Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
MAVEN
Carrie has been lying to me. Again. Not only has she not been going to meetings, but she’s been going to illegal gambling events, which has now put her in a lot of trouble.
And the last thing we need is trouble. Luckily, the lawyer was able to help her out of it, and now she’s in a rehabilitation facility to get the help she needs.
I want her to stop lying to me; that part hurts the most, the secrets she keeps. I would never do that to her; she’s the only family I have.
Shaking my head, I continue stalking the latest target—the job I was meant to do when Boston rudely interrupted me the night of his birthday. I couldn’t complete it that night because the chance of him working out it was me had been too high. He’s smart, that one.
Finishing up my milkshake, I get up as I watch him walk out of the club. And, of course, he stumbles. He clearly went in there for pussy and alcohol. Got what he wanted and is now heading home to his wife.
Pity he won’t make it there.
The client requested that I make it quick. That I can do. I don’t always take on extra requests. No one dictates how I should end a life. That is solely up to me.
My heels crunch on the pavement as I follow him.
This route was the best one to get him on, and believe me, I know all his routes.
He steps into the park, which I know has no cameras, and keeps walking, or more accurately, stumbling.
He must hear my steps the closer I get, because he stops and turns around.
He notes that it’s a woman behind him, then turns and continues on his way.
A man’s ego will be the death of him.
Thinking he has nothing to fear from a woman.
How wrong he is.
He stops at a bush, and immediately pulls out his penis, not even bothering to glance around him. He doesn’t seem to care that I’m still here. I get up right behind him as I hear the stream of piss splash on the leaves.
Thankfully, I wore my super-high heels today, so I don’t have to reach up too far.
As quick as a snake, I swipe the blade of my knife across his throat, then step back before he has time to react.
I watch him drop to his knees, both hands covering his neck where blood pours from the wound.
His eyes find mine, and I offer a small wave before I turn and leave.
That will be another million in my bank account. Pity it will be needed to pay for Carrie’s debts.
Two weeks pass by in a blur. Carrie stays in rehabilitation, and I’m lost without her.
We rely so heavily on each other for socialization that I just feel weird not to have been in contact with her for this long.
I also haven’t seen my detective. And, yes, I’m aware that I call him my detective in my head.
He’s stopped stalking me, and it seems I’m a little disappointed about it, because despite how I don’t want or need a detective following me, I quite enjoy his company.
My phone buzzes, and I hope it’s Carrie, that she’s gotten her phone privileges back, but instead, I see a message from an unknown number.
Clicking on the link in the message, which I know I shouldn’t do if I don’t recognize the sender, it pops open.
Just before I close it down after thinking better of it, I see Carrie on my screen, which has me pausing.
Is she sending me this from rehab? But then I see two men step into view.
I recognize both of them right away. One is her date from that party she made me go to, who is now deceased, and the other is Boston’s friend, Marcus.
Bailey hits Carrie in the face while Marcus holds her in place as she thrashes. My hands clench into fists, and my stomach roils as I watch. That man sat across from me at the café, and not once would I have guessed that he’d laid a hand on my sister. Asshole.
Does Boston know what his friends get up to?
My blood starts boiling at the thought of it.
If I hadn’t already killed Bailey, I would do so right now.
Closing out of the video, I go to my computer, the one I have stored in my safe, and open it, putting in my password. Carrie set me up so I could trace whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I don’t use it often because I have her. But now, I have to.
It takes me a good few hours to finally get a hit. I search the security camera footage from the night he was with Soren and Boston, and when I find him, I Google-reverse the image. Bingo.
Marcus Lottery.
I search for him in the database Carrie created for me, and it only takes a moment for his information to pop up. “Hello, Marcus.”
He’s a politician. Of course he is. Fucking scumbag. After writing everything down, I place the small piece of paper aside. It will be burned later, like all the others before it.
I move to the back room and unlock the door before stepping inside.
The air is warmer here, humid from the filtration system that keeps the tank stable.
Soft blue lights glow from the large glass enclosure along the wall.
I tap gently on the thick glass that houses my Chironex fleckeri, more commonly known as Australian box jellyfish, the most venomous creature in the ocean.
Several translucent bodies drift lazily through the water, almost ghost-like under the aquarium’s lights.
Their bell-shaped tops sway softly as they move, delicate and beautiful in a way that makes people forget what they are until it’s too late.
Each one has dozens of tentacles trailing beneath it, thin and nearly invisible, unless you’re looking closely.
Along those strands are thousands of microscopic needle-like cells called nematocysts, designed to inject venom the moment they touch the skin.
The venom attacks the heart, the nervous system, and the skin simultaneously.
In the wild, some people go into cardiac arrest in under five minutes. It’s a fascinating hunting mechanism.
I open a small container beside the tank and grab a handful of shrimp.
The jellyfish’s diet is simple—mostly small fish or shrimp, and tonight, shrimp will do.
Dropping them into the tank, I watch as the jellyfish react.
Almost instantly, their tentacles unfurl.
One of them draws closer, the long strands brushing the shrimp before curling around it with quiet precision.
Within seconds, the food is trapped and pulled slowly toward the bell, where digestion begins.
It’s silent, efficient, and most of all deadly.
I lean against the counter, watching them.
An old friend from school is the reason I have them.
She became a brilliant, painfully ethical toxicologist. At first, when I asked her about obtaining venom samples, she’d refused.
She’d told me it was too dangerous and illegal.
Plus, there would be too many questions.
But money has a way of changing people’s definition of impossible.
And when you throw enough of it at someone, it becomes incredibly hard to say no.
Leaving the jellyfish, I go to my bedroom to change into a pair of jeans and a black top.
I then step into a pair of bright-red heels—my killing heels, to be precise.
Grabbing my purse, I put the pre-filled needle in there before I leave.
Usually, my plans are more thought out and calculated, and I would study where my victim lives and understand their habits, but like the situation with Bailey, anger is what pushes me.
I always told myself I wouldn’t be that girl, but here I am being exactly that girl.
No one fucks with my sister and gets away with it.
Least of all a fucking man.
I drive to his house in my sister’s car because my Ducati is too loud and obvious. I sit and watch for a few hours before I see his wife leave the house. I didn’t check to make sure they don’t have kids before I drove over here, but thankfully, from the two-seater sports car she drives, they don’t.
He’s standing on the porch when she drives off, and he offers her a wave before going back inside and closing the door. Grabbing my purse, I make sure I have a tight grip on it as I cross the road, then head straight up the driveway and to the back of the house.
There are no security cameras in sight, which is lucky.
I stand at the back door, listening to him talking on the phone through the open window nearby.
Glass clinks, and I hear the pour of liquid.
He’s talking some shit about the Forsaken Society and its members.
My attention spikes at hearing about them again, and I try to catch more of the conversation but it’s muffled because he’s moving away from where I am.
I wait for him to take a seat at the dining room table so his back is to me.
“They want new members,” he says. I don’t hear what the other person says, but Marcus groans as he continues. “They hunt; you’d love it. Have you ever experienced something like that before? Hunting someone in the forest as they run for their fucking life?”
I press myself closer to the window so I can hear better.
“He’s the Lord, so you have to impress him.
There are rules,” he says, and I hear the glass clink as he places it down.
“No, of course he’s powerful,” he utters.
“So am I, but he has influence in places we could only dream of. He has the power to make me the next president if I wished.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I silently scoff at his words. Big dreaming, especially for a soon-to-be dead man.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll text you the meeting place. Don’t be late.” He hangs up, and I wait for the sound of his footsteps to disappear before I open the back door. Luckily for me, it’s unlocked, and I slip in silently.
The lights are still on, and I can see clearly.
I studied the house’s layout before I arrived, so I know exactly where his bedroom is located.
I hear the creak of the floor as he walks up the stairs and then into what I presume is the bathroom, leaving the door open.
I grab the syringe and quietly make my way to the second floor.
I hear the sound of a toilet flushing, and I wait to see what he’ll do next.
A few moments later, the shower turns on.
I count to twenty, then I push the door open ever so slowly until I catch sight of him.
His back is to me, bare ass on full display.
Sometimes during my kills, I like to watch my victims to understand what kind of person they are.
Even though I never get emotionally involved, I want to know what the mark did to tick someone off enough to have a hit put out on them.
But I already know what he did. It’s the sole reason I’m here.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the bathroom.
I purposely step across the tiled floor, my heels clicking as I knew they would.
He whips around at the sound and immediately swings at my head.
He makes contact with my chin before I can get out of reach, and it almost knocks me off balance, but I manage to right myself as he swings again, this time missing me.
“I know you,” he seethes.
“Hi,” I say, dropping down to a crouched position and stabbing him in the leg with the needle.
He jumps back as I start to inject the venom, and I only get half of it in before he starts stumbling. He lunges for me, and I mistakenly think he won’t get me until his fist connects with my bottom lip. It stings, and I taste the metallic tang of blood.
Reaching up, I feel the spray of water coming from the shower as he struggles to keep himself upright. I find the needle, then depress the plunger all the way before pulling it out of his leg. He drops, and at the sound of his rapid breathing, I know it won’t be long.
Taking a deep breath, I collapse back on the tiled floor, my mouth throbbing from the hits he got in. Shit, I’m going to have to burn this place down. My blood will be on his knuckles, maybe even splattered on a wall or the floor.
“Quite the predicament you’re in.”
My heart races at the sound of that voice. Standing in the doorway, leaning against it with a smirk on his lips, is the detective.
Fuck.