Chapter 26
Bridger
I didn’t make a habit out of killing people, but there were days that called for a little bit of violence. There were moments in a man’s life where drawing blood was the only solution, and I’d do it a million more times for Juliette if it meant she was safe.
I placed a cigarette between my teeth, biting down on it gently as I lit it and drew in a breath.
The feeling of precious nicotine filled my lungs as I leaned back on the sofa, not even a tiny bit tired despite not sleeping all night.
Yesterday had started off normal. Waking up, work, going to Juliette’s place, making love to her.
Then there was a tiny bit of murder. A very casual Monday.
There was an energy pumping through me that I hadn’t ever felt before.
Ending Gordon Cavendish’s life was something I had planned on doing the second I saw him.
I loved every second of it. I loved the prior events to that too.
My fist smashing into his face over and over, me kicking him in the jaw until I heard a wonderful crack, me fucking his wife right in front of him until he cried.
Very soon, she’d be my wife. She was never his. Not really.
But that was when I let out a frustrated puff of air.
I wasn’t worried about leaving evidence behind.
As soon as I left Juliette’s place last night, I made sure to send a quick text to Bennett to tell him to fuck with every one of the security cameras in the house.
I knew he had done it. And I knew I’d have to explain why I had asked him to do it. That would come later.
I never left evidence behind. I was born with that criminal mentality. What I was worried about was how long I’d have to go without seeing Juliette. Eyes would be on her for a little while and the last thing we both needed was people seeing her coming over to my apartment.
I hoped Juliette didn’t feel any fear. I hoped she trusted me. I was going to get her out of it all, and really, we were already halfway there. The hard part hadn’t been killing her husband. The hard part would be being without her.
Pulling the cigarette from my lips, I gave my head a shake.
There I sat in the dark, the sun about to rise in an hour or two, and all I wanted was to drive down to the fancy ass hotel Juliette was most likely staying in and hold her close to me.
I wanted to calm all her fears and destroy any monsters she thought loomed over her.
They wouldn’t exist anymore. Gordon had been the biggest one, and slitting his throat had been one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life.
She didn’t ever have to feel fear with me. I’d ease any fear she ever felt.
I looked out the window. At the buildings, at the chaos.
I wanted to get Juliette out of Chicago and off to some beautiful place by the water.
That sounded nice. Just her and me and the ocean breeze, every morning and every night with her.
She never got to have that life she wanted, but now I could give it to her.
Standing up, I moved into the bedroom, my feet bringing me to a spot I had stood in a million times before: in front of her painting. It was one she had done back in high school. She had made it at my house, using some little torn up page from one of my mom’s magazines.
She had painted a sky with a setting sun and a brown house on stilts. There was a wraparound porch and a hammock out the front and blades of grass and bright sand. The water was a deep blue, gently crashing into the edge of the yellow grains. A little hammock was in the corner.
It looked warm and inviting. It felt like her. Like the home we were always meant to have.
It was the one she had asked me about the other day.
The one she said I had probably forgotten all about, but no, there it sat on my wall and had been there since I moved in.
It was my favorite painting of hers, because there it sat: my dream, my fantasy.
A little house on stilts—right by the beach—with me and the girl I loved inside.
Happy. Together. In love. Just us.
My fingers brushed over the house. All the windows were open and I could almost feel myself in one of those rooms, the ocean air gently flowing inside.
Her next to me, wrapped up in my arms, my lips on hers, her touch so good and warm and perfect.
Then I imagined us in that hammock, the sound of gentle waves crashing, the hot air on our skin. My eyes closed.
Soon, we’d have what we were always meant to have.
* * *
The last place I wanted to be was at work, but everything needed to look normal, and that meant sticking to my schedule, and that meant going into the parlor.
I made my way downstairs and saw Chase and Bennett’s cars out the front.
Just theirs. It was too early for the rest of the staff to be there.
I’d have some explaining to do. I knew that as I moved inside the parlor and down the hallway and to the break room, seeing Bennett and Chase in deep conversation. That came to a halt when they saw me paused in the doorway.
“Hey,” Chase said, giving me a nod. “You good over there?”
“I killed Juliette’s husband last night,” I said. I figured there was no point beating around the bush.
There was a long silence before Chase finally broke it.
“Say that one more time,” he said.
I shrugged. “I walked in on him putting his hands on her. Kinda lost my shit. Killed him. Definitely doesn’t look like some break and enter gone wrong. Looks personal.”
There was more silence as Chase and Bennett exchanged looks.
“That explains why you wanted me to wipe all that security footage,” Bennett said.
Chase swiped a thumb across his jaw. “Is Juliette okay?”
My head shook. “No. Yes. No… I don’t know. It’s more than just the bruises on her face and neck—”
“That piece of shit choked her?” Chase snapped.
I nodded. “But it wasn’t just physical. It was… Fuck, if I had known, I would have gotten her out of there the second I got out of prison.”
“What’s your plan here exactly?” Bennett asked.
“I fucked up. I know I did. But I walked into that room and…” I let my eyes close as I leaned against the doorway, my brain taking me right back to that moment.
Juliette on the floor. His fucking hands on her throat.
That fear in her eyes. Like he had any fucking right making her feel that terror.
He wasn’t allowed to put her through that.
“I lost it. I saw him and… there was no way he was living one more day.”
“How messy did it get?” Chase asked.
Eyes opening, I rubbed a hand against the back of my neck. “Beat his face in. Cut his throat open. Stabbed him in the stomach a couple times.”
“Such a casual conversation to have first thing on a Tuesday morning…” Bennett raised his eyebrows. “You wanted him to suffer. I get it. I also encourage it after he put his hands on her.”
“So?” Chase said. “What do we do? There’s no way any cop is gonna walk into that crime scene and think it was a break and enter that got a little messy.”
“A lot messy,” I said.
“What did she tell them?” Chase asked.
“I told her to be vague,” I said. “Too many details and it’d look too good.
Too clean. Too easy. Told her to say she didn’t see his face.
Didn’t see anything. She heard an accent.
European. Again, vague, but enough to make it look like an attack, not a robbery.
” I exhaled deeply. “Guy was working with some big-name clients. Some drug dealers. Mafia guys. Right, Bennett?”
Bennett’s brows pulled together. “Yeah, quite a few. And for a long time. Okay, that’s good.
You made it way too messy for it to ever look like a robbery, but what she said to the cops?
She planted a good seed. We can work with that.
Her husband worked with plenty of guys you could pass this on to. ”
“Like who?” I asked. “He ever fuck up and have one go to prison?”
“There was one recently,” Bennett said. “A few months ago. Some Russian guy. Mafia. He got forty years. The DA had been trying to get him for a decade. Guy is gonna die in prison. There’s a long list of people who are pissed about that…”
“That’ll be our way in. There’s some pissed off drug lord who’s mad his top guy is behind bars.” My eyes flickered up to Bennett’s face. “Any chance you can fuck with his phone? Make it look like he got a couple text messages? Like they were sent a few days ago or something?”
Tongue clicking, he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I could do that. I can mess with the phone records at his office too. Make it look like he kept getting calls from unknown numbers.”
“He’s the kinda guy people would want dead,” Chase said. “It’ll look good. It’ll make sense. Burner phone?”
Bennett nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve already got a couple at home. Give me an hour and I can trace some calls to one. I’ll dump it somewhere near the house. Cops will find a couple numbers that trace back to Russia. Easy.”
Easy, he said, as if I had any idea how to handle any of that shit, but I trusted him to do good. I trusted him with my life.
“Guy hasn’t even been dead a day and you’re already framing the fucking Russians.” Chase snorted and threw an arm around Bennett’s shoulders, bringing him in closer as he slapped his chest. “This fucking nerd. I love you, man.”
“I’m smart. I’m not a nerd,” Bennett muttered before looking back at me. “Give me a few hours, and I’ll have this all fixed for you. Then Gordon Cavendish’s murder becomes an unsolved mystery that only we’ll have all the answers to.”
“And Juliette?” Chase asked.
“I can get her a new name and license and passport and everything,” Bennett said. “I can have all that stuff to you in a week flat. If she wants to be off the map after this…”
I shook my head. “She’ll be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life if we do that. That’s exactly what she’s been doing the last five years. She deserves better.”
“So, you wanna give her freedom,” Bennett said.