Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rue
“Are you sure?” Felicity asks.
“I’m sure that if you ask me that one more time, I’m going to lose my mind,” I reply.
Every second of her exasperated exhale is audible over the phone. “I know. But Howard Marshall, Marcus Navarro, Greg… plus you’re starting work on Les Timms this week. That’s more than you did over the past two years combined.”
“And?”
“And this isn’t our method.”
I force myself to unclench my jaw. “It isn’t, but it is. Greg’s guilty. They’re all guilty. That’s our method.”
“But we rushed this one,” she says. “And we haven’t done one on-site in forever.”
By “rushed,” she means we pulled our plans together in twenty-four hours.
By “on-site,” she means her barn. And by “done one,” she means murdering the fuck out of the man currently strapped to a chair in the Chamber of Consequences.
Bringing people to Fi’s property isn’t my preferred method, but it’s the only option that works given all the eyes and cameras around Greg’s downtown high-rise.
“It’s all gone smoothly so far,” I remind her.
“You’re gonna jinx it,” she grumbles. She’s just grumpy because she spent the day doing my boring public Sunday afternoon errands and is now tucked away in my half of the duplex.
I, meanwhile, spent the day triple-checking my tools and convincing my ex-boyfriend to meet me at his favorite state park hiking trail with the implied promise of some nostalgia sex afterward.
As the latter task took approximately three seconds, I definitely had the easier job.
“I can’t believe he fell for it.” Fi giggles. “I mean, hiking, stargazing, and fucking? Come on.”
“And I didn’t even enjoy two of those things when we were together,” I say. “He always did think with his dick.”
When Greg arrived at our prearranged spot just before sunset, I suggested skipping the tromp into the woods in favor of jumping straight to the sex.
He was in my back seat so fast I barely had time to take my seat belt off.
I didn’t even need Pell’s fancy dial-a-dose sedative, although I was tempted to see what three clicks of the big-daddy solution would do.
No point wasting advanced chemistry, though; since Greg’s body will never be found, I straight-up tranqued him with the biggest needle I have.
The only hard part was getting his dead weight out of the car once I made it to the barn.
Fi and I usually handle this two-person job together, but since I didn’t want to wait for Thursday night to give me my usual alibi with Hugo, I was on my own to drag Greg’s unconscious ass into the transport wheelchair so I could push him through the barn and into the Chamber, where I tipped him into the metal chair bolted to the concrete floor.
I may have strained five different muscles moving his dense frame around, but goddammit, I did it.
And I only accidentally bashed his head into the doorway once.
The second time was on purpose.
So now I’m sitting in the locked outer room watching on the monitors as my ex snoozes away the final hours of his life.
“He’s waking up,” I tell Fi when the fingers of his bound hands start to twitch.
She hums. “I could be there in an hour in case anything goes wrong.”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” I tell her. “And Hugo will know if you leave. I need you there.”
I need you not here, way too eager to be my murder intern.
Her silence is heavier than usual, and I sigh. “Can we fight about this later?”
“Fine,” she says with an even louder sigh.
“Just remember that tonight’s the night I watch Love Marooned. And you’d better not spoil it for me.”
“Oh, I’m aware. Your neighbor reminded me.” She sniffs. “Maybe if he wasn’t blaring music, he’d be able to learn some new moves. Unless that’s a cover so he can keep his ear pressed against the wall like I assume he does every night.”
“He does not,” I say. Then I add, far too casually, “Speaking of Hugo, how’d it go?”
“Oh my, my, my.” She gives a tinkling laugh. “What can I say about Dr. Bore?”
I bite my tongue and wait.
“He’s such an incredible dork,” she finally says. “Like a top-to-bottom, grade-A nerd who watches too many martial arts movies.”
He does? But I can’t ask that, so I toss off a light, “Told ya.”
“He’s also incredibly hot.”
“I kno—what?”
“I mean, he needs a tiny makeover, but the raw material is excellent.” She gives a happy little purr. “That jaw? Those thighs? Seriously, he should always wear sweatpants.”
“You saw the sweatpants?” I practically screech it, aware as I do that she walked me right into this.
“I did. They’re awfully snug, aren’t they?”
My brain can only produce sputtering, speechless incoherence, which is the only thing that saves me from shouting, I knew it, I knew it, I always knew it; he’s hot under all of that. And how dare he parade around in slutty li’l sweatpants in front of anyone but me?
Instead of saying, I told you so, Fi lets my brain keep imploding for a few more seconds before she says, “He clocked that something was off in under thirty seconds, by the way.”
