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“I have shares. Insurance. They’ll pay out. My wife has money. Lots of money.”
Shaking my head, I stuff his mouth full of rags. “I want justice, Warren. That’s what I want, now. Justice for what you did to Christina.”
He twists his head from side to side, trying to bite as I feed him the filthy fabric until he gags. He protests around the obstruction in his mouth, making muffled sounds as I use the shears to cut open his jacket. I’m not careful with the sharp points when I cut through his shirt. The bottom one grazes his skin, leaving a long red line over his hairy stomach.
His scream is pathetic when I cut through his belt before ripping off his pants and underwear. Naked, with his small dick and fat stomach, he’s a nasty sight. He bucks when I drag the shears over his crotch.
“A little birdie told me you like to fuck underaged girls as much as men.”
He shakes his head, his eyes bulging.
I’d like nothing better than to snip him, but the problem with cutting off his dick is that Hart sent word that he needs Warren’s dick intact. Apparently, Warren’s dick plays a major role in his revenge scheme. Too bad.
“Think of it like this.” I position the shears. “At least you don’t need your balls to fuck.”
Snip.
Blood squirts in a fountain through the air.
The howl he utters is lost in the rags in his mouth. His neck strains as he throws back his head and pisses himself like a baby.
Before I’ve gotten a good hold on the other side, his eyes already go glassy. Fucking pussy.
Snip.
His body goes slack.
Straightening, I take in the mess. His body is pissing blood. I clean the shears on his pants before putting them back in the bag. I’m not done with him yet. After removing the rag, I stuff his balls into his mouth. With his cheeks puffed out, he looks like a blowfish. That’ll send a good message.
Then I walk away, leaving my vengeance and the power I’d given Warren by hating him for all my adult life behind. I leave behind the poison he injected into my veins.
Andrew straightens from where he’s leaning on the hood of the car. “Do we bring him?”
“No.” I get inside and slam the door.
Andrew takes the wheel and starts the engine. “You want him to bleed out?”
“Call his wife and tell her where to find him. Use the burner phone.”
“I’m on it,” he says, already taking the phone from the glove compartment.
“And tell her if she values her family’s lives, she won’t involve the cops.”
“What do you think she’ll tell the hospital?”
I chuckle. “She can say she castrated him for cheating on her.”
“Nah. He has a doctor on his payroll, just like us. They won’t go to a public hospital.”
I couldn’t care less where they go.
Sinking back in the seat, I take in the scenery as Andrew connects the call. The factory where I stole Christina isn’t far from here. It seems fitting that this is where it comes full circle.
My thoughts are still with her when we arrive home. I need a shower to wash Warren’s filth from my hands.
Mateo is already there. He takes in my blood-stained hands. “Which part of him did you take?”
“His balls,” I say, making my way to the stairs. “How did it go?”
“They didn’t even see it coming. I knifed down two before the spectators caught on. They scattered like birds.”
“Grenade?”
“Yes.”
“Casualties?”
“Only Warren’s men,” he says, following behind me.
Good. Everyone who stood by got the justice I promised myself for Christina. Warren is as close to ruin as a man can be. Hart will take care of the rest of it, of Stone and the money.
“Something was delivered for you,” Mateo says as I get to my room. “A courier company dropped it off.”
I tense. “Did you scan it for explosives?”
“Of course.” He leans in the frame, following me with his gaze as I make my way to the bathroom. “It’s on the table.”
I glance at the coffee table where a small parcel sits. “Thanks.”
“You’re not expecting anything, are you?”
“No,” I say, opening the tap to rinse the blood from my hands.
“That’s what I thought. To be on the safe side, I asked the guy about the sender.”
I squirt liquid soap onto my palm. “And?”
“It was a woman. She signed as Trisha Voster. Since we don’t know anyone by that name, I pressed the guy for a description.”
Drying my hands on a towel, I walk to the door.
“Guess what?” Mateo continues. “The description he gave me matches Christina to a tee.”
I still.
“He said she was wearing fancy clothes,” Mateo continues. “It sounded like the stuff Evie Warren would wear—big sunglasses, fur-trimmed hat, two-piece suit.”
Narrowing my eyes, I advance to the table. “Why would Evie send me anything?”
