Milan #2
Warren screamed and let go of my throat. I stabbed him again, lower this time. He stumbled back. Blood spread across his white T-shirt. He clutched his wounds. His face went from almost comical to shock to disbelief to fear.
I’d waited years to see fear on Warren Cole’s face. It looked even better than I imagined.
“You should’ve believed me,” I said.
He looked toward the door. I stepped between him and it.
“Milan.”
His voice was different now. No more tough guy, no authority. Just a man bleeding in a hotel room.
“What?”
“We can talk.”
I laughed.
“You had six years.”
He backed up toward the bed. His foot slipped on the lamp cord. He landed on the mattress and caught himself. Blood smeared the comforter.
“Milan, listen to me.”
“No.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“I know enough.”
“Malcolm killed Jeremy.”
I stopped. Warren saw it. He rushed to continue.
“It was Malcolm. I didn’t kill anybody.”
I stared at him.
“You framed me though.”
“I covered it.”
“Why?”
He swallowed. Blood seeped between his fingers.
“Money.”
I let out a quiet laugh. It was almost disappointing. Six years of my life gone. My mother died while I was away. Now, everyone thought of me as a murderer. All for money.
“How much?” I asked.
Warren shook his head.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Milan.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
I stared at him.
Twenty thousand dollars. He traded six years of my life for less than the price of a car. I felt something inside me go quiet. Warren probably thought my silence meant mercy.
“I can help you,” he said.
“No, you can’t.”
“I have records. Things Malcolm doesn’t know I kept.”
That interested me. Warren saw it.
“They’re not here.”
“Where?”
“At my office.”
I stepped closer.
“Where?”
“I will give you the address.”
“I already know the address.”
His expression shifted. Of course, I knew the address. I had been keeping an eye on all of them.
“You really planned this,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
Warren looked scared now. Really scared. He understood what I had turned into. At least one of us did.
“Milan, you don’t have to do this.”
“I already did my time for murder.”
I raised the knife.
“I might as well earn the conviction.”
He moved suddenly. His hand caught my wrist. He twisted hard. Pain shot through my fingers.
The knife dropped. Warren shoved me backward. I hit the dresser.
He ran for the door. I grabbed the ice bucket off the floor. He reached the lock.
I swung. The metal edge caught him behind the ear. He crashed into the door. I hit him again. He dropped to one knee.
Blood splattered across the beige wall. The sound changed after the fourth hit.
It was wet.
Warren tried to lift his hand. I hit him with the bucket again. He collapsed. I stood over him, catching my breath.
Blood ran from the side of his head and spread slowly across the carpet. He barely moved. I crouched down beside him. His eyes found mine.
“Please.”
That word. I used it myself. I remembered sitting in the interrogation room as Warren told me the evidence was overwhelming.
I remembered begging him to call Malcolm. I begged him to check the cameras again. I begged him to believe I had never been there. He looked bored. Now he was the one begging. I leaned in.
“Do you remember what you told me when I said I was innocent?”
Warren’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“I do.”
I wrapped my hand around the knife.
“You told me everybody says that.”
His eyes widened.
I drove the blade into his throat and I pulled it out. Blood squirted across his shirt. Warren clutched at his neck. His feet kicked against the carpet.
I watched. I didn’t look away. He’d watched officers chain my waist. The least I could do was watch him die.
His movements slowed, then stopped. The room filled with silence. I stayed crouched beside him for a few seconds. I thought I would feel something, maybe relief or even joy. But instead, I just felt calm.
I stood. Then I looked at the blood. There was more than I expected. It splattered on the door, the carpet, my sweatshirt, and one side of my face.
I touched my cheek. My fingers came away red. I smiled. This finally felt like revenge.
I went to the bathroom and washed my hands.
I took off the sweatshirt and stuffed it into one of the trash bags tucked into my waistband. Then I added the knife.
I wiped down the spots I had touched in the room. I couldn’t clean up everything, but I didn’t have to. This wasn’t about making the perfect crime. I just needed time.
By the time anyone found out Warren was dead, I wanted Malcolm already bleeding.
By the time they knew Malcolm was dead, I wanted China in her wedding dress, wondering why no one was picking up their phone. I straightened the clean shirt I wore under my sweatshirt.
Then I stepped around Warren’s body. Before leaving, I crouched beside him one last time. I dipped two fingers into the blood pooling near his neck.
Then I wrote one word across the white hotel door.
LIAR
I stared at it for a moment. Warren could have it now. I glanced down the hallway. It was empty. So I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.
The elevator felt too risky, so I took the stairs instead.
By the time I reached the eighth floor, China’s bridal suite was already noisy with music, laughter, and hair dryers.
I went into my room first and scrubbed Warren’s blood from under my nails. Then I changed into the crimson satin pajamas China bought for the bridal party, slipping in what I might need later.
I checked my reflection in the mirror. It was perfect. There was no sign that Detective Warren Cole had died less than ten minutes ago.
My phone buzzed.
China.
WHERE ARE YOU??? HAIR STARTED.
I typed back.
Coming.
I opened my black duffel bag. Warren’s name was at the top of my list. I slowly crossed it out. One down. Two to go.
I closed the bag and headed next door.
China opened the door before I knocked.
“Get in here.”
She grabbed my wrist and pulled me in. The room was filled with the scents of hairspray, perfume, and champagne.
Women laughed all around us. Makeup was scattered across every counter. China’s wedding dress hung by the window in its garment bag. Malcolm had sent roses.
A white box sat on the table with a handwritten card. China noticed me looking at it.
“He sent them this morning.”
“How sweet.”
She smiled.
“He really is.”
I glanced at the roses, then at China, and finally at the wedding dress.
My sister didn’t know that one of the men who ruined my life was lying dead just a few floors below us.
She also didn’t know her fiancé would be next. She had no clue that the happiest day of her life was already turning bloody.
China sat in the makeup chair. I took the seat beside her. She reached over and squeezed my hand.
“I’m so happy you’re here.”
I looked at our reflection in the mirror. Two identical women sat side by side. One was dressed for a wedding, the other for a funeral no one else knew about yet.
I squeezed her hand back.
“So am I.”