TWO
Forty-seven cameras are in her house.
I personally planted every single one three years ago when she moved in. Unless she looks for them specifically, there’s not a single chance she’d be able to discover them. They’re small, hidden well, and put in places she’d never suspect.
A couple of them malfunctioned over the years, but I was always quick to change them when she was either asleep, at work, or out.
Though, the times of entering her home when she was asleep were rare or out of necessity. Making my pretty girl uncomfortable is something I never want to do; hence, I often opted for breaking in when she was at work.
Somehow, it’s less creepy.
From the moment I saw Blair Hawke for the first time, something changed. As if a flip had been switched inside of me, an immense need to protect her was born. I don’t know why it happened or why it had to be her – but it happened, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it.
Blair moved exactly the way I wanted her to move. From the prison escape to the hitchhike and the elderly couple that oh-so-graciously took her in to the job she has now, everything was orchestrated by me.
At first, I was just supposed to give her a helping hand, yet I couldn’t stop myself from watching her every move.
No one notices how often she talks to herself. No one notices that she spaces out often, and it takes her a while to pull out of it. No one seems to notice how dark and disturbing her mind truly is; no one notices that she doesn’t smile sincerely. I haven’t seen a genuine smile on her face since I’ve known her.
She perfected her customer service voice, laughter, and facial expression. She learned by mimicking others, and it’s nothing but a facade. The real Blair would make all of those people shake in their boots until they run away scared.
That’s my goal.
Having my pretty girl all to myself.
Helping my pretty girl heal and giving her the thing she desires the most – revenge.
My right hand is on the mouse, clicking, switching footage from her living room to the bedroom until nothing but Blair is on my screen.
Her dark, brown hair is neatly pulled into a tight ponytail, swaying as she walks over from her dresser to the king-sized bed. It’s late September, and in Long Grove, the reason for wearing short skirts and crop tops is gone.
Yet, there she is, as if she’s immune to cold, in nothing but a pair of shorts and a sports bra.
She sprawls across the bed, scrolling on her phone. With a glance to my left, I see everything she’s seeing. Naturally, I hacked into her phone the moment she purchased it. It’s just for her safety, of course.
As always, she’s searching for anything regarding the prison massacre.
The news made the headlines. Everyone wanted to know why a female prison was targeted and how it was done, without a single witness in sight. But most importantly, everyone wanted to know who did it.
From the employees to the prisoners – all of them were wiped out.
However, I’m not that big of a bastard. Beforehand, I made sure that every employee that wasn’t corrupt and prisoners whose sentences weren’t heavy were transferred elsewhere. The inmates were sent across the state under the guise of this one being too crowded.
The employees got paid time off, which Mama helped me arrange.
And now, three years later, all that’s left is for my pretty butterfly to spread her wings and fly freely.
The news didn’t die out as quickly as I’d hoped. Instead, every news reporter and every newspaper company was grasping for straws, trying to collect non-existent evidence and get the juicy story out into the world.
It pissed me off. It still does.
Luckily, it all happened miles away from Long Grove, and no one could ever connect Amy Marshall to Blair Hawke.
Mainly because Blair changed drastically. Her natural, blonde hair is now dark brown, and her once bare skin is covered in tattoos. Her forearms, lower back, and thighs are covered in ink, and it makes her so much more attractive.
Unless someone pays close attention, there’s nothing that can indicate that Amy and Blair are the same person.
Blair Hawke is long dead and won’t be coming back to reclaim her name.
My phone buzzes, breaking my train of thought.
Forcefully, I tear my eyes from Blair, shutting the monitor down. Without bothering to look at the caller ID, I pick up the call, pressing the device against my ear, annoyance evident in my tone.
“Arlo speaking.”
“You little bastard,”
Mama’s loud voice echoes, and I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear for a brief moment.
“You promised you’d be home for the weekend! Where the fuck are you? Aria is asking about you non-stop. It can’t be that hard to send her a single text message! And do you even realize how many dishes I’ve prepared for you? How many hours have I spent cooking all of your favorite foods?”
I wince again. “I’m sorry, Mama. I forgot.”
A humorless laugh slips from Mom’s lips. The dangerous kind. The kind that tells me that I’m utterly and completely fucked.
“You forgot,”
she repeated slowly. “You forgot your mother’s birthday? What did I do to deserve this? I should’ve had a third kid; maybe the third one would’ve loved me. You and your sister are monsters.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh at her antics. “Mama, your birthday is in November.”
Silence greets me back. Knowing my mother, she’s soundlessly fuming, trying to get me to go back home. It’s been a while since I visited, and she misses me. Dad’s almost always working these days, and since Mom decided to turn herself into an alcoholic housewife, she’s been bored as hell.
“Well,”
she clears her throat. “At least you know when my birthday is. Now, I’ll freeze all of this food, and you better be home next weekend; otherwise, I might be tempted to come to you.”
