Back to the task at hand, I drop my sandwich and stand, turning to face Raj. I can tell by the step he takes backward that he’s afraid of me, and not just in the way you should be afraid of someone you’ve paid to help you kill an entire mob family.
Jumpier than that.
The kind of fear that makes a man unpredictable.
I turn back and pick up the envelope on the table, holding it out to him.
He frowns at the envelope, startled. “What…?”
“If you’re questioning my ability to see this job through, I can’t work for you anymore,” I tell him, simply.
Startled shifts to alarmed and his dark eyes go wide. “No! No, I… I wasn’t questioning you, Liam.”
“It sure sounds like you were, and I don’t believe I’ve given you cause to doubt me. I’ve done everything you asked of me, every step of the way.”
He can’t argue that, but it’s obviously not as cut and dry as I make it sound. “Annabelle…”
“I don’t like men who hit women,” I state, implacably, but detached. “I’ll be happy to kill her husband. I’d be happy to do it early, slowly, brutally.”
I can tell he doesn’t want to keep pushing, since, well, I just tried to quit on him right before show time, but he stands his ground, raises his chin, and asks, “And if Annabelle walks out of that house and into your crosshairs?”
“Then she dies,” I state.
I say it simply, unemotionally, but not coldly. As if we’re discussing a storm on the weather forecast—not ideal, but not something that’s going to ruin my life.
He accepts this and looks like a weight has been lifted. “I regret questioning your loyalty.”
“It isn’t a matter of loyalty,” I stated, turning and sitting back down, dropping the envelope full of cash and picking up the sandwich. “You paid me to do a job. The job will get done. Don’t insult me again and we’ll be fine.”
“Of course.”
I hear him leave and the space should feel bigger, less constricting. But the walls close in instead. I feel trapped, cornered. Not a feeling I’m accustomed to. Not a feeling I like. I was bluffing when I tried to give him back his money—I figure he can’t replace me at this point if he hasn’t already—but I can’t shake disappointment that he didn’t take me up on it. I’m making a lot of money on this job, but I’d give it all back if it meant washing my hands of this whole situation and getting the hell out of it.
If it meant going back in time and never meeting Annabelle.
I’m not afraid of her family, but I’m a little afraid of her.
She should be afraid of me, but Annabelle is never afraid when she should be.
I’ve tried to keep my distance since they’ve been watching her. Have kept my distance. But I still check in.
Now I need to get in.
Paul’s home, so I picked a shit time to show up. I can’t hang around or I risk drawing attention.
I drive around the neighborhood for a bit, looking for inspiration. I can’t get Paul out of the house, but if I go back later, maybe he’ll have left for that other chick’s bed.
Fucking idiot.
Knowing what I do now about how their “relationship” started, it makes more sense, but Jesus, doesn’t he have any fucking game? He couldn’t have won her over instead of trying to force her into submission? A couple days with her should’ve alerted the steaming pile of dogshit that he was taking the wrong approach, let alone a couple months, the first year. Learn to read the room, asshole. I guarantee if I was the asshole her stepfather forced her to marry, things would’ve turned out differently.
Jesus Christ, listen to me. Marriage. Ugh.
I wish I could just shoot him without ruining everything. One fucking shot from far away, boom—he’s gone.
It’s aggravating that I can’t. Literally in any other scenario I could just eliminate the obstacle standing in my way.
Fucking Raj.