Match Made in Hell (In the Spotlight #6)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Menace

The hovel where my target lives is in the worst part of town, the place where you don’t walk down the street at night without fear of being robbed, where you’d run the risk of stepping on crack pipes or heroin needles if you’re not careful.

None of that scares me. I grew up in a place worse than this, a trailer park that sucked you in and refused to let you leave—not without a habit or a record.

I got lucky. All I got was trauma.

I park a few blocks away, being sure to stash my car where it can’t be seen or stolen. With my hood snug over my head, I hop out of my car and make the short walk to the apartment.

I pull down the fire escape ladder and climb up to the second floor. There’s no reason to check to see if the window is unlocked. I just smash that motherfucker, reach inside, and unlock it. I’m sure I could have broken the lock without him hearing me, but I kinda want him to be afraid.

Climbing inside, I grumble when my foot lands on an overfull trash bag, the garbage sinking under my weight. I make as much noise as possible, wanting to see the fear in his eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” my target, Denton, slurs as he stumbles into the living room, an old, filthy undershirt on that I’m sure he hasn’t washed since he took it out of the pack. His pants look two sizes too small. He probably had to jump several times to get them up his thighs.

“Hey, Denton,” I murmur, pushing my hood back.

He stares at me, his fuzzy eyes going in and out of focus. “How do you know my name?”

I shrug and pull out my knife, tossing it from one hand to the other. “I know a lot about you, Denton. Like you’re a piece of shit abuser that killed two of your wives.”

He stumbles back until his back hits the wall. He tries to push off, but I’m sure he’s too deep in the bottle to be coordinated. “Fuck those bitches. They nagged and nagged and didn’t listen to shit I said. They got what was coming to them for mouthing off.”

I walk over to him in three long strides, pushing my forearm to his throat hard enough to make him wheeze.

“Mouthing off, huh?” I tap my knife on my chin. “You’re mouthing off to me right now. That mean I can beat you until you meet the devil?”

His face pales and he tries to push me off. He’s a bigger man, taller than me and with more bulk, but he’s too drunk to be effective, his clumsy hands sliding down my forearms. “Anyone here with you, Denton? Or are you alone?”

“Why?” he asks and I paste my knife to his throat, making him freeze his movements as his eyes peel wide.

“Are. You. Alone?” I repeat through clenched teeth.

“I’m alone,” he rasps.

“Bullshit,” I seethe. “Who the fuck is here? You got another wife you like to beat on?”

“I said I’m alone! Besides, those bitches were weak. None of them could handle me.”

I roll my eyes, then jab the knife in his upper thigh. A scream peals from his throat and I headbutt him. His scream peters off into a low groan.

My forehead will bruise and Sya will be upset when I show up tonight, but he pissed me off.

“Motherfucker,” he huffs, trying again to shove me away. “I apologized to those whores. I said—”

“You killed them, Denton! You can’t apologize after you take someone’s life!

Your fists made them feel lower than dirt.

They’re fucking dead because you can’t control your fucking temper, you toddler.

” I grit out, my heart racing with anger and excitement.

“Now it’s time for you to feel how you made your wives feel. ”

Denton’s bottom lip trembles and I see remorse and fear flicker through his eyes. Too little, too fucking late.

Getting closer to him, so close that his stench burrows into my sinuses, I ask, “Who else is here?”

“I swear, it’s just me,” he stammers. “Listen. I’m real sorry. I need some help. I can get better. I just need another chance. One more chance and I’ll prove it to you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Denton,” I mutter, pulling the knife from his thigh, smiling as his scream fills my ear. “Motherfuckers like you never change. The only way to stop your bullshit is to stop your heart.”

“No! No!” he shouts, pushing me off with a shocking amount of force and struggling to run to the back of the apartment with his fucked-up leg. I allow it, watching him hobble to an open room. “Someone help me!”

He moved into the wrong place if he thought someone was going to care about his cries for help.

This apartment building is devoid of hope and care, no one here worried about anyone but themselves.

The residents here are just trying to survive.

Sticking their necks out for other people won’t happen when they’re probably in a bad spot themselves.

It’s the only reason I decided to kill Denton here.

