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Hiding in the closet, I watch between the slats of the door to make sure Taylor gets here first before someone else does. Biding my time while plotting my revenge.
Fabio, a few weeks later…
It’s been hell knowing what that fucker Oliver did to Katerina, and yet allowing him to continue to breathe, but I have to play this smart.
I’m feeling much more confident in my craft—now having a total of six hits under my belt—I’m about to make it lucky number seven.
I easily pick the lock on the back door of Oliver’s house and slink to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I grab his pre-measured protein shake. I have his routine down pat. His mom is working the third shift; his old man went MIA years ago; and Oliver is sound asleep. He goes to bed early when he has a morning track meet, wakes up at six, and has his protein shake before leaving his house.
I unscrew the lid, opening the small vial of clear liquid death and pouring it into his to-go cup. Screwing the lid back on, I give it a shake before placing it back on the top shelf.
The finishing touch—I creep to his bathroom and leave a bottle of performance-enhancing pills in the medicine cabinet, covering my toxicology report tracks.
Exiting the way I came in, I lock the door behind me and hustle to my car parked three streets over, having made sure earlier to switch out the plates.
I drive to the tattoo parlor, taking a seat in the chair. “Four-leaf clover with Lucky 7 on the inside. And I was here all night if anyone asks,” I tell the family’s tattoo artist.
Darius called it: I’ll never be the biggest, or the baddest, or the craziest man to walk into a room. But who I am is the most calculating.
Kat
“You were at the party?” I wrack my brain trying to remember, but a big chunk of that night is a blur.
“I was there too late, but yes, I was there,” he says angrily. “I found you after Oliver had—” He stops himself and closes his eyes, his body vibrating with anger. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes and continues, “I texted Taylor on your phone to come help you and waited to make sure she found you.”
“Why were you at the party?” I ask.
“I was following you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
He sighs. “Because I’ve been obsessed with you since the moment I laid eyes on you at the bakery.”
My forehead creases. “The Diamond bar, when I first approached you, did you know who I was?”
“Yes,” he admits.
“You’ve always been Mr. Psycho.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“Not always. After I took care of Oliver, I eventually stopped following you,” he tells me. “For my sanity. I’d made up my mind I could never have you, and I was only torturing myself. Especially when you got together with Dominic. You seemed happy, and I told myself it was time to let you go.”
“Hold up. You said, ‘took care of Oliver,’ but he died of cardiac arrest during a track meet.” My eyes go wide with understanding. He died of a cardiac arrest during a track meet because Fabio poisoned him.
“Do you want me to leave?” Fabio asks quietly.
“God, I’m so in love with your crazy ass.” I grab his face, slamming my lips to his as salty tears stream down my face.
He moves his mouth, catching the tears running down my cheeks with his lips and tongue. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
“You didn’t fail me; besides, you didn’t owe me anything back then,” I assure him.
“But I do now. If I get called to the carpet for it, then so be it, but you’re no longer in the middle of this war with John Davis. You’re not going to the party and getting caught in the crossfire.”
“Let’s not worry about that now; we have more important things to do,” I tell him.
“Such as?”
“Showering. Feeding me before I get grumpy. Getting inked.” I trace the letters of my name over his Queen tattoo, and he laughs, kissing me again.