Every cell in my body shifts from flustered to alarmed. “He what?”
“He knew immediately that his beloved was acting weirder than usual.”
“He… he… how?”
Based on her evil chuckle, my sister is enjoying herself immensely.
“My darling, that boy has studied every facet of you like it’s his full-time job for over a year. You and I may look the same, but to him, I’m guessing we’re verrrry different people.”
Fi’s Hugo-is-hot trap was one thing, but this is a problem.
“So he knows?” I’m pacing a tight circle in front of the monitors. “We need to do something. I can—”
“Nah, it’s fine,” she says. “Dr. Bore has no idea I exist, so why would he ever suspect an impostor? He’s just deeply confused and probably blaming it on his concussion.”
God, poor Hugo. He’ll hate feeling like his brain’s still not trustworthy.
“It’s fine,” Fi says blithely. “If he brings it up, which I doubt he will, just apologize for being tipsy from brunch. He’ll cling to that explanation like a life preserver.”
That’s… smart. “When did you become an expert in the care and feeding of my neighbor?” I grumble.
“When you refused to shut up about him after you moved in,” she says. “It’s also why I brought my white noise machine to cover my side of the conversation in case he’s eavesdropping. Now go in there and kill your ex so you can stop being weird about the weirdo next door.”
I snap my mouth shut. Not only did my sister crack Hugo’s operating system after one brief meeting, she nailed the real reason I insisted we go after Greg right now.
Soft feelings blind me to reality and red flags.
So I kill Greg tonight, kill the soft feelings, and keep Hugo far away from my mess.
Then I can go after Lester Timms and all the other shitty men on my list with a clear head.
Calm sweeps over me as I pull on my gloves and pat the pocket where my knife is waiting.
Here we go.
We took Pell’s advice when we built this place and kept it old school, so the key that lets me in and out of the Chamber of Consequences lives in a zipped pocket at my waistband. I’m safe as houses, and Greg’s totally fucked.
Cameras are positioned in each corner of the all-white room, and Fi will be sitting cross-legged in front of my laptop watching everything through a VPN that taps directly into the barn’s hardwired, encrypted feed, earbuds in and white noise blaring.
I flash a jaunty thumbs-up at the nearest camera and saunter over to the man who’s slumped forward with his chin on his chest. I break a smelling salt capsule under his nose, and after a beat, he rolls his head upright with a snort.
“Wh…” His bleary eyes dart around the bright-white room before landing on me. His confusion shifts into a sleepy smile, the idiot. “Hey, sexy mama.”
“I never liked it when you called me that,” I say coldly.
“Really?” His voice is sluggish as his body shakes off the sedative. “It never slowed you down.”
He tries to offer me a suggestive smile, but he can’t make his face work quite yet, so it’s more like a jerky upward twitch of the left side of his mouth.
I cross my arms and wait for him to catch up with the circumstances. His body shifts like he’s trying to stand, and he frowns down, blinking his unfocused eyes at the zip ties securing his arms to the sturdy metal chair. He can’t see them, but his legs are trussed up the same way, knees to ankles.
His gaze travels up to land on my face before trailing down to my all-black outfit and my gloved hands.
“What are—” He looks around. “Where am I?” He shakes his head sharply and tugs at his arms. “Are you into some kinky shit you never told me about?”
The hope in his voice has me cocking my head and cooing in fake sympathy.
“Oh no, sugar.” I pause and tap a finger against my lips. “I mean, yes, absolutely, but that’s not what this is.”
I let the silence stretch before speaking again.
“Any idea why I might have drugged you, taken you someplace where nobody can hear you scream, and strapped you to the last chair you’ll ever sit in?”
He squints at me in confusion, so I step forward and bend down, putting my face even with his.
“Better yet, want to guess why there’s a drain right underneath you?” I gesture at the white epoxy floor, then at the hospital-grade panels on the walls.
The furrows in his brow deepen, but he attempts a laugh. “Since when are you into pranks?”
My ex is a good-looking guy. Dark hair, tan skin, and a compact muscular build I’ve always found appealing. But the thing that sealed the deal for me was his expressive brown eyes. I loved the way they glinted with humor or heated with lust. Now they reflect pure, innocent confusion.
“This is a joke, right?” He flashes me a playful smile. “Quit messing around and let me give you that orgasm I know you’re dying for, sexy ma—uh, sweetie.”
“Awww.” I set my gloved palm against his cheek. “Only one of us is dying tonight, sweetie.”
I pull out my knife.