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I’ve made a huge step forward in regards to my plan this weekend, which is great. But at the same time, I’ve discovered something I wasn’t expecting.
Her.
There’s a part of me that is starting to feel more than I should.
But I can’t afford to think about her in all of this.
There are always victims in war. That’s how it needs to work.
And this is a battle that I’m going to damn well win.
“Can’t keep running forever, baby,” I say, twisting my fingers through hers.
“Come in with me,” she urges. “Just for a bit. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
My eyes dart toward the house, expecting to find her mum there watching, but there are no signs of life.
“Umm…”
“I’ll show you my bedroom,” she says, wiggling her brows suggestively.
“I’m not sure your mum would appreciate all your calls for God.”
“Maybe not. But I would like you to meet her.”
Refusal sits right on the tip of my tongue. Agreeing to meet the woman who may or may not know the truth behind my lies could be the beginning of the end of my plan.
Something akin to hope trickles through my veins at that thought, but I slam it down the moment I recognise it.
Nothing is going to stop me getting my revenge, my justice.
Not Jodie, her mum.
Anyone.
“Yeah, okay,” I say when the silence between us becomes too heavy. “But I can’t stay long. I really need to get back.”
It’s not a lie—I’ve got streams of ignored messages on my phone from all the guys wanting to know why I’ve fallen off the face of the Earth and not turned up to work when we were called in this weekend, something I’m sure I’m going to be hearing about from the boss himself very soon.
No one ignores a request from Damien Cirillo, and I have no doubt I’m going to feel the pain imminently for doing just that.
Plus, I’ve got a ton of school assignments that I should have finished by now. I’d intended on spending some time this weekend doing them, but they soon got forgotten in favour of making the most of her. After all, I have no idea how much time we’ve really got.
I don’t have a timeline for this plan. I’m relying on my gut telling me that it’s the right time. And when it is, I’m going to pull the pin on the grenade I’ve been building and watch him shatter at my feet.
Pulling on my mask as I climb from the car, I grab her stuff from the boot and follow her toward the house.
The curtain is still suspiciously closed as she lets us inside.
“Mum?” she calls, dropping her handbag to the unit in the hallway. “Mum, I’m home.”
Only silence follows, and Jodie’s shoulders drop.
“Shit,” she hisses, before darting forward and racing toward the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my eyes following her movements.
“I just need to check something.”
