Page 55 of Plain Sight

“What job?”

“You’ll have to kill me yourself. How do you think you’ll do it?”

Beaufort’s eyes dart to the side, and I move. It doesn’t feel like moving. It feels like floating. The knife comes into my hand like I’m a born murderer, not a created crime scene, and then my hand’s in the front of his old-man pajamas and the tip of the knife is at the side of his neck.

Jamie.

“Actually, I think it’s my turn.” The whites of Beaufort’s eyes are huge. “You’re never going to get to meet your first great-grandchild.”

“What?” he whispers.

“Oh, right—you probably didn’t know. Lily’s pregnant. And the baby’s mine. But I fucking hate you, so I think I’ll kill you now, and you can die regretting everything you ever did. Should have chosen better friends, I guess.”

“Please—” he starts.

“Gross. Don’t bother. And when I push the knife in, don’t scream. I’m really tired, and it would hurt my ears.”

“Mr. Hill⁠—”

“I meant shut up.”

I start to push the knife in. Beaufort takes a strangled breath. Skin has more resistance than you’d think. Than I thought, anyway. Blood beads near the blade and drips down his neck.

“One,” I say. “Two⁠—”

The kitchen door slams open. “Jameson.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes. “Seriously, Gabriel? All you had to do was wait, like, two more minutes.”

My brothers barrel into the room. They’re weird streaks of motion. I’m really tired. I recall that I should shove the knife through the judge’s throat and tighten my grip on the handle, but my brothers get there first. Mason hauls the judge away from me, and Gabriel throws an arm around my chest.

“Nope. No. How about no?” Gabriel sings. “Let me have it. Drop it, Jameson.”

“Drop what?”

He squeezes my wrist. The knife falls out of my hand. Gabriel lets go of me, and then his hand is at my belt. He takes the sheath, then puts it somewhere I can’t see.

There’s blood on the judge’s neck.

I bend forward in time to avoid throwing up on my shoes.

Then Gabriel’s arm is around me, and he’s taking me out of the house. He props me against the tree—nice, sturdy trunk—and then his face is close to mine. My eyes are all blurry.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“No.”

Maybe I throw up again. Maybe not.

“It’s okay.” Gabriel has his hands on my face. “We’re here now. We’ll take care of it. Okay?”

“He said he got blackmailed.”

Gabriel shakes his head. “Maybe he did. I don’t know. We’ll find out.”

“I was killing him.”

“You’re not anymore.”