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“I asked you a question earlier,” Jamison snarls, gathering the collar of my shirt in his fist. “Why the fuck did you kill her and not me?”
Really? He’s a smart person. He shouldn’t need an explanation.
“To punish… you.”
He kicks my other shin. I nearly vomit, the pain makes my chest heave so badly.
“Why? Because I helped Ingram? What was I supposed to do? He was the only one who could stop you from taking over. Why couldn’t you just kill me and be done with it? Why make me watch her… Why?”
This is good. He might kill me. It will all be over.
I may as well tell him the truth.
“You treated… Ingram… well. You gave… him… power. And you… were a… father… to him. He didn’t… deserve… another.”
“I should have known,” he says. “It’s always about Ingram. He’s been living rent-free in your head for two decades. You could have been on a yacht surrounded by supermodels like a normal billionaire. Instead, you’re here, suffering and about to die. Was it worth it?”
“It… would’ve… been.”
If I had shot Ingram in the head that night, killing him outright — this all could have been avoided. It wouldn’t have been the perfect revenge I wanted, but it would have been something. As they say, don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.
“I guess so,” Jamison says, reaching for the locks on my wrist cuffs. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to live with the mistake much longer. Ingram’s going to be very mad at me, but I have to do this. For Colette.”
He unlocks my cuffs, then lifts me out of the chair.
What is he doing?
With the strength of a man half his age, Jamison throws me to the ground. He kicks me in the side, reigniting the damage Ingram did to my kidneys. Convulsing and coughing, I taste blood and bile.
Time stands still as I try to get my diaphragm under control. Jamison’s going to keep this up until I’m dead.
But I’m not stuck in the chair anymore.
And he’s still an old man.
I have a chance.
Cringing from the pain, I hold my breath until I regain my composure. Jamison stomps on my ankle, unleashing a cataclysm in my leg. He broke something, I’m sure of it.
But what’s a little more pain?
Today I’ve handled enough for a lifetime.
I catch Jamison’s next kick, grabbing his ankle before his foot lands. With one move, I pull his leg out from under him and drop him to the ground. His head cracks against the cold, cement floor. Adrenaline races through my veins, dulling the electric storm raging through my body.
Rising up on my knees, I punch Jamison in the face. Blood leaks out beneath his skull, but he still groans from the hit.
I should thank him for giving me this chance. I won’t though — I’ve learned my lesson. I keep punching until his eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. When I feel his neck, there’s no pulse.
Rest calls to me. Exhaustion’s seductive whisper tickles my ears.
No.
Not now.
I’m not finished.
