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Leaning down, I scream in his face the words ringing in my head. “She said it started here! She thought the trip would make things better!”
Shoving his head away, I wipe my hand on my slacks. “You let her buy you gifts on my dime. She thought she might be able to keep you happy that way. And you let it happen, then hurt her anyway. You are less than shit. It would make more sense to kill you and donate your organs. Your life might mean something, then.”
“Please!” He’s gone straight to blubbering, his nose running, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth thanks to the love tap I gave him. “I didn’t mean anything!”
Now that he’s sweating, his stench is worse than ever. There’s a particular sort of acrid odor to sweat born from terror, and it fills the small room until I have to back away. “You meant plenty,” I counter. “You took advantage of her in every way possible. Nobody gets away with that.”
“She… she wasn’t totally innocent!” he blurts out. “She picked fights and threw tantrums and pushed me until I couldn’t take it anymore!!”
“And that means you can hit her? Hurt her? Leave your filthy fucking hand prints on her?” Romero seethes.
“No… I just... As I said. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry… please. Just let me go, and you’ll never hear from me again. I’ll disappear.”
“Oh, you’ll disappear alright!” I growl, shaking my head. I don’t know what to do. I want to kill him, but I made a promise to Tatum.
“Look, my father is going to come looking for me soon, and when he does…”
“What?” Romero interrupts him, getting right in his face. “What is your daddy going to do to get you out of this? I can only assume he’ll be happy to hear what you’ve done. How you raped and abused a woman, causing her despair, making it impossible for her to sleep at night. Maybe we should give your father a call right now and see what he has to say?”
Kristoff grits his teeth. It’s obvious Romero’s words have hit their mark. “Did you not hear me? I already told you she was part of the problem. She’s lucky all I did was bruise her a little bit after everything she put me through. Her pussy wasn’t even that good anyway.”
“I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands,” I snarl, walking towards him. The air is electrified; I can feel the energy inside Romero, and I know he’s going to snap. All at once, he pulls something from his back pocket. The overhead light makes the steel of his switchblade gleam. Before I can stop him, Romero’s hand moves in a slash motion and the blade is in Kristoff’s skin.
Romero jumps back in time to avoid being sprayed by the blood from the gaping wound in Kristoff’s throat. At first, I’m too shocked by this sudden turn to react. I can only watch, wordlessly, while Kristoff gasps and gags as the life drains from his pathetic body.
I pull my attention from the dying man to eye my trusted right-hand man, the stained switchblade still gripped tight in his fist. He’s a man possessed, his eyes seeming to glow as they drink in the sight of an agonizing death.
“By rights, that was my job,” I mutter once Kristoff’s head drops forward, his body limp.
“I’d say sorry, but I couldn’t stand another second of him blaming her for a choice that he fucking made.” He looks my way, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Sue me if you want.”
I can’t bother to be mad. It’s what was going to happen either way. “We need to clean this up.”
“Leave it to me.” His gaze swings back to the dead man in the chair. “It’s what I do best.”
Before I turn away, I catch sight of him spitting on the corpse.
BIANCA
“You know, you don't need to do this.”
I turn away from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “And you don't need to say that again. I've already told you I want to make dinner.”
“I'm not your responsibility. As much as I love your cooking.” Dad shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging. “I'm the one bumming around without a job. I should be making dinner so it'll be on the table when you get home from work.”
“How do I put this delicately?” I can't, and there's no holding in the laughter that bubbles up at the idea. “You make a mean bowl of cereal. But otherwise…”
“Hey! I've gotten better with time,” he cuts me off.
“I'll have to take your word for it.”
“Very funny.” He goes to the fridge and pulls out a head of lettuce. “Do you think I'm incapable of making a salad?”
“I guess we can give it a try. I mean, what could go wrong?” He rolls his eyes, but his sheepish grin goes a long way toward loosening what was left of the anxiety I've been fighting all day. I feared how he might act tonight and whether he'd pick an argument over Callum. So far, he's avoided the subject, and I'm not going to press the issue. I'm not a child, and I don't expect him to magically drop his resentment and suspicion.
