Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CALVIN
My heart races as I walk toward the run-down building Mitchell demanded I show up to. He must have been in the city for a while to know it was here.
Tears for my friend still stream down my face, but I don’t wipe them.
I’m hurting and want nothing more than to fucking kill Mitchell for that, but I don’t want to look too put together.
Mitchell has known me since I was a child, he knows I wear my emotions on my sleeve.
If I’m too buttoned up, he’ll know something is off.
I feel dirty using my pain for Shameka to fool him, but I want him dead. The only way for that to happen is if I help facilitate it.
I’m terrified for Atlas, though. Yeah, I’ve seen him kill a man, but that man wasn’t Mitchell.
Before my ex-husband got arrested, I thought he only had a little temper sometimes when things didn’t go his way.
When he was on trial, I found out more things than I thought he was capable of.
He threw a man off a building because he was one hundred dollars short on a drug package he sold.
Or the woman he electrocuted in a hot tub because she turned state’s evidence.
None of those murders could be proven, but I saw it in his eyes. He killed those people and had more killed besides. Mitchell is capable of hardcore evil, and I’m afraid Atlas will be hurt because Mitchell doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself and getting his revenge.
Still, we have to try something. If we don’t, I’ll never be safe. Mitchell will pick off every person I’ve ever known until there’s no one left, then he’ll make me relive it by telling me details before he kills me too.
I can’t allow him to torment me. He’s done that enough. He’s taken enough from me—my sense of security, my old life, my old job. Everything. He can’t have Atlas too.
Where is Atlas? Did he find a way to enter the building without Mitchell noticing? Is he safe?
My hand inches down to the pocket of my jeans, feeling the switchblade he gave me.
My ankle feels heavier with the gun strapped to it, but I make sure my steps are even, not favoring my left leg or Mitchell will know something is up.
I’m not sure what Atlas expects me to do with the garotte he tucked into my jacket pocket, but I didn’t ask questions.
If he thinks I need it, I won’t complain.
Blowing out a long breath, I step into the building, looking around for the man who’s tormented my nightmares for years.
I wipe my face and take a few steps inside, taking in my surroundings. The building is an old abandoned factory, with old machinery and fallen equipment that give me the chills. This place is creepy, with so many ways to hide. Mitchell picked this place on purpose. He knows if—
“Calvin,” a deep, resonant voice says, making me shiver in disgust.
Mitchell.
I turn around and see him leaning against a piece of machinery I can’t even guess the function of.
He’s still as handsome as I remember, though he’s gained about twenty pounds of muscle.
Same dark brown skin, luminous eyes, cocky smirk, and relaxed demeanor.
Like nothing bothers him, like he didn’t kill my friend and try to ruin my fucking life.
“Mitchell,” I say, and I hate that my voice catches. Fear lances through me, my heart hammering harder in my chest.
“You look good, baby,” he says conversationally, crossing his arms across his chest. “You’ve been taking care of yourself.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss, my hands balling into fists. “Don’t you think you’ve taken enough from me? You—”
“Enough,” he says lazily, holding up his hand, and my mouth snaps shut before I can finish my sentence. “I told you I’d see you soon. But you know I like to play with my food before I eat it.”
My insides go cold. This was all a game for him. Calling me, taunting me. He probably watched me and had every intention of killing my best friend when he saw how close we were.
This is all a game to Mitchell. And Shameka was a pawn and didn’t even know it.
I wish I’d told her that my ex had escaped prison, but I never told her anything about him other than that we were divorced. If I hadn’t wanted to keep that part of my life a secret, she would still be alive. She could have protected herself.
“You should know your friend was loyal,” Mitchell tells me like I’m not feeling enough guilt about not keeping her safe. “Wouldn’t tell me a thing about you, even though I know pretty much everything. She died for nothing, really.”
I glare at him, trying to send all my hate and confused feelings through my gaze. “When you die, I hope it’s ten times worse than what you put her through.” I fume, feeling anger rising in me.
His laughter echoes around the room, making me startle. “I see some things have changed. When we were married, you wouldn’t hurt a fly. But you got rid of the man I sent after you. Or was it that bitch-ass boyfriend of yours?”
“You leave him out of it,” I seethe, taking a step closer to him. “He has nothing to do with what I did to you.”
For the first time since we started this fucked-up conversation, Mitchell’s face changes, anger flashing in his eyes as he clenches his jaw.
“Yeah, what you did to me.” He pushes off the machine and takes slow steps toward me.
