Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
DIORA
The bar is crowded, which I would normally hate, but tonight, I need it. Careful laughs and twinkling lights make me all too aware of the kind of establishment Yara Holdings wanted to meet me in tonight.
She thinks I’m an author writing a book on America’s most powerful women, and I wonder if she truly believed my cover.
I’m alone on this one as far as I know. Elliot never texted me, and I’m getting fed up with his hot and cold attitude.
I don’t need him. He was never part of my plan. I was always meant to do this myself.
I find my target sitting alone at the bar. The black countertop shines nearly as brightly as her jewel earrings. Her brown hair is tucked into a slicked back bun with carefully placed curly pieces decorating her slim face. She has a beautiful side profile with smooth skin and thin lips.
Too bad this will be the last night anyone sees it. She wears incredibly fitted dress pants and a blouse that has to be made of expensive silk.
She probably can afford that blouse from selling my sister’s body.
That’s all it takes to solidify the kill tonight. One of us will be dying, and I am dead set on it being her.
“Ms. Holdings, so nice to meet you,” I say, tracing my hand on her back to her shoulder as I sit down beside her. All she has is a martini glass in front of her, and I can appreciate her choice for her last meal.
“Please, the pleasure is all mine. I must say, you have an outstanding backlist, Mrs. Landcast,” she says in a voice that purrs all too smoothly. Having Elliot help create my persona meant putting up fake publishings that date back within the five years.
“Thank you. I only sell to a selective crowd now, if you know what I mean,” I say. Darcy Landcast is an author turned personal intel collector for US government officials, and anyone with deep enough pockets, who want to know who is on the come up.
“Well, I must know who this next book is for?” Yara asks, smoothing her hands over her lap. The first and only sign of nerves on her part.
“Ahh, I think you know,” I wink and turn away, waving the bartender down with eye contact and a nod. I order a Coke and turn back to Yara.
I lean over her, my black sleeves crossing the front of her chest as I hold her head and caress her hair as if we were lovers. As my right hand goes to hold her cheek, I slip some finely crushed up foxglove in her full, dark drink. “Max Coldwell has been asking about you,” I whisper in her ear.
Her eyes widen as who I’m talking about registers in her mind.
Max Coldwell works for the senate, but in the background, and has major influence over those who vote for the majority leader position, which Yara is gunning for.
If she could get him in her pocket now, she’d secure her spot there in the future.
She’s looking for dirt. Something that will have the man with the most influence on her side.
It’s why she pimped out my sister. To later have dirt on the mayor of Michigan and all his little goons.
Too bad her strategy will be her biggest weakness.
“What does he want to know?” she asks, her voice dripping with need.
“Anything I find out,” I whisper, leaning into her energy.
“I’ll tell you everything,” she breathes, as the light in her eye intensifies. “As long as you can get me one meeting with him.”
“No.” As if I really know the man, saying yes too early will alert her that something is wrong here.
“Come on, one meeting.”
“No,” I say, sitting back down on my barstool but keeping close to Yara.
“How much?” she whispers.
“How much?”
“Don’t play dumb. Name your price and I can have it to you by morning.” Yara tries again, and this time, I look at her from the side of my eye. Letting her think I’m giving in. Except I don’t want her dirty money. I want her skin to lose its light and turn gray.
I want her dead more than anything.
“Let’s talk somewhere more private.” I let the words linger on my lips as her lips smile, and I think I may have her.
Her eyes become dull and her fingers fidget. Foxglove doesn’t kick in this fast, not the amount I gave her. I tilt my head as she stares. She must be on something else. But what? I don’t recall any addictions in the file Elliot and I drafted up.
She mindlessly nods her head, and I grab her hand as I lead us out of the club. Rule number one of staying alive is to never let someone get you to a second location. She broke the rule in a fifteen-minute conversation.
Yara stumbles, and I wrap her arm around my shoulders. What the hell did she take? Is it reacting to the poison?
I drag her next door. Popping the door open with my hip, I push Yara inside. Her pitchy laugh scratches my ears as she stumbles in. I quickly close the door behind me, and suddenly, Yara whips around to face me, and her drink is warm and sticky as it lands on my face.
“What the hell?” I spit, stepping back and wiping my face.
“You tried to poison me, you fucking bitch,” Yara yells as she runs at me. She has a knife that comes out of nowhere. I dodge her swing, rolling on the floor and popping back up behind her. Thank fucking god I’ve been training with the Dogs.
“You killing my fucking team? Is it you and these weak ass drinks?” she mindlessly yells as she keeps coming at me with her knife. I don’t know if it’s my months of training or what, but it’s easy to dodge her.
Fear must control her motions. She’s wild, weak, and scared. She must feel how Juliet felt that night. How Juliet’s felt every day since.
“It’s not a nice feeling, huh?” I ask as she runs into a dining table, trying to land that ridiculous pocket knife in me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” she screeches.
“Being haunted. It’s not fun being on the opposite end, is it?”
“I’m getting tired of your damn riddles, bitch.”
“But I’m having so much fun,” I say, tilting my head to admire the split in the wood table. She’s weak, but her knife still went into the table. I giggle, turning to face her.
Her brows furrow as the fear clouds her eyes.
“Crazy fucking bitch,” Yara yells, and this time, I let her get close. It’s a risk, letting her get this close, since she’s obviously not drugged and was faking the symptoms before. This was a risk we’d known would be there, but we’d take, anyway.
She swings, and I hit her wrist, and the knife drops out of her hand. She quickly swings her other hand, landing a blow across my face. My head snaps to the side, and a laugh slips past my lips as Yara stands frozen.
Her brows furrow as I nod a singular time and bring both my hands to her shoulders and headbutt the fuck out of her.
We stumble away from each other. That shit hurts, but the pain on Yara’s face makes it worth it.
She doesn’t make it far before her arm is in my grasp again and I throw her against the wall.
She’s got a few inches on me, but I’ve got shock working in my favor.
I slide my own knife, a butterfly knife I found in one of the training rooms, against her throat.
Scratching her skin, but not pressing deep enough to make her bleed.
“I’ve been waiting to do this since September twenty-third.”
“September?”
“The night you ruined Juliet Moss,” I whisper in her ear as she tries to buck me off of her. Her body suddenly stills at the name, and she tries to look back at me, but I’ve got her locked against the wall.
“You could’ve done so much with your life. You could’ve become the most powerful woman in the world, but you won’t.”
“Help!” she yells, realizing she’s met a beast scarier than herself.
“You won’t become the most powerful woman in the world because you hurt the one person I care for.”
“Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll never talk to Juliet again.”
“You’re right, you won’t,” I say, as I slide the knife into the side of her neck. Blood slowly slides out between the knife and her skin, covering my hand and her blouse. She screams and screams as her body gets weaker in my hands.
“Goodbye, Yara,” I say as I let her body drop from my grasp. Her weight slides off my knife, and I smile at the satisfying pop sound it makes as her body disconnects from the knife.
It’s done.
It’s finally fucking done.