She hesitates a moment until I shove the gun in her lower back. I don’t like using guns. Too many things can go wrong. L
ike Ben now, holding his on his boss. I can see the indecision in his eyes; he’s wavering.
Jennifer hands over her phone, and I toss it into the backseat. Then I douse the seats and the dead guy with gasoline. “Take off,” I say to Ben.
He doesn’t move, his eyes shifting back and forth between me and his boss. I don’t have time for greed and indecision. He turns his weapon on me, and I take aim and pull the trigger. The bullet banks in his throat, where he grabs his neck, eyes wide, before he drops headfirst into the front seat.
Jennifer curses. “I’ll give you more money,” she pleads to me. “Anything. Whatever you want.”
I stow the gun behind my back in my waistband before I grab her arm. “Don’t start begging this soon. It’s unbecoming of a woman of your status.”
As I force her into the passenger seat of the Impala, she puts her hand out, preventing the door from closing. “I’m not like them,” she says. “I didn’t hurt your sister, or any other girl.”
I dip my head down, putting my face close to hers. “We both know that’s not true.”
“I swear,” she pleads.
“What about Makenna Davies?”
The silence that follows is answer enough.
“This will be easier if you go to sleep.” I douse the cloth with gas and smother her face. She struggles, shiny pink nails clawing at my hands as the rag covers her mouth and nose.
She’ll have a bitch of a headache when she wakes up, but she’ll wake up.
Once I get Ben’s limbs completely tucked into the Lexus, I strike a match. I drop the flame in the front seat and wait for it to catch fire before I slip behind the wheel of my car and leave the scene.
I catch a glimpse of the blaze in my rearview mirror. An ominous sight, like literally watching your life blaze out of control. Only one woman can quiet the roar.
20
Crown
Luke
A bullet in the thigh makes for a painful getaway. It makes every damn move painful. But I manage to lug Jennifer Myer through the garage and down the spiral staircase. She starts coming to when I drop her to the cold slab before the cellar door.
I reach inside my pocket for the key ring, and look down the warren, to the door where Makenna waits. I leave Jennifer where she is.
Some things have to be dealt with before you can move forward.
I link the same cuff I used on Makenna around Jennifer’s ankle and chain her to the spot. “I won’t be long,” I say as she groans awake. “One way or another, you’ll get what you deserve.”
Whether that’s death, or a trip to prison dealt by Makenna, I’m not sure.
I make my way toward the concealed torture room, and take a moment to admire the artistry on the door. Makenna was right. There’s always something left behind. A killer can’t part with his trophies. He has to keep at least one reminder.
I insert the key and turn the lock.
There’s a suspended breath where the door clicks open and I wait, before I push the door all the way open. I imagine her tiny body jumping out at me, knife plunged into my neck.
But as my gaze roams the room, I find her banked against the wall. She holds my hunting knife in her lap, her finger tracing the heart charm, her gaze intently focused on Hudson. He’s still alive. Barely. I can see his chest moving, but he’s not conscious.
“He’s lost too much blood,” Makenna says.
I start to take a step toward her, then halt. The files that covered the walls have been removed. They’re stacked into a pile next to her.
“You didn’t kill him.”