I sit straight in the chair. “That is not necessary. I’ll be home, I promise.”
“Good,”
she humps in triumph. “Now, the second reason I’m calling you is that your father told me to send you a message, since apparently you blocked his number.”
For a damn reason. Dad acts like a clingy girlfriend, texting me every ten minutes if I don’t respond, and when I do, it’s followed by a big paragraph of how much he misses me.
“What does he want?”
“For one, you’ve blocked him,”
she repeats with a snort. “And secondly, the agreement between Hudson and you was one job per month. You’ve been in that town for over six months and haven’t taken any of the clients, honey. Hudson won’t just be giving you money so you can laze off.”
“I’ll just live off your money.”
“As if,”
she snorted. “You’re a grown-ass adult; you go and make your own money. But seriously, Hudson needs a bit of help. Clients are coming in a lot lately, given the political state of New York. And he can’t do it all alone.”
My brows narrow in suspicion. Noelle Campbell is not the woman to beat around the bush, though right now, it seems as though she’s struggling to put into words what she’s truly thinking.
A lazy grin tugs on the corner of my lips.
“Mama, are you bored? Is this your way of asking me to take on my part of the job?”
“I mean, only if you’re too busy.”
I laugh. “I’ll be home next weekend, and we’ll discuss it then. You can dust off your favorites; you’ll need them.”
Like a child, she squeals in happiness. “Thank you, sweetheart. And please, for the love of God, call Aria. She’s moping around.”
“Will do.”
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
She hangs up the phone, undoubtedly to tell Dad that I agreed to let her take over my part. Turning into a housewife was never going to last. I knew it from the get-go. Just like her son, she needs the thrill that sitting around will never give her.
We’re too alike for our own good.
Noelle Campell and Hudson De Santis are assassins. They were the definition of enemies, always at each other’s throats, trying to kill each other. Mom killed Dad’s brother, and Dad almost killed her. Yet now, they’re madly in love, just like they were over twenty years ago when they started their relationship.
We’re a family of assassins, with a legitimate company and work to cover up for our favorite pastime.
I was raised knowing what my parents do for a living and knew how to keep my mouth shut. On the outside, Mom is a housewife, and Dad is the wealthy CEO of an oil company. On the inside, the two can bring even the devil himself to his knees.
By the time I was six, I was able to assemble and disassemble a gun in less than sixty seconds. Soon enough, I was introduced to various types of guns, knives, and all the fun toys Mom and Dad cherish.
However, it was my choice to join in on the family business.
I wasn’t asked; I wasn’t forced. As soon as I turned twelve, I expressed my desire to be trained just like them. They are two weapons that are lethal to anyone they deem a foe. And even foes second-guess their decisions in the presence of my parents.
Through their trials and tribulations, they found solace in each other. A love so deep that nothing could ever sever their bond, even in death.
At one point, Mom’s throat was slashed. She was in the hospital for too long, and the first few nights, Dad was in the hospital room with a gun pressed against his temple. He was going to kill himself if she died.
“Not even death can do us part,”
I murmur, repeating the words that Dad often says about Mom.
My eyes close and the image of Blair’s face forms behind closed lids. That’s exactly how I feel about my butterfly. From the moment I laid my eyes on her, she was mine. Soon enough, I’ll formally introduce myself as Arlo De Santis, not the Benjamin Miller she knew while she was in prison.
“Wait for me, butterfly,”
I mutter. “I’ll come for you soon.”
The night settled on the horizon long ago. The soft wind promises a warm morning tomorrow, the stars in the sky shining ever so brightly.
It’s about ten in the evening, and Blair’s finishing up her shift at the restaurant, tired from the intense day. I hoped today wouldn’t be as busy – I hate seeing her overworked. But of course, it had to be a very busy day.
My pretty girl handled it well.
Pride blooms in my chest at the thought.
However, it’s not as good as I originally thought. The plan was to wait for her to close up, follow her home to ensure her safety, then return to the place I’ve been staying at. But around eight o’clock, a man dropped by the restaurant for takeout.
From what I heard, since I do have the entire restaurant bugged since she started working there, the food took a little longer than usual to be prepared since it was busy. The man, whose name I learned to be Simon, waited patiently by the bar and ordered himself some beer.
It’s not anything unusual to grab a drink while waiting for the order to be prepared; however, the way he is looking at Blair makes my blood boil.
I hacked into the security system, getting access to every camera. I’m parked down the street, near the restaurant, watching their interaction through the screen of my laptop. I can’t have Blair seeing me before the time’s right.
Simon looks at Blair like she’s a piece of meat.
His eyes are focused on her chest more than the lips that are speaking to him, and when she turns around to pour him another glass of beer, his eyes are glued to her ass, barely blinking.
My ass. Mine.
