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The man walking down the street could be a demon, a man who preys on small children. The contract could come from a girlfriend angry he won’t leave his wife. The reason never fucking matters to me.
The only rules I have are no women without proof of their evil nature, and no kids, ever.
I’ll kill the dog or someone’s hundred-year-old Papaw without blinking but those two rules I never break.
Quietly, I climb out of my truck and blend in with the shadows behind him. Unlike Alani, he doesn’t seem to sense me at all.
I try to think of all the things I can do to him once I have him, but nothing seems remotely appealing. It’s just one more thing I can blame her for.
What reason do I have for living if I can’t even enjoy the death and brutality I bring to others?
With less fanfare than I’d normally use, I slit his throat the second I get close enough, preventing his ability to scream. Instead of taking him to a different location and peeling away his flesh until he begs for death, I let him fall to the ground and then rip open his shirt. He’s still gurgling, dying through a combination of blood loss and drowning on his blood, as I cut into his chest.
The days are over of people insisting on pictures of a body or requiring fingers or hands to be delivered for proof. Pictures can be faked and anyone can live without fingers or hands.
This job requires a higher level of proof, but it only takes a minute and a half for me to pull his heart from his chest.
I don’t bother hiding his body. Solving a crime like this is damn near impossible. I shove his heart into his briefcase and walk away, stopping half a block away to rinse my hands in the rainwater flowing through the gutter along the side of the street.
I drive right past his body, a smile toying at my lips when I watch the same drunk old man step over his corpse on his way back to his house. No one gives a shit down here. As bad as it can get, there’s always those that have seen and experienced worse. I’m honestly surprised the guy didn’t bend down and check his pockets before carrying on his way.
Chapter 15
Alani
“What is it?” I ask, staring down at the small box Ayla placed in my hands.
“A Christmas present,” she explains with a shrug to her shoulders. “I missed it.”
Three simple words, but they aren’t an apology. I’d never ask that of her. She was being held captive, forced to do all sorts of horrific things, during the holidays, and I was drowning in a pool of self-pity, thinking she was being selfish.
“I don’t expect gifts from you,” I tell her, having to look away when I notice the shine of a tear in her eye.
I know recovery and healing take a very long time. I also know that it’s only been two months since she was rescued and that’s not nearly enough time to be fully recovered from what she experienced. If I’m uncomfortable when she seems incapable of controlling her emotions, I can’t imagine how she feels.
“It’s not a big deal,” she says, waving her hand dismissively at me. “Open it.”
I pull the ribbon and lift the lid to the small box.
“Do you like it?”
I nod, the threat of my own tears burning my eyes.
“It’s different,” I say as I lift it by the chain and pull the necklace from the box.
“I know you don’t like rings, so I had it reset.”
The sapphire in the middle of the rose gold setting catches the light, casting sparkles around the room.
This very stone was in the middle of our mother’s wedding ring. Our father couldn’t afford an expensive ring and always frowned at the sight of the synthetic stone on our mother’s hand. But she loved it and even refused to have it replaced the numerous times he offered to buy a diamond for her instead.
“It was promised to you,” I remind her.
The love our parents shared was unmatched. Although losing them both at the same time was horrific, we’ve both agreed more than once that it happened exactly how it was supposed to. It was hard as a fifteen-year-old girl to realize that as much as her parents loved her, they loved each other more. If one had survived, it wouldn’t have taken them long to join the other.
“She doesn’t look impressed,” Nash says as he enters the kitchen, pressing a kiss to Ayla’s forehead before opening the fridge.
I want to snap at him for pointing out the things my sister has always had a hard time reading.
It’s not his fucking business if the necklace feels tainted in some way. Giving me something that my mother valued so much because it was given to her with so much love seems like a waste. Ayla, the sister capable of love and worthy of it, should keep this. It’s wasted on me.