It takes all of my might not to step back, but I can’t let Mitchell see how afraid I am.
He’s done enough to me already, he won’t get my fear too.
“What did you expect?” I ask. “You were a drug kingpin. We were married and you had this whole other life I knew nothing about. How could you do that to me?! I fucking trusted you and you made me uproot my life for the shit that you did!” My voice is a shout and Mitchell looks shocked.
We’d argued over the years—what couple doesn’t—but I’d rarely yelled.
I always wanted us to talk shit out in a calm way, so we didn’t piss each other off more.
But he has no fucking right being upset with me for distancing myself from him.
He’s a killer and a liar. He doesn’t get to be pissed that I left him.
It’s hypocritical to highlight him being a killer, knowing what Atlas does—seeing what Atlas does—but at least Atlas didn’t lie to me about it.
A slow, menacing smile crosses Mitchell’s face as he comes to a stop right in front of me. “Looks like you grew a backbone. That because of me?”
“Fuck. You. Mitchell. If you want to beat me, kill me for leaving you, then fucking get it over with. But you’re not going to torment me anymore. I won’t—”
Blinding pain flashes in my cheek as Mitchell slaps me across the face. I tumble to the ground, then look up at him, my hand flying to the radiating ache.
His face is blank, but his eyes dance with excitement. He’s wanted to do that for a long time, and now that he has, I’m sure he won’t stop anytime soon.
I won’t make it easy for him.
Quickly, I scramble to my feet and put some distance between us. “You asshole,” I hiss behind my swelling lips.
“You deserve worse. After all I did for you—putting you through college, marrying you, supporting your fucking career…” Mitchell moves so fast, I can only stumble back a few steps before he wraps his hand in my shirt, yanking me toward him.
I slap him, trying to get away from him, but he spins me around, wraps an arm around my neck and gets control of both my hands before I can do more than breathe.
In a sinister voice, he whispers, “You could have been a supportive fucking husband. You were supposed to hold me down, make sure my commissary was full, come to conjugal fucking visits. Instead, you fucking left me alone.”
I can hardly breathe, but I manage to say, “You lied to me. For years. You broke our vows when you kept your other life hidden from me.”
He nuzzles at the back of my neck and I feel sick. His touch makes my stomach roil, especially because I know those are the same hands that killed my best friend. “We can start over. I’ll forgive you and we—”
While he’s distracted, I knock my head back, hitting him square in the nose. Like Atlas told me, it causes him to loosen his grip and I duck out of his grasp, but Mitchell is fast.
He grabs the back of my jacket and pulls me down, and we both hit the ground.
The wind is knocked out of me, giving Mitchell time to straddle me and backhand me across the face so hard that I feel like he’s dislocated my jaw.
I cry out, the pain blinding. He does the same to the other side, and my head snaps in the opposite direction.
“Fucking bitch!” he roars, putting both of his large palms around my neck and applying pressure. “You fucking abandoned me! You thought I would let that betrayal slide?!”
I stare up at Mitchell’s pissed-off face, trying to pull in air, but he has too tight a hold on me.
He shakes me like a rag doll, sloshing my brain around, and I claw at his fingers, trying to make him loosen his grip. I tear through his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice, his face contorted in an evil mask.
This is the man I married, the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, trying to kill me for the mistakes he made.
I can’t die like this. I can’t leave Atlas alone, wondering what he could have done differently to save me.
Thinking of Atlas snaps me out of my regrets and I let my hands fall to my sides as if I’m giving up. Even though my vision is blackening around the edges, I see Mitchell smile as he looks down at me, taking pleasure that he’s ending my life.
I inch my hand down to my pocket and pull out the switchblade. With clumsy fingers, I flick it open and bring it up in a wide arc, slicing through his cheek.
Blood drips down on me in a torrent as Mitchell screams and lets me go, his hands going to his cheek.
I wiggle from between his legs, putting space between us as I take in greedy pulls of air. My throat hurts, raw with my coughing and wheezing, but I push past the pain and crawl away from Mitchell.
His hard hand locks around my ankle without the revolver strapped to it and he pulls me back. I lose the switchblade before I can get a good grip on it. I kick at him, but that doesn’t seem to bother him.
This is it. He won’t let me go again. He’ll finish me off quickly for thinking of fighting back. He’ll—
Before Mitchell can get his hands back around my throat, a click sounds in the air, making him freeze, our deep breathing the only sound in the room.
In a cold voice, Atlas says, “Get your fucking hands off my man before I splatter your brains all over the floor.”