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But that’s what happened with—what was the little bitch’s name? Who cares. It hadn’t been enough, just not painful enough.
This time, he’d make her watch him kill them. That way when he killed her, she’d have those images in her head.
She’d suffer, and she needed to suffer. She’d pay, and she needed to pay.
He had an ugly scar on his arm—her fault. He’d gained weight—her fault. And just a few hours before, one of his back teeth had started aching. Her fault.
Every hour he’d spent in a musty motel room, every mile he’d driven in some piece-of-shit truck or van, her fault.
He deserved the best, had earned the best. And once he killed her, it would all come back. All his bad luck lived in her.
He’d had the bitches drag the nice, sturdy dining room chairs into the living room, then made the old one zip-tie the other one to a chair. He’d had to give her a couple of smacks, but he didn’t mind that.
He’d zip-tied old Grandma himself, nice and tight, then used a roll of duct tape for good measure. They’d tried to talk with him, all quiet voices or tearful pleas, so he’d just slapped more duct tape over their mouths.
He paced awhile, scoping out the house, shoving popcorn in his mouth.
When he heard the chairs rattling, he went back in.
“Keep it up and we’ll see how you like a bullet in the knee, or maybe the gut.” He sat on the sofa facing them, the popcorn bowl in his lap. “When she comes in, she’ll see you. That’s phase one. She’ll know it’s her fault. It’s all her fault. Do you have any idea what she cost me? What she took from me?”
As anger built up, the rage spewed out. “I’ve been living like some derelict, somefailure, and she’s living here? I bet she’s got a big, soft bed upstairs—I’ll take a look later. Big, old house—got some antiques, I see, some fricking heirlooms. How come she gets that when she ruined my life? I’m here to take it back, you get that? I’m taking it all back.”
He reached for more popcorn, found the bowl empty, and threw it across the room. Glass shattered, flew.
In a flash, his face went from fury to calm and contemplative.
“Now I’m thirsty. Let’s see what you’ve got, and if I hear a sound in here, Morgan’ll find you both dead in a pool of blood.”
When they heard him moving around in the kitchen, Olivia shifted again—quietly—so Audrey could try to maneuver her hand, her fingers, to pull the cell phone from her mother’s pocket.
The hard plastic tie dug into her wrist, drew blood, but she kept trying, felt her heart pounding when her fingers brushed against the top edge.
Then they heard him coming back.
“You bitches are loaded.” He took a long pull from a bottle of Coke. “Some nice wine in there, but I’ll save that for after. I need a clear head to do my work. And speaking of loaded.”
He strode over, ripped the tape from Olivia’s mouth, beamed at the shock of pain that ran over her face. “This house is worth a bundle, and you’ve got a whole lot more tucked into brokerage accounts, business accounts. No reason in this world a woman like you should have all that. Money’s a man’s privilege, Granny.”
“I’ll sign it all over to you. You can walk away with every penny and disappear. Live the life you deserve.”
“That’s what they all say—if I give them the chance. I don’t want you togiveme a fucking thing. I take. Understand?”
He closed his hand over her throat. “Understand!”
When she nodded, he released the pressure. “I bet you’ve got a nice laptop. You’re going to tell me where it is, tell me the password, or I’m going to get one of those plastic bags you’ve got in the kitchen, put it over this one’s head. And you can watch me smother her to death.”
She told him.
When he went to get it, Audrey tried for the phone again.
Bailey stayed to close the bar with Morgan.
“You keep in touch,” Morgan told her. “I want to hear how school’s going, the job’s going—because you will get it—how everything’s going.”
“I will. Promise. I’m excited to go back, but I’m going to miss you, and everyone. Maybe you can save a slot for me at the bar over winter break.”
“If you want it, you’ve got it.”
