Chapter 40 JADE
JADE
"I didn't think so," I conclude softly, praying that Mateo understands. Hoping that he really knows Kill Bill by heart and recognizes the lines from O-Ren Ishii, part of the monologue we shared on the plane.
I hang up before he can respond, setting the phone down with a finality that feels like a gamble with my life.
"Happy now?" I ask Becky, my voice hollow.
She smiles, all teeth and malice. "Not yet," she says, adjusting her grip on the gun. "We're just getting started."
The words send ice through my veins. The way she says it, like she's savoring each syllable, makes my skin crawl. In the past hour, I've watched her unravel before my eyes, composure slipping away to reveal something feral beneath.
"You know," she continues, her voice taking on a dreamy quality that's somehow more terrifying than her rage, "when my father died, they repossessed everything.
The house. The cars. Even my mother's jewelry.
" She laughs, the sound like breaking glass.
"He mortgaged everything trying to rebuild after you ruined him. "
I remain silent, calculating my options. The gun is steady in her hand, but her eyes are wild, pupils dilated, the look of someone teetering on the edge.
"And then..." her voice rises, cracking with emotion, "then I had to see your face. Everywhere. Magazines. Billboards. Television." Each word punctuated by a step closer to me. "Smiling. Always smiling. While I had nothing."
"I was a fucking kid!" I shout. "He wasn't a father. He was a predator. And while you were jealous of his attention, I was being destroyed by it."
Wrong move. Her face contorts with rage, and the gun whips across my cheek. Pain explodes along my jawline, metallic blood blooming in my mouth.
"Don't you dare!" she shrieks. "He loved you! He made you! And you betrayed him with your lies!"
She's panting now, chest heaving, the gun trembling in her hand. For a terrible moment, I think she might pull the trigger right here, right now. But then she inhales deeply, composure slipping back like a mask.
"Your mother was so easy to convince," she says, her voice eerily calm again. "One phone call. The promise of money. That's all it took for her to sell you out."
The words should hurt, but there's no surprise in them. No revelation. Just confirmation of something I've always known. My mother's love has always had a price tag.
"And Sophie," Becky continues, watching my face for a reaction.
"Sweet, naive Sophie. So eager to please.
So easily manipulated. 'Oh, Ms. Sinclair's mother wants to surprise her with family photos. How lovely! By all means, get in. Don’t mind if I do.
I will just plant this tiny witty bitty camera right here. '"
So that's how she got in. Poor Sophie, always seeing the best in people. I make a silent promise to never blame her if I survive this.
"Get up," Becky orders suddenly, gesturing with the gun. "We're going for a walk."
I stand slowly, careful to make no sudden movements. "Where?"
Her smile returns, cold and sharp as a blade. "To finish what I started three months ago."
My stomach drops as understanding dawns. "The pool."
"The pool," she confirms. "You know, that's how my father died. Drowned in his own hot tub after taking enough pills to knock out a horse. The autopsy said it was an accident." Her laugh is hollow.
"You know, at first I was really angry that I didn't succeed in killing you at the hotel pool in New York. But then I thought, maybe it's better this way. A quick death would be too good for you. You needed to suffer first."
She gestures with the gun toward the back of the house. "Move."
I walk ahead of her through the kitchen, toward the French doors leading to the pool area. My mind races, searching for options, for weapons, for anything. But she keeps her distance, gun trained on my back, smart enough to stay out of reach.
"Finding the bodyguards' records was easier than I expected," she says as we step outside into the fading evening light.
The pool glows an eerie blue, the water perfectly still.
"Using it to make you send them away worked beautifully.
You're so predictable, Jade. Always trying to protect Jade Sinclair's brand. "
A twist of pain clenches my heart. The envelope. The criminal record. The threat to expose Declan and ruin Cross Security. It had all been her.
Her voice drops to a whisper. "No one's coming to save you this time."
The concrete is cool beneath my bare feet as she directs me toward the deep end. Wind rustles through the palm trees, carrying the distant sound of traffic. So normal. So ordinary. As if my life isn't about to end.
"Stop there," she commands when we reach the edge. "Turn around."
I face her, the water at my back, vertigo swirling through me as I sense the drop behind my heels.
"I always wondered what he saw in you," she says, studying me with a detached curiosity that makes my skin crawl. "What made you so special that he forgot about his own daughter."
"He was sick, Becky," I say quietly, jaw aching, blood still in my mouth. "What he did to me... it wasn't about me being special."
Her face hardens. "Shut up. You don't get to talk about him."
"My father didn't deserve what happened to him," Becky says, raising the gun to point at my heart. "But you deserve this."
Time slows. The world narrows to the black circle of the gun barrel. Behind it, Becky's face is a mask of hate, of pain, of something broken beyond repair. I think of Ethan, of Declan, of Mateo. Of what could have been. Of all the words left unsaid.
A movement catches my attention, something at the edge of my vision. I raise my eyes, past Becky, past the gun aimed at my heart, to the far side of the pool.
And there they are.
Three shadows moving silently across the lawn. Ethan in the center, weapon drawn. Declan flanking left, massive frame crouched low. Mateo to the right, sliding along the hedge line.
They understood. They came.
Hope blooms in my chest like wildfire, even as I keep my expression carefully blank. I need to keep Becky focused on me, just a few moments longer.
They came for me.
All three of them.