supposed to scare me this time.
That trick gets old fast.
“Well, this is getting intimate.” I grin widely.
“What did he ask you to do?” he hisses, his amber eyes widening.
“You’re running out of tricks, Leslie.”
“Answer the fucking question!” he shouts, pressing the gun harder against my skin.
I shrug. “Same old, boring errands.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Oh, thank God. You do have survival instincts. Sort of.”
He cocks the hammer. Repetition is the mother of not learning, after all. “It would be so easy for me to blow up your brains—”
“Wanna have some fun?” I cut him off.
“What?”
“Fun, dude. When was the last time you tortured someone?”
The pressure from the gun loosens a bit as if I said the magic word and triggered some dead-ass feelings in this fucker. Feels refreshing, I won’t lie.
“Elaborate,” he says, pushing the gun back into his waistband.
I exhale, jaded. “Calvano said the package had to come from Anderson himself. Emphasis on ‘himself.’ Anderson put his hands on Isabella. That ended any restraint I had and bought him a personal delivery.”
“By the way, really, dude?” He scrunches his face. “Calvano’s daughter?”
“Are you in or out?” I say through clenched teeth, trying to remain composed and stick to my plan.
“So, what are you going to tell Calvano when Anderson turns up with his throat slashed?”
“Do you really care?”
“I don’t give a shit. When this goes sideways—and it will—don’t drag my name into it.”
“Great.” I clap my hands once, then rub them together. “I’ll drive.”
On the ride to Anderson’s mansion, we passed the first checkpoint at the gate and were let through without trouble. Nobody there has a clue how bloody the night is about to get.
We ride through the expansive garden in front of the ridiculously big mansion, stopping right at the entrance stairs.
Ah, that thrill, that adrenaline I feel coursing through my veins as I get closer to him is all-consuming. It gets more feral by the second.
“Wasn’t that too easy?” Wes asks as he removes his helmet.
“Please,” I say, pulling off mine. “When people expect you, they roll out the red carpet and forget to lock the doors.” I give him a wink. “Enjoy it.”
He rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they’re still in his skull.
“Fine. Move your ass,” he growls, walking ahead.
Fucker.
A big bastard blocks the entrance, arms crossed. He touches the earpiece tucked behind his ear.
“They’re here, boss.”
“Let them in.”
“Nice.” I roll my shoulders and walk forward.
The big wardrobe guy steers us down the hall and dumps us in the room outside Anderson’s office. Figures.
“Knock on the door,” he growls, brows knotted like some hulking Viking.
Then he’s gone, leaving us with that familiar little thought that maybe knocking is a bad idea, but not knocking is worse. It’s like playing truth or dare.
I will always pick the dare.
“Are you sure about this?” Wes grabs my arm before I grab the knob.
“Scaredy cat.”
“It’s just you and me,” he whisper-shouts, eyes blown wide and jittery. “He’s got hordes waiting on a signal, and I am not dying next to you, or for you.”
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
“No.”
I shrug. “Fair enough.”
Honestly, that’s the smartest thing he’s said all day.
Trusting me would be stupid. I’m supposed to kill him once this is over, anyway.
Liability, loose end, wrong place at the wrong time because I stepped in.
Kind of a shitty reason to erase someone, but that’s how it works.
One minute you’re useful, the next minute you’re paperwork.
Orders are orders, and I’ve learned not to think too hard about how thin the line is between asset and problem or get sentimental about it.
“Just follow my lead,” I say.
“Why are you friendly with me all of a sudden?” he snaps, suspicious and jumpy.
I let out a slow breath, already tired of him. “Relax. I was bored. Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not asking you to braid my hair or hold my hand.”
I shove the door wide open. Oops. I guess I skipped the part where I listen to the giant’s instructions. Typical me.
And would you look at that.
“Look what we have here.” I clap my hands once and start prowling closer, already enjoying this a little too much.
“Adam?” Michael stutters, jerking his gun up at me.
Just the man I wanted to see.
“Anderson’s such a fool,” I say, savoring the flash of surprise in his eyes. “Putting a rat on guard duty was a really bad move.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You know him?” Wes asks, puzzled.
“Why are you here? Who let you in?”
I stalk right up to him and grab his face in my palm, not even flinching at the gun jammed into my ribs.
“Looks like Anderson is a dick with a real talent for trusting the wrong people,” I snarl, enjoying the panic cracking through his bravado.
My smile pulls wide and sinister. “He trusted you to guard him. He trusted me to wander his house alone. That’s two bad calls already.
” I lean in closer. “Fairy tales don’t end happy when everyone’s this stupid. ”
“Listen, brother—”
“We are not brothers.” I shake him like a broken toy, hauling him clear off the floor. “You’re a loose-end fuckup I allowed to keep breathing because I was stupid enough to feel generous. I had endless chances back in training. All those possible neat little accidents I chose to let pass.”
His nostrils flare, eyes glassy, panic finally punching through.
God, I love that part.
“Let me explain.”
“I could drown you in a sink, light you up like a match, take you apart and scatter the pieces so wide no one would even bother asking where you went.”
I walk up to him, kneel, and press my forehead to his, savoring every twitch. “You hear that?” I murmur. “That little noise in your head? That’s your survival instinct screaming while I decide how creative I feel.”
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, finally folding.
“Why didn’t you finish the fucking task already?” I growl.
The gun slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor.
“The money was too good,” he wails. “I’m sorry, Adam. I have a family.”
Something in my head clicks sideways.
Family.
That word rattles around like a loose screw. I grin again, my thoughts racing in little circles. Everyone’s got a family. Everyone’s got a price. Funny how those two always end up in the same sentence.
Oh, I could end this so clean, so quiet. It would barely register as a memory. I would get my revenge and find my peace of mind.
I pull back and stand.
My smile wobbles, manic, almost playful.
God, it would be easy.
Too easy.
“Figures,” I murmur. “Get up.”
He sprawls on the floor, stunned, then forces himself back to his feet.
“Adam, I—”
“Get out,” I say lightly, waving him off. “Go be a dad. Spend the money. Lose sleep over it.”
He nods sharply, panic jerking his head, then scrambles for the door.
“Michael,” I sing out, stopping him mid-lunge. He freezes. “We’re even now. You’re as dead as I am.”
He nods again.
“I’m going to kill this motherfucker,” I add, almost cheerfully. “So you’d better vanish before they figure out you’re the useless newbie who stood around and let the boss get wiped.”
“Understood,” he says before hurrying away.
“Phew. That was intense,” Wes deadpans. “Ex-boyfriend?”
“Calvano asked me to get rid of you.”
“… What?”
“You’re dead weight now, apparently.”
“And you’re gonna do it?”
I watch his face before I answer, let the silence stretch just long enough to get uncomfortable.
I want to let him picture it. I want to let him feel it.
“No.”
He crosses his arms. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”
I snort. “Oh, hell no. I’m a fucking asshole.”
I tilt my head, thinking it through even as I say it. Calvano cuts what slows him down. That’s his religion. If something limps, he puts a bullet in it. I keep what still works, even if it’s cracked—especially if it’s cracked—because broken things tend to bite harder.
“I just think, unlike that trigger-happy prick, you’re still useful.”
“How nice of you.”
“Are you in or out?” I ask, already knowing the answer. There’s no real choice here, just the illusion of one.
“Fuck,” he mutters, jaw tightening. “In.”
“Excellent.”
Finally … It’s time.