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I heard him before I saw him, before we were even close to the master bedroom. I guess a part of me had been figuring he would be long asleep already, but as we both pressed against the wall, listening, I realized he was in damage control mode.
"No, they're not fucking hardwired," he growled at to whomever he was talking to. "They're cheap fucking cameras you can buy at a store. You just need to get in, get into their computer system, find the footage, and delete it. No, Vance, I need this done fucking tonight. Before they open in the morning."
He was raging. And even with the carpet on the second floor, you could hear him pacing.
I shared a look with Edison, knowing what money could afford a man. Namely, power. Power to step on the little guy then buy brand new shoes and claim you had no idea where the treadmarks came from. He was going to take away the leverage she had in going after him. And if I knew the kind of bastard he was, and I did, I knew he was also going to have that computer backup cut. So that the next time he cornered her at work and she threatened to hang him with the footage, he would know there was nothing there to prove it if he didn't leave DNA evidence.
He would get away with it too.
I'd bet my car that he had gotten away with it before.
There was a silence as, I assumed, he hung up, before he was talking again. "Yeah, Mack. I have Vance on that. I know. Well, that's what I fucking pay you for. If she still goes to the cops, you get me out of it."
Lawyer.
He was covering all his bases.
And literally the only way a man knew to do all that shit was if he had scrambled in the past and learned how to handle it.
Fucking asshole.
I bet I piqued Luce's interest back at Barrett's, and if I had, he would look into him. I bet the next time I heard from Luce, he would tell me about all the pay-offs so women didn't press charges and all the paperwork at the NBPD that got 'mis-filed' or disappeared.
When there was silence again, and I looked back at Edison, I could see he was on the same wavelength as me.
Some men were rabid dogs.
And everyone knew what had to happen to rabid dogs.
They needed to be put down.
Like I said, I beat the ever loving shit out of men without a blink. But, to me, taking a life was serious shit and not to be taken lightly.
But this, this shit with this mother fucker, I wasn't taking it lightly. I was taking it really fucking seriously.
I cracked my neck and moved away from the wall, listening near the door for another moment, making sure he wasn't still on the phone but on the listening end. When I was sure there was no-one to be a witness to Ethan Criss's last moments on earth, I reached for the knob and pushed inward, surprised when there was not even a hint of sound, nothing to make Ethan look back from where he was staring at his window, even though the drapes were pulled. He turned half toward his bed, flinging his cell on top of it.
And it was right about then that I cleared my throat, enjoying it maybe too much when he stiffened and turned, eyes huge.
But his first reaction wasn't the fear you might expect.
It was all ego.
He snorted. "Should have known that bitch was fucking around with you," he said, seeming to pay no mind to how the word bitch made my hands curl, made a low, rumbling sound vibrate in my chest. "I always knew she was low class through and through. But I was in a slumming it kind of mood."
Slumming it?
Fucking... slumming it?
He thought Kennedy was slumming it?
Stupid fucking bastard didn't know when to shut his mouth.
"So... what? You're here to 'send a message?' Do you know who I am? I will have you behind bars within two hours."
"Eh," I said, shrugging casually, watching as Edison leaned back against the door after he closed it. "I don't think there is great cell reception from six feet under, right Edison?" I asked, cocking my head to the side, watching the realization cross his face.
He rolled his eyes, though. I guess that was the problem with getting away with shit too often; it made you think you were untouchable. "See yourself to the door. I'm sure you tripped the security alarm on your way in."
My smile rose then, slow, likely a little demonic-looking given how fucking twisted I was feeling right that moment.
"Funny thing. We know you don't have a security system. Would you like to take a second to make up a story about having a vicious pitbull or twenty years of Ju-Jitsu, or can we get on with the killing and dying part of the evening?"
