Prologue
Silence.
That racing heartbeat.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
More silence.
Their deep intake of breath.
That shiver of death down my spine.
“It’s with regret that I have to inform you that Harry Rogers was pronounced dead at approximately 9:07 this morning while serving his sentence at Huntsville Prison in the great state of Texas—”
When the phone fell from my hand and crashed to the ground, my world went black.
Just like last time.
DREW
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Calm,” I ordered as I circled her.
“Please. Please…” She hugged her knees to her chest, letting them catch her dirty tears on her stained jeans.
“Take a breath.”
She did.
“Listen.”
She sniffed and swallowed hard.
“The only things you should concentrate on are the sounds of my footsteps all around you. Can you hear those?”
She nodded.
“The creak of my leather. You hear that?”
The woman sniffed again. “Y-yes.”
“My heavy strides?”
She nodded again.
“The burning anger in my quiet voice. Hear that, too?”
She shut her eyes and squeezed them tight, pressing her lips together to stop the squeak of desperation that was begging to be released.
She wanted to call for help. Her body trembled with fear, and it rocked back and forth without her permission, an unconscious call to her mind to stay in control… to not get herself killed.
I flared my nostrils as I sauntered around her like a lion stalking its prey, waiting for the perfect time to strike and feed.
She belonged to him. She was his. She was precious to Satan.
As far as I was concerned, she was taking up oxygen she no longer deserved, and she only had her husband to thank for my lack of empathy.
My leather cut creaked as my arms swung slowly, my eyes fixed on her every move, my jaw tight, my teeth grinding together, and my fingers flexed around the 9mm in my hand.
One bullet.
One pull of the trigger.
That’s all it would take to steal a little piece of his victory away from him. A victory he had no right to take from me.
“Please.” She sobbed through an urgent breath. “Don’t… don’t do this. I… I have children.”
I stopped by her side, freezing and letting the silence take over, once again. I figured she should be allowed to appreciate the heavy thunder of her heartbeat one last time before I left.
“You do?” I eventually muttered, my voice low and calm.
She nodded furiously, her eyes scrunching tight as more tears tried to escape.
“Okay,” I sighed.
Helen blinked slowly, forcing two tears to fall down her cheeks before she sniffed back her emotion, parted her lips and dared to look up at me through her blurry eyes.
“O-okay?” she asked with disbelief, and I nodded once. “That’s… that’s it?”
My smile turned upside down, and I shrugged a shoulder.
“Now what?”
“Now… you run.”
Helen’s eyes were wild, blinking furiously to try and read my expression. When she was met with a stone-cold killer gaze, she wasted no time in using her hands to push herself up from her cold, tiled floor, her legs scrambling to get her to stand before she tried to run away.
Her breaths were frantic.
They made my heart beat faster.
It was always better when they thought they had a chance.
I watched her from the corner of my eyes. I watched her bump into their kitchen island, and I watched her knock the fruit bowl off the counter. I watched her knees give way and her body buckle as she held onto the edge and tried to escape my vengeance.
I watched as she spluttered and stuttered and almost made it to the door.
But then I took a deep breath, spun on the heels of my feet, raised my gun, and I fired… without shame.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Jon Taylor,” I whispered.