Milan
I deleted the message without replying. I didn’t care who sent it. I didn’t care how they knew me, what they thought they knew about my case, or why they suddenly felt guilty after six years.
I didn’t come home looking for answers. I came home to kill.
The truth only mattered because it proved what I already knew. Malcolm helped ruin me. China helped him. Warren made sure the lie stuck.
That was enough for me. I put the burner phone in the duffel and zipped it shut.
I walked into the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
I pictured this weekend from the time I got a invite. I thought revenge would feel good when it finally came. I expected to shake. I expected my heart to race. I thought hatred would take over. Instead, I felt calmer than I had in years.
They were getting ready for a wedding that would never happen. I stood next door, deciding who should die first.
The thought made me smile. I tied my hair back and washed off my makeup. China thought tomorrow belonged to her. She had included her schedule in the absurd seventeen-page wedding itinerary she sent to everyone.
China liked to be in control. That was always one of the biggest differences between us.
I enjoyed seeing plans fall apart. I switched off the bathroom light and got into bed.
The next morning, someone knocked hard on my door. I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling. There was another knock.
“Milan!”
It was China, of course. I checked the clock. It was 7:16 a.m.
Her wedding day had started. I smiled and got out of bed. China knocked again.
“I know you’re in there.”
“I heard you.”
“Well, open the door.”
I put on my robe and unlocked the door. China almost stumbled into the room.
Her hair was wrapped in a silk scarf, her face was bare, and she held two cups of coffee.
“You sleep like the dead.”
I took the coffee from her.
“I’ve had practice.”
Her smile disappeared.
I took a sip of coffee.
“That was a joke.”
“You have a terrible sense of humor.”
“You used to think I was funny.”
“That was before you started making prison jokes.”
I looked at her over the rim of my cup.
“That was before I went to prison.”
China looked away, and I caught that flicker of guilt.
I’d spent hours wondering what to do about it.
I could confront her, make her confess, or demand an apology.
But none of that mattered to me now. An apology wouldn’t give me back six years.
Tears wouldn’t bring back my career. Even if China cried a river, she was still going to die.
“Hair starts at nine,” she said.
“I know.”
“You need to be in my suite by eight thirty.”
“Okay.”
“The photographer is coming early.”
“I know.”
China frowned.
“You don’t have to keep saying it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I am annoying you.”
I smiled.
“You have been annoying me since we shared a uterus.”
She laughed, and so did I. I hadn’t expected that. China was still herself. She was still the girl who used to steal my clothes and put them back before I even noticed.
She was still the sister who slept in my bed during thunderstorms until we were fourteen.
She was still the person who knew that I hated pulp in orange juice and that I always ate the edges of brownies first.
She was my first best friend. She was also the reason a prison guard had watched me shower. Both things were true. One of them mattered more.
China walked toward the window and pulled open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room.
“It's beautiful outside.”
I stood behind her.
“It is.”
“I can’t believe I am getting married.”
“I can.”
She turned.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“You've been planning your wedding since we were twelve.”
“To Usher.”
I laughed.
“You were convinced.”
“He still could've proposed.”
“He doesn’t even know you exist.”
China smiled. I hated thinking about the version of us that could have existed if she hadn’t ruined everything. She took another sip of coffee. Then she looked at me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You always do.”
“I’m serious.”
"Go ahead." She hesitated.
“Did you ever think about Malcolm while you were gone?”
Some questions deserve lies. This was one of them.
“Yes.”
Her expression shifted. I almost admired her nerve. She had taken him from me, and she still wanted to know if I had thought of him while I was in prison.
“What did you think about?” she asked.
I walked toward the dresser and picked up my phone.
“Different things.”
“Did you still love him during that time?”
I turned to face her. China was staring at me. I smiled.
“No.”
Relief appeared on her face right away. I remembered it.
“Did you love him while he was with me?”
She gripped her coffee cup tighter. That told me everything.
“Milan,” she whined.
“You got to ask me a question.”
China put the cup down.
“I didn’t come here to argue.”
“Neither did I.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
I looked at her.
“Doing what?”
She seemed frustrated.
“Making everything uncomfortable.”
I nearly laughed.
China was in my hotel room on the morning she planned to marry the man who helped frame me for murder, and she thought I was the one making things uncomfortable.
I stepped closer.
“Do you know what makes me uncomfortable?”
Her face changed. I let the silence go on until she started to look nervous.
Then I smiled.
“Strapless bras.”
China stared at me. She let out a breath and laughed.
“You’re crazy.”
People used to call me that before I was arrested. After that, it stopped being funny. I picked up my coffee.
“You should go get ready.”
“I need you upstairs.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Promise?”
I looked at her.
“I wouldn’t miss today for anything.”
That was the second time I said it to her. This time, I meant it even more.
As soon as the door closed, I got to work. I took out the false bottom from the black duffel bag. Underneath it was everything I had spent months gathering.
Plastic shoe covers, a disposable rain poncho, heavy-duty trash bags, a roll of clear plastic, zip ties, a folding utility knife, a small hammer, and a change of clothes sealed in plastic. Prepared for whatever route I decided to take.
I picked up the knife. It felt just right in my hand. I set it back down. Now I knew my order of kill. Startingwith Warren, Malcolm second, then China last. China deserved to watch the wedding fall apart before she died.
I wanted her makeup done, her dress on, the flowers arranged, and every chair facing an altar she would never walk to.
I wanted her to stand in front of a mirror, looking just like a bride, before she realized she had spent years getting ready for a life she would never have.
Malcolm deserved something else. I wanted him scared before he died. I wanted him to know I was coming.
Warren didn’t deserve either of those things. He was a police officer when he helped ruin me. He stood in front of cameras and talked about justice. I wanted him gone before breakfast got cold.
I checked the time. It was 7:54. Warren was staying in Room 602.
Most people don’t notice what someone nearby is paying attention to.
I put on black workout leggings and a loose gray sweatshirt. I put back on the black wig and tucked it under a baseball cap.
The hotel was already busy when I walked into the hallway. Bridesmaids carried garment bags from room to room. A florist rolled a cart of white roses to the elevator. Two hotel workers argued in low voices about place cards.
No one paid attention to me. I took the stairs to the sixth floor. Warren’s room was near the end of the hall.
602
I walked past his door once. There was a Do Not Disturb sign and no housekeeping cart nearby. That was good.
I kept walking to the ice machine and filled the bucket halfway. Then I went back and stopped by his door. I knocked. When I didn’t hear anything, I knocked again.
I heard someone moving inside, then his voice.
“Who is it?”
“Front desk.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Mr. Cole, there is a problem with the card authorization on your room.”
I heard more movement. The lock clicked, and the door opened. Warren looked annoyed.
When he saw me, his expression changed.
“Milan.”
I shoved the door hard, making him stumble back. I stepped inside and slammed it shut behind me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I locked the deadbolt. Warren recovered quickly. He was bigger and older than me, still strong, but that didn’t bother me.
Guys like Warren always thought size meant control. Prison taught me otherwise. He stepped toward me.
“Get out.”
“No.”
He glanced at my hands and saw just the ice bucket. He relaxed a bit. That was another mistake.
“Milan, whatever you think you're doing, you need to stop.”
I laughed.
“You used to say that in the interrogation room.”
His jaw clenched.
“You should leave.”
“You should’ve left me alone six years ago.”
“I did my job.”
“No, you sold it.”
He froze. I saw the change right away. His eyes widened a little. That was all I needed. I smiled.
“I found Jeremy’s report.”
Warren’s face hardened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do.”
“Milan.”
“I also found the payments.”
He stared at me.
“I don’t know who has been talking to you, but you need to understand something.”
I waited. Warren stepped closer.
“People lie.”
I smiled.
“You would know.”
His hand moved fast. He grabbed my arm, but I drove my knee up before he could tighten his grip. He grunted and bent forward.
I slammed the metal ice bucket into the side of his head. WHAP. WHAP. The third hit knocked him into the dresser. The lamp crashed onto the floor.
Warren cursed and lunged at me. He grabbed my shoulder and slammed me into the wall. Pain shot down my back. His forearm pressed against my throat.
“You stupid bitch.”
His breath reeked of coffee. I managed a smile through the pressure.
“There you are.”
He frowned.
I reached into my waistband and pulled out the utility knife. I flicked the blade open with my thumb.
I drove it into his side.