It’s enough to throw me off the goddamn rails. Though simply staring hardly warrants me to reveal myself to Blair sooner than planned, it’s Simon who I have plans on removing from existence for daring to stare at my butterfly.
Their conversation is very much one-sided.
Blair is playing nice until she realizes that he is leaning over the bar, almost getting into her personal space. She backs up, though this time her smile holds venom that he doesn’t seem to notice. Quickly, she realizes the hidden meaning behind his innocent questions, and she’s far from happy.
He asks about her boyfriend, living arrangements, and if she has a ride home.
Politely, Blair declined his offer to drive her home, and it seems to piss him off.
I shouldn’t be too surprised.
Each and every time a man would hit on her, my butterfly would turn them down without a second thought. She has a ring on the fourth finger on her left hand, always telling men that she was happily engaged. Almost as if she’s waiting for me.
Simon doesn’t back down, though. Her telling him that she’s engaged just angers him, but he’s aware that he can’t do much tonight.
Reluctantly, he leaves when his food is prepared, his gaze lingering on Blair for a little too fucking long.
She sighs out in relief as soon as he’s out the door, but she doesn’t realize that he isn’t leaving quite yet.
In fact, he waits in the darkness for her to lock up the restaurant and walk down the street. He slowly starts following her from a safe distance to the bus station. Evidently, he isn’t that stupid. In case she turns around, he always has a dark corner where to hide so she can’t spot him. It’s enough that the motherfucker has the audacity to follow a woman for me to snap, even less when it’s my fucking woman.
That’s when I leave the car silently, with my favorite knife in hand, and start closing the distance between us.
Rage builds in my body; blood runs cold in my veins. My knuckles turn white from the tight grip on the knife as I pick up the pace, catching up with him. I’m always silent on my feet, my presence unnoticeable until I want it noticed.
Simon realizes that her bus would be there soon, and he speeds up, trying to close the distance between them. However, I’ll never allow that pest to be within a breathing distance of Blair, ever again.
Once is too many times.
Blair’s movements come to a halt when she reaches the stop, waiting for the bus. It’s the only time I have to take out the motherfucker.
Swiftly, I press the knife against his neck, using my free hand to cover his mouth. The natural reaction is to either scream for help or beg me to spare his life, yet he freezes in place. It works out for me perfectly.
“Make a noise and you’re dead,”
I threaten, a venomous tone coating my tongue.
Lightly, he nods his head, and I remove my hand from his mouth and shove him into the alley on the right.
I press a finger to my lips, signaling for him to keep quiet. He would probably scream right about now, but once he sees the long and sharp knife in my gloved hand, he nods wordlessly, without making a fuss.
The moment the bus takes off, I’m ready.
A wide grin spreads on my face when Simon falls flat on his ass, trying to crawl backward. His back hits the wall behind him, and his eyes widen in realization – he is fucked, and there’s no escape. He’s completely at my mercy.
I’m not a merciful man.
“Please,”
his pathetic voice is barely audible. “I have money! Just don’t hurt me.”
I cock my head to the side, inching closer to him and crouching down, placing the sharp tip of the blade on his cheek. He flinches, closing his eyes. The motherfucker whimpers like the pathetic dog that he is.
“And pray tell, what were you going to do to her?”
He’s stumbling over his words, stuttering as his eyes peel open, meeting the evil that is no longer hidden in mine.
Realization seems to dawn on him. He starts sweating profusely, trying to find a way out of this situation. The only way out for him is death, and I’m patiently waiting for him to realize it.
“Ask for her number, I promise!”
I hum. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying,”
he tried to defend.
A sigh leaves my lips. “If I remember correctly, which I do, you already asked for her number, and she said no. Do you not understand the meaning of the word or?”
“I swear, man,”
he gulps. “I didn’t know she was taken!”
My brows narrow.
He definitely knew that she was taken, given that she showed him the faux engagement ring. Yet, he still thought it would be a good idea to follow her home.
“See, Simon,”
I sigh and notice the shock on his face when I address him by his name. “I hate a lot of things, and right below predators and rapists are liars. Somehow, you seem to fit in all three categories. Tell me, what should your punishment be?”
“Please,”
he pleads desperately. “I won’t even look at her again.”
“Sure you won’t. You won’t have any functioning eyes once I’m one with you.”
That’s how the fun begins.
I end up gouging out both of his eyes, not before killing him. Torturing him is off the table just because there are residential buildings nearby, and I can’t risk anyone seeing this or hearing the commotion.
Instead, I slash his throat, and whilst the pig drowns in the pool of his own blood, making gurgling noises, I gut him. It’s messy, dirty, and it reeks, yet it feels so liberating.
Ensuring Blair’s safety is my number one priority, and now it’s one less pig that she needs to fear.
I’m not going to stop until I pave the path for her perfect revenge. All the scumbags that dared to hurt her would meet their deaths at the hands of my butterfly.
All that’s left to do is awaken the greed inside of her.