Even if someone calls the police, it will take authorities close to thirty minutes to send a squad car out.

When the cops knock on doors to ask questions, no one will talk, so the cops will leave after a while without much investigation.

As long as I’m done before the half an hour is up, I won’t be caught.

I follow Denton at my own pace, but I regret letting him get away when I just miss him swinging a bat at my head when I enter his room. His drunken swaying is the only thing that alerts me to the weapon, and I drop my knife so I can catch the aluminum before he smashes it into my skull.

Faster than I thought possible, Denton drops to one knee, grabs the knife, and takes a swipe at me. It catches the leg of my pants but doesn’t break skin.

Denton curses and I knee him in the face, making him crash back onto the floor. His cry is garbled, then turns high-pitched when the fumbling fucker impales himself with my sharp-ass blade.

Tsking, I walk over and kick him in the face as hard as I can. His head knocks back and he shrieks, the sound like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I close my eyes and relish it for a moment before I stomp him the fuck out.

I kick him everywhere I can reach, giving him everything he used to give his wives. Something I wish I could have done to my father before I gave him a quick death. I didn’t need the police asking too many questions.

Denton begs and cries as I bring my heavy boots down on any part of his body I can reach. “Please! Please stop! I swear I ain’t mean it! I ain’t—”

“Fucking liar,” I huff as I bring my boot down on his face. It stuns him, his eyes fluttering, his neck loose on his spine. “You’re going to die now. Any last words?” I ask, though I don’t give him time to answer before I kick him in the mouth.

Denton groans, then turns to the side, lazily spitting out a tooth fragment.

I grab my knife from the floor and look at it gleam in the soft bedroom light. Then I slide it in its sheath and pick up the bat. Kicking him onto his back, I straddle either side of his body. Then I raise the metal high over my head and bring it down, over and over on his scalp.

After the fifth strike, Denton stops moving, but I keep going until my arms get tired. Then I hit him one more time for good measure.

When I toss the bat to the side, Denton’s face is unrecognizable, brains splattered on the floor behind him, blood making a halo around his head. Unfitting, since this fucker is going straight to hell.

“I’ll see you there, Denton,” I mutter, spitting on his corpse. I’m not worried about DNA being collected. By the time anyone finds his body and actually removes him, he’ll be a fucking mummy.

I go to his bathroom and clean the blood off my face and hands, being sure not touch anything in this shithole. I’d have to get a tetanus shot.

After I wash my face, I check myself in the filthy mirror. My forehead is red from where I head-butted Denton, but I’ll have my makeup artist touch that up before the event. Other than that, I’m good.

Drying my hands on my hoodie—which doesn’t really help, since there’s blood splatter dotting the front—I leave the way I came.

Once I hop off the fire escape ladder, I stuff my hands in my pockets, duck my head, and take the alley between buildings to get back to my car.

That kill was long overdue. I’d done my research on Denton, seeing that he got off not once, but twice after he killed his wife, claiming self-defense. The piece of shit lawyers that were supposed to put him away failed both times. It was up to me to ensure Denton never had the chance to re-offend.

It’s the first kill I’ve had in a while, the first time I’ve been able to get messy instead of using my sniper rifle to pop someone from afar.

I’ll have to do it again, soon. Adrenaline thrums through me as I think about the kill, rewinding it in my head over and over.

Pretty soon, I won’t be content with killing from a distance.

I need up close and personal. I need to feel… mortal.

When I slide behind the wheel of my car, I check my watch and curse. I have to get back to the city in time for some charity event my agent signed me up for. I hate these events. It’s always just a room full of rich old people trying to one-up each other.

Most of the charities they donate to are shell companies for their families’ wealth.

The whole vibe is sleazy, but if I want my charity for domestic violence—one where I actually donate one hundred percent of the proceeds—funded, I have to rub elbows and make these fuckers with more money than God pay the fuck up.

I wish I could kill the lot of them, but I can’t help survivors if I’m in prison.

I snort. I could wind up in prison for any of the murders I commit. I’m careful, but it only takes one slip up.

I shake that thought off, wanting to ride the high of the kill. I’m not sure when I’ll get another.