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Nicole swiftly laid out the details of the grisly story, the dead mom, the older sister becoming a mafia thug’s whore. The mafia thug murdering the whore and the seven-year-old sister. The lonely, wounded fourteen-year-old girl, forced to testify, subsequently tossed into the Witness Protection Program, orphaned, bereft, and traumatized.
“She’s our bomber, Vin,” Nicole concluded. “She’s perfect. A gift from the gods. She’s marked for death already, and has been since she was fourteen. She’s so damaged, see? The whole world is her enemy. Who would be even the least bit surprised if she fell prey to the hateful ideology of a domestic terror group? I mean, duh!”
Vincent crossed his arms as he considered it. “And yet, you let her get away.”
“There was no way to bring her in, not with Masters’ whole team coming at me,” she said impatiently. “And we need the little girl to control Ethan Masters anyhow, so we can just take Banner when we pick up the little girl.”
“That place is heavily fortified,” Vincent snapped. “We can’t just waltz in. You know that.”
“Of course not. But we have the perfect tool to make them jump, thanks to you,” she said. “Don’t you still have some of those videos you took of Shane Masters?”
He looked miffed. “I seem to recall you scrapping them because they offered too much intel,” he said sourly.
God. What an idiot. He was still piqued about her criticizing his game with extortion videos. She pasted on an encouraging smile. “Well, things have changed. And now we need for Masters to follow those exact same breadcrumbs you left in your videos,” she said. “You were absolutely prescient, Vincent. You sensed what we would need before we even needed it. It’s your special gift.”
Vincent looked suspicious, as well he should, when she gave him compliments. But his ego was so grotesquely swollen, he always fell for it like rotten fruit. “Use them if you need them,” he said. “Who’s your asset, again? Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she said. God, she simply could not wait to tear the flesh from this dickface’s bones. “I have the ultimate leverage.”
“Ah, yes.” Vincent wrinkled his nose in disgust. “The groaning old man in the basement. I can’t tolerate that kind of thing in my central headquarters, Nicole. You need to move him to one of the satellite facilities. It’s distasteful. And the smell. God.”
“I’m almost done,” she assured him. “After the Event, we can dispose of him. I think old Jay Drummond is going to make one last video tonight. A real doozy, for his great-nephew’s viewing pleasure. Care to watch me make it?”
Vincent had that snotty, superior expression that had always made her want to gut him, ever since they were children. “No, thank you,” he said. “I prefer to outsource that kind of thing. Too messy. And you enjoy it a little too much, in my opinion.”
She shrugged. “You want something done right, do it yourself. I get results, don’t l?”
Vincent harrumphed. “It’s very late, to change the plan,” he complained.
“I know, Vin, but trust me. This is a better plan. The psychoanalysts will eat it up with a spoon. Kat Banner has every reason to feel that the world is a shitty, dangerous place that’s badly in need of punishment.”
Vincent made an impatient sound. “As long as things move on schedule.”
“Of course, of course,” she murmured. