When the Uber is out of sight, I step out of my car and pop the trunk. Everything inside is exactly how I left it this afternoon. Connor Ryan is tied up in wires, his mouth shut with duct tape. His eyes are wide and he looks scared shitless, but he’s only getting a small dose of how all of his victims have felt.
Grabbing the edge of the duct tape, I tug hard and pull it off.
“Fuckkkkk!” He yelps. “Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. I did what you said. I texted her and asked her to reschedule.”
“No, I asked her to reschedule.” I pull his cell phone out of my pocket and hold it up. “She’s not very happy about it, but she’ll get over it when you stand her up on New Year’s Eve, and she’ll never know how big of a bullet she dodged.”
“Bullet?” His eyes go even wider. “Don’t shoot me, please…”
“I’m not going to waste any of my bullets on you,” I say, offended that he would even think he meant that much to me. “Each one of them costs ten times more than what your life is worth.”
He nods, continuing to shake.
“I’m going to drive you to the Greyhound Station,” I say, pulling a boarding pass out of my pocket and tossing it into the trunk. “From there, you’re going to catch the 3201 bus, and you’re not going to mention me to anyone. You’re going to ride home to your pathetic, coddled life that your parents continue to pay for, and you’re going to confess to breaking house arrest and crossing state lines.”
His eyes widen, and he looks as if that punishment is somehow worse than me shooting him.
“If I print out the news forty-eight hours from now and see that you’re not being sent to prison for violating your parole, I’ll be very disappointed. But then you’ll give me the perfect excuse to take a nice drive to Pennsylvania, where I’ll show up to your house, your vacation home, and any of your family’s private estate addresses where you might be dumb enough to think you can hide from me. Then and only then, will I consider wasting one of my best bullets on you. Are we clear?”
“Yes …” Tears fall from his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I tape his mouth once more and slam the trunk shut. Then I look at my watch.
His flight isn’t for another three hours, and I still have more than enough time to do some research for another job.
I start to throw his phone into the trash, but I can’t for some reason. I open his inbox and text Meredith, knowing that I should leave her alone, but I want to be sure this is put to bed.
Jameson (Me): I’m really sorry I had to reschedule on you. What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?
Meredith: Moving on to a guy who won’t cancel on me at the last minute. Delete my number.
I smile. Good girl.
I start to toss the phone, but it vibrates in my hand once more. A new text from her.
Meredith: The only way I would even consider going out with you again—on New Year’s Eve, Mr. “I Own This City,” is if you suggested something other than a bar. Something nice that would truly make it up to me, preferably something that would show a hint of how much you supposedly ‘own’ this city.
Jameson (Me): When exactly did I say that I ‘owned’ this city?
Meredith: Last week. You said you get into all of the best clubs for free because you know all the owners. Would you like me to send you a screenshot?
Jameson (Me): Yes, please.
She sends it within seconds, and his words from a thread he’d long deleted make me roll my eyes at first sight.
Jameson (Me): Trust me, sexy girl. Everyone in this city knows about me or my firm. That’s how I roll. Whenever I do take an off day, I can show up to any of the top clubs here and get into them without saying a word. Every club manager knows me by name and BEGS me to drop money in their clubs.
I shake my head. I’d never heard of him until last week. The moment I saw him on the national offenders’ report and saw he’d be in my city, I’d immediately put him on my club’s never-let-him-in list.
Meredith: Should I assume that you were making that up just as much as our date tonight?
Jameson (Me): Not at all. I have a table for New Year’s Eve at Fahrenheit 900. I’ll send you a reservation confirmation. We can meet there and I’ll make this up to you.
Bad boy…
Michael
Before We “Met”
(Well, Slightly After)
* * *
This woman is definitely going to be a problem…
Meredith stands in the doorway of the penthouse suite, her stunning brown eyes looking into mine—searching for a way to extend our conversation for several more seconds. For the past several hours, I’d fucked her all over the room. I’d devouring her pussy repeatedly, made her come on almost every surface, and forced her to scream my name at the top of her lungs each time.