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“They’re worried you might be in danger.”
“Ah.” I allowed a hint of amusement to dance through my tone on purpose as I half-rolled my eyes. “If people had to check on us every time some asshole ran his mouth, the city would have no police left for the citizens, am I right?”
The guy smirked, my comment’s arrow hitting the bull’s-eye of its target: stroking his pride. Putting us together on the same team, subject to the same heated comments that sometimes spewed from the venomous mouths of the people I prosecuted and the people he slapped cuffs on.
Judging by the relaxing of his shoulders, it also succeeded in its primary purpose: to put him at ease.
“I was sent here to check on you and make sure you’re safe.”
I opened my arms. “Safe and sound. I appreciate you stopping by.”
He nodded toward his vehicle, which was parked right out front.
“I’ll be just outside if you need me.”
“That’s not necessary,” I assured with a smile.
“It sounds like adirectthreat was made against you,” he explained.
“Well”—I motioned toward the security cameras positioned along my front—“I assure you, I have all the protection I need. My security team is watching me and every angle of this house right now.” Except for the purposeful dead spot in the lenses, where I dragged my unconscious victim downstairs.
But I digress. If you could please go away, I’d like to get back to torturing the man.
This was akin to starving and smelling the most delicious meal wafting through the air while someone stood here gabbing away, preventing you from eating.
The police officer hesitated. He looked around again, over his shoulder, along the expanse of my lawn, until the radio fashioned to the officer’s shoulder crackled to life.
“Attention all units in the area. We have a domestic violence disturbance on Elm Street. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Officers requested to respond with caution and prioritize the safety of all involved parties.”
“Elm Street.” I glanced at the officer, feigning concern. “That’s just four blocks from here.”
How convenient. It was almost as ifsomeonehad planted that 911 call as a decoy—before stripping out of my clothes and dousing my hair and chest in sink water.
A momentary conflict flickered across the guy’s face, but he knew the priority here. There was a victim out there in imminent danger, and I was standing here perfectly safe, in an armed fortress, with my own team of high-end security.
“I’ll call you if I see anything suspicious,” I assured.
The cop hesitated for one more moment before looking at my cameras and backing away as he said his goodbyes.
I shut the door, locked it, and watched him drive away on my phone. Before smirking and walking toward the basement stairs.
I’d call the hospital soon to find out how long I had to make Franco Hopkins pay. Would Luna spend the entire night? Or just a few hours?
The night. Let it be the entire night. A few hours wouldn’t be nearly enough for what I was about to do to Franco.
Then again, what if that cop came back once he realized the call was a fake? What if he came back with reinforcements? Franco’s threat against my life was proving to be a disappointing snag.
I needed to hurry. I hated that I needed to rush, but I’d at least make the asshole die a painful death.
I took off running, up my stairs, through my closet, down the spiral staircase.
And down the long tunnel toward my prey.
CHAPTER65
Luna
“Thank you,” I said.
