Your Worst Fear (Whiskey Ridge #3)

Chapter 1

Grace

Killing wasn’t always the option, but it was an option. One I had no choice but to choose a little too often lately.

“Is there some sort of killers anonymous meeting for people like me?” I wondered aloud, twirling the bloody knife in my hand.

“It’s called prison,” the man before me gritted out, probably wishing he could shove his hands over the hole in his stomach to staunch the bleeding. Unfortunately for him, that wouldn’t do jack shit. He was dying either way. It was his issue if he wanted to delay it.

“Prison seems boring,” I commented. My finger slid on the slickness of the handle, and I frowned down at the blood. This was a new knife, and this worthless, piece-of-shit man had the audacity to be the first to taint it.

Maybe I should cut the bindings and let him attempt to save himself. Then I could drag this out and make him really suffer.

Torture was no fun if it ended too quickly.

My quickest session had been an hour, and the only reason I’d ended him so soon was because his screams grated on my ears.

I’d had a headache that day.

Each job was different. Sometimes, I was instructed to let the target endure pure agony for hours, and other times, they wanted it quick and clean.

“If you just let me go, I pr—”

I held up a hand coated in red. If that stained my nails… “Save it. I’ve heard this plenty of times before, and I can assure you I’ve never fallen for it.”

His face twisted into some sort of scowl, the pain he was experiencing making it hard to distinguish whether it was aimed at me or the agony.

I held up my wrist, glancing at my watch. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have plans.”

Fearful eyes nearly bulged from his head. “That’s what you’re sorry about? You shot me with a nail gun! Y-you stabbed me!”

“Was it my fault one of your construction workers left the tool unattended? Or are you just underpaying and getting shitty work in return?”

He glared at me, and I had to give him credit—even now, his ego was the most fragile thing in the room. “I pay them fairly.”

I cocked my head, my focus falling to the knife. “I suspect differently, but I really don’t have time to argue.” With a simple flick of my wrist, the blade seated itself in the soft center of the man’s neck.

Gurgling noises sounded behind me as I moved to the corner of the concrete basement I was situated in.

Usually, I tried to get the victims somewhere more private and finish the job for an easier—and less rushed—cleanup.

This spot had seemed like a good option, given it was seemingly abandoned and there’d been a padlock on the door. I’d broken it easily.

Plus, I always tried to find places with better lighting than some dark alley. With every job came the inevitable picture I had to take for proof that the task was done.

I grabbed the few cleaning supplies I’d brought in here while he was unconscious earlier and got to work scrubbing tiny dots of blood splatter off the walls as his choking slowly dissipated.

The floor wouldn’t be too big of a job thanks to the tarp I’d laid beneath the chair.

That gave me about…thirty minutes to clean the room, another ten to fix myself, and twenty to get to the ranch.

It wasn’t much time to scrub my nails, change, and touch up my makeup, but I’d make do.

After the surrounding area was clean, I pulled out my burner and snapped a photo, sending it off to my point of contact.

I’d never seen my boss before—didn’t even know his name—so I had no idea if the proof was going to him or someone else.

To me, it was simply the unknown number that assigned my jobs and received confirmation when they were completed.

Proof was a requirement of the tasks; otherwise, I didn’t get paid.

There was no way in hell I wasn’t getting the money I was promised, so as morbid as it was, I’d become well-versed in snapping pictures of dead people—no matter how brutal the death was.

For the quicker jobs, it was harder to get a good photo, especially because it left little time to kidnap them and bring them somewhere more private.

A lot of the time, it took place in a dark alley or an office after hours, so the lighting was hideous.

The one who received the photos didn’t seem to care, but I did.

Photography was a side hobby of mine, and I took it seriously.

Not wanting to be late for Brynne’s birthday dinner, I decided to leave the body here and dispose of it when I returned.

Brynne was my cousin’s best friend, and while I didn’t know her very well, she'd extended an offer that I'd really appreciated when I was in a lonely place.

As little as holidays meant to me nowadays, spending Thanksgiving with her and her group had ignited a little light in me I thought had flickered out a year ago, when I started this career.

They might never know that, but I felt as if I owed it to them to have some sort of relationship. If not for them, then for me. I needed something to root my sanity into for fear I might lose it completely one day.

I clicked the light off and headed out, making sure to put a lock of my own on the door. There was little to no chance of anyone finding this basement while I was gone, so I wasn’t too concerned.

After leaving, I cleaned myself as best I could in the car, changed into my spare clothes, double-checked that I had Brynne’s gift, and took off.

I made it to Brynne’s house just in time, letting myself in through the front door.

I’d be concerned for their safety regarding the unlocked door and the way no one noticed me walk in if it weren’t for the fact that Booker, Austin, and Henley were a dangerous group of men.

The three of them might run this ranch in the day, but at night?

They weren’t afraid to get their hands a little bloody.

Speaking of…

Now that I wasn’t in the dim light of my car, I inspected every inch of my fingers to be sure I hadn’t missed any of the blood, then made my way toward the murmur of voices coming from the kitchen.

The house was massive, filled with dark oak and moody furniture.

The men had designed it themselves, according to my cousin McKenna, but Austin no longer lived here with Booker, Brynne, and Henley.

He’d moved into McKenna’s house recently, after their obsession with each other turned into something more.

“Speak of the devil,” McKenna said as I walked in. Her blonde hair was in its normal high pony, her ass perched on Austin’s knee where he sat on a stool.

I arched a curious brow. “Oh, no. What did I do?” I was typically what one might consider a soft person.

I was nice, listened to whatever anyone had to say, never involved myself in drama because, frankly, I hated it.

I kept to myself. But being hired to end people forced me to learn a new persona, one that made me seem unbreakable.

Around my cousin and her friends, though, I could let a little of myself back in.

The locked muscles in my shoulders eased a bit with the comfort they brought.

“You’re late. That’s not like you,” Brynne filled in, a slight lilt to her tone. She stood on the opposite side of the island, a sparkle in her eyes.

I double-checked my watch. “Two minutes.”

Booker, Brynne’s boyfriend, was nowhere to be found, and I wondered if he was outside at the grill.

I thought I’d smelled something smoky before coming in.

In addition to Booker, Henley was gone. I wasn’t even sure why I’d taken note.

We’d never spoken before, only sharing a few simple glances in the few months we’d known each other existed. Yet still, his absence was noticeable.

McKenna slid off Austin’s lap, his hands lingering on her hips for a moment before she crossed to me, plucking the black gift bag from my hands.

“It’s just a plant,” I explained, holding my hands up in surrender before Brynne could dig into me further. “That’s why I’m late.” I hated lying, but sometimes it was necessary.

“Way to spoil it,” McKenna teased, plopping the bag on the island in front of Brynne.

Brynne dug her hand in, pulling out the tiny glass filled with a small amount of water and a plant cutting. “What kind is this?”

“Satin pothos. Don’t worry, it’s easy to care for.” As far as I knew, I was the only one with a green thumb in this group.

“Easy or not, we’re probably going to have to throw a funeral for it in a few weeks,” McKenna mumbled, a sardonic grin on her face.

Brynne shot her a lighthearted glare, the blonde tips of her brunette hair falling over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have a funeral for a plant. It’d simply disappear after turning into a crisp.”

“Well, the nice part about it being in water is that all you need to do is make sure the glass doesn’t go dry. After the roots grow out a couple inches, you can plant it.” Her blank stare had me adding, “Which I’ll come over and help you do.”

She set the glass on the center of the island, admiring it. “Maybe this’ll turn into a new hobby.”

“You’re not turning this house into a jungle,” Booker grumbled as he walked into the kitchen holding a sheet pan of grilled steak. The savory smell had my stomach growling, reminding me how I’d fasted leading up to today’s job.

It wasn’t the blood that made me queasy. It was the victim’s concoction of vomit and piss. I couldn’t handle the sound of yacking, or the smell of human urine. I found that out all too quickly with my first kill.

I grabbed the empty gift bag sitting on the counter to make room for the tray, then crossed to the trash can, stepping on the pedal to open the lid.

After tossing it in, I turned, planning to move back to my previous spot—but instead of taking a step, I slammed face-first into a chest. A very hard one.