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He looks away, shame flickering across his face for half a second before the cowardice returns.
“Whatever Rosie told you,” he mutters, “she lied—”
I screw the suppressor onto the barrel. “Did you just call my wife a liar?”
His eyes widen. I pull the trigger.
The muffled shot hits his left leg. He screams, clutching the wound as blood blooms across the sheets. Sarah screams too, high and shrill.
“Shut up!”
They both fall instantly silent, only broken whimpers left.
I stand and jerk my chin at Sarah. “Get up.”
She scrambles out of bed on shaky legs, nightgown clinging to her. She wet herself. I walk her backward toward the closet, open the door, and shove her inside.
“Please,” she begs, voice cracking. “I’m claustrophobic—”
“Good,” I say, locking the door behind her. “Now you’ll have a taste of what my girl felt every single time you tortured her.”
Her muffled sobs follow me as I walk back to the bed.
Mr. Miller is bleeding and whimpering, trying to press his hand over the wound. I grab him by the collar, drag him off the mattress, and throw him onto the floor. Then I go to work.
I muffle his screams with a cloth and go on to break three of his fingers slowly, one by one, listening to the sharp cracks and his choked cries. I press my boot into the gunshot wound until he thrashes and pisses himself.
I slam his head against the hardwood floor twice, hard enough to split skin but not kill him. Every time he begs, I remind him of how he told Rosie to stop being a spoiled child when she begged him.
By the time I’m done he’s barely conscious, face swollen, body curled in a pool of his own blood, breathing in wet, ragged gasps. An inch from death. Perfect.
I leave him there and unlock the closet.
Sarah spills out sobbing, streaked with piss. “Please… please don’t—”
“Walk,” I order.
I march her downstairs and out the back door to the pool I spotted earlier. I force her to her knees at the edge, grab a fistful of her hair, and shove her face under.
She thrashes wildly. I hold her there until her movements turn desperate, then yank her up just long enough for her to gulp air before I drown her again. Over and over. Waterboarding her the same way they did to my Rosie. I don’t stop until her body goes limp and she passes out cold on the concrete.
I leave her there.
On my way back to the car I pull out my phone and make two quick calls. By morning, Mr. Miller’s business will be bankrupt. Sarah’s family empire will suffer the same fate.
Rosie is still sleeping when I slip back into our bedroom. I strip quietly, climb into bed, and pull her against my chest. She sighs softly in her sleep and curls into me.
I kiss the top of her head and close my eyes.
No one will ever hurt her again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rosie
I just finished a long strategy meeting and was finally settling back into my chair, letting out a tired sigh, when a knock sounded on my office door.
“Come in,” I call.
