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He moves farther back, tucking his laptop under his arm, as if I’m liable to hit him. With how today’s going, that’s wise.
“What about adding the Alpha Killer to the list?” he says, cringing after it’s out there. “Look, I get that we hate monikers. I’m all about frowning on the moniker. But I think it’s unwise to ignore the possibility altogether that there may be one top dog out there running the show. I mean, look at the idiots in holding,” he says with an awkward chuckle. “No offense, Avery. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you went through—”
“None taken,” she says. “They are idiots.”
Carson gives her a smile. “What I’m saying is, they don’t seem capable of putting together an elaborate plan like breaking into the ACPD crime lab, stealing a bus, kidnapping a smart woman like Avery…all on their own. Not those two. They must’ve gotten their instructions from someone. Like that leaked missive on the news? Where did that come from? Who leaked it?”
I open my mouth to comment, but Avery intercepts his questions. “They did have help,” she says, her eyes finding mine. “And he was intelligent. More than that, he was calm and in no hurry, completely in control, as if he felt he had nothing to fear.”
I swallow the burning lump trying to strangle me. “Did you get a look at him?”
Her gaze shifts to the whiteboard, away from me. “No, I didn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget his voice, though.”
A pain barrels into my chest. I press my hand against it, then adjust my gun strap, attempting to conceal the move. I asked her over and over if she’d been hurt, and each time, she was quick to deny it. But then, she’s been hurt before. Her tolerance for pain and suffering has increased. Maybe she even believes what she endured doesn’t register compared to other hurts and scars inflicted upon her.
But the way she lowers her eyes now, the sullen inflection in her tone…I know this bastard did hurt her. And now, I’m going to make him pay for that.
I turn toward the board and do something I’d hate myself for any other day. With a tremor of rage in my hand, I write “Alpha Killer” in large print and circle it. “This fucker has a name. I want it.”
15
Alpha
Wells was a loss. One of my best assets. You know that scene in Scarface, the one where Michelle Pfeiffer says, “Don’t get high on your own supply.” Ah! What a brilliant bitch. All criminals should be required to watch that movie before they’re inducted into the fold.
I have my own preference for the order of rules. Don’t sample your own product—lesson number one. Lesson number two: don’t make a mess you can’t clean up.
Wells had to be cleaned.
He sampled his own product, and he got messy.
Luckily, a pretty little profiler took care of the nasty task for me.
A man obsessed is a dangerous thing. You can’t reason with him. He has no boundaries, no limitations. The whole world could be burning down around him and yet he’d only be conscious of his obsession.
Obsession makes you weak. And for that, Wells got what he deserved.
How I do miss his gifts, though. Wells knew quality. The gems he provided were never missed, always clean. Beauties, they were. Absolutely delectable.
They made me a lot of money.
And money…now that’s what it’s all about. Sex, drugs, power—all these things can be bought. Even your fucking, pitiful obsessions can be obtained with enough of it.
I stub out my cigarette on the dirty counter, disgusted. I hate mess. I despise filth. It sickens me almost as much as finding a rat in my presence. But here I am, cleaning up yet another mess. But if you want something done right… You know how it goes. No one gets to the top without getting their hands dirty every once in a while.
And I’m not afraid of work.
My once right-hand man is strung up in the middle of the room, his body stretched, limbs racked. He’s soaked in his own sweat and piss. The stench of it rolls through the small space, souring the air.
I flick my hand, and two of my thugs lower him to the ground. Alex slumps over, gulping in the foul air, thinking the worst is over. That now, finally, his torture will end.
But death isn’t coming to him so quickly. I invested much of myself into Alex King. Reared him into my perfect protégé, and how does he repay me?
Red colors my vision.
I suppress my rage with a sigh of disappointment.
I do enjoy giving my rats a moment to catch their breath—to believe I might just spare them. Some have come to the conclusion that I’ve gone soft. I’ve seen the rebellion in their eyes, waiting for an opportune time to strike.
