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It takes me less than an hour to track him down.
Anthony Gregson is staying in a dingy hotel room about an hour from the house. Still too fucking close for my liking. I find his name on the guest list in the motel lobby and march straight to Room 240.
I knock twice and wait patiently. The idiot doesn’t even check who it is first. The door groans open, and I immediately place my foot in the threshold just in case he spooks and decides to pull a runner.
He’s squinting against the daylight when the door opens, but when his eyes settle on me, they widen in fear. That’s all the confirmation I needed.
He knows exactly who I am.
I should’ve had Konstantin run a background check on this deadbeat fake husband, too. Though I know more than enough to know he deserves to have his lights punched in.
He doesn’t even say anything as I push my way into his room and kick the door shut behind me. He already knows why I’m here. There’s no sense wasting his breath.
I look around with open disgust. There are two single beds squashed into the limited space with a tiny, moldy nightstand wedged between. The chipping laminate table on the opposite side of the room holds a decrepit television set that was already out of date thirty years ago. It smells like cigarettes and vomit and despair.
“After draining Paige’s bank account, I would’ve figured you could spring for a nicer place than this,” I drawl.
Anthony is still standing in the open doorway. I’m guessing he has some money stashed away somewhere in this room; otherwise, he would have already bolted.
“Do you speak?” I ask. “Because now would be the time to use that tongue of yours. Before I cut it out.”
He gulps, his eyes bulging out of his head like a chameleon’s. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have sent a drink to my wife,” I snarl.
“I just…” He takes a step back, his hand tightening around the door handle.
“If you’re thinking about running, I’d advise against it. I can break your legs just as easily as I can tear out your tongue.”
His hand trembles as he removes his hand from the doorknob. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s debatable.”
“I… I just wanted to explain things,” he stammers. “It’s the only reason I came back.”
“The only reason, huh? You could have sent a letter and avoided a motel bill. I’m guessing you have another reason for coming all this way.”
“It’s true!” he protests a little too quickly. “I just wanted to… to make sure she was okay.”
I give him a sarcastic slow clap. “Husband of the fucking year, aren’t you? Oh, wait—you two were never actually married.”
“Listen—”
“No.” He falls silent, and I stride right up to him. The top of his head barely meets my chin. His hair is blond, mussed, lifeless. Looking down on him is like squaring up with an alcoholic scarecrow. “It’s time foryouto listen.”
He nods once, his throat bobbing with a nervous swallow.
“Paige ismywife. Whatever your bullshit relationship with her was, it is at an end. I don’t even want her crossing your mind, let alone the two of you crossing paths. Forget she exists and stay the fuck away from her. Do you understand me?”
He stares at me for a moment, but the nod follows not long after. I can read this guy like a book. He’s a coward at heart. Self-preservation comes first, second, and third on his list of priorities. Paige never even made the rankings.
“Good.”
Then I slug him in the stomach.
He groans loudly, spit flying out of his mouth, as he wraps his arms around his torso and drops to his knees.
“For fuck’s sake.” I roll my eyes in disgust. “If that’s all it takes to put you on your knees, you’re even more pathetic than I expected. Just so we’re clear, that’s for sending her a drink. What I ought to do for the rest of your sins is far more severe. After leaving her the way you did, you should consider yourself lucky to be alive.”
