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It’s a sight I’m used to. One that makes me feel like I’ve arrived home.
“What do you want?” Terry Bakewell whimpers. A hotshot lawyer on the wrong side of the law: the good side. He’s all teeth, tan, and secret trips to Cabo with his underage girlfriend.
You’d think as a State Prosecutor for New York, he’d have done a little more research into who he sticks his dick in. It’s one disgusting thing if underage girls are your bag, it’s a whole different kettle of fish if said underage girl is Mansour Almari’s daughter. Yeah, as in the Sheik that owns half of New York’s skyline, including the fancy-ass office he’s cowering in now.
“What do I want…” I muse, polishing my silencer with the hem of my cashmere sweater, before screwing it onto the end of my pistol. “Hmm. Good question. I’m going to go with ‘one less creepy bastard in the world’ for ten points, please.”
He steals a glance up at me through trembling fingers. “N-No. I mean anything. I have money…”
I huff out a laugh. He winces. “Welcome to the club.”
In a strange moment of confidence — or madness — he lifts his head and says, “Go on then, shoot me. I’m going to look you right in the face as you do it. Know why? Because then you won’t be able to sleep at night. Every time you close your goddamn eyes, you’ll see my face. I’ll haunt you. I promise you that.”
I pause, cock my head to the side and study his face. Unbelievable. To the backdrop of his heavy breathing, I consider my next move.
Flashing him a dazzling, devilish grin, I slowly unscrew the silencer, slipping it back into my jacket pocket. Gun goes back into my waistband.
“You could have had it easy,” I tut, tugging out a pair of rubber gloves and snapping them on. “It’s rare for me to use a gun. Know why?” I mimic the way he said it. “Because killing people with my bare hands is how I sleep at night. But by all means, please still look me in the face as I do it.”
A whimper escapes his mouth, this one more strangled than the last. “How can you be so heartless?”
For a brief moment, my mind flickers to Dahlia. Damn, she’s been there all day, waiting in the wings like an understudy. I was so close to telling her my life story. Why the garden means so much to me, and the real reason I’m going to feel absolutely nothing for what I’m about to do. Yes, that reason danced on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill out into the space between us.
Not going to happen again.
“Ask my therapist.”
Terry Bakewell doesn’t get to take another breath. My hands around his throat steal that luxury from him. I make a petty point to stare dead in his big, bloodshot eyes with a cruel smile twisted onto my lips as I violently coax the last few moments of life from his lungs.
A little gargle, a twitch, then he goes limp. I kick his lifeless body with the steel toe of my boot for good measure, then stalk out of the room and down the fire escape.
Between the Quinns’ beef with the Abruzzos and an acquaintance of the Van der Boors trying to take me out on the highway, all signs lead to me laying low.
But sometimes, the money is just too damn good to pass up.
I blast the radio at full volume on the drive back to the Garden, but I couldn’t tell you a single song that plays. The noise is needed to drown out the racing thoughts of Dahlia.
One week down.
Three to go.
Nowhere close to putting out the fire of obsession.
As the Tesla disappears into the underground car park, my dick is rock hard just toying with all the ideas of what I’m going to do to her when I see her.
She stokes the fire, rather than help put it out. Always ready, always willing, alwaysso fucking wet.
There she is. Sitting in her favorite spot by the river, dangling her feet in the current. Her textbook rests on her tanned thighs. She looks up when she hears my footsteps, and we lock eyes. I’m not interested in making small talk—I’m not falling for that fucking trap again.
I pick her up from the riverbank and pull her soft curves towards me, stealing the breath from her lungs.
“You didn’t reply.”
“Huh?” She stammers, wide-eyed, melting into my chest.
“The other day, when I asked you what other firsts I could steal from you, you didn’t reply.”
Her mouth forms the perfect little “O.” One that’s very tempting to dip my dick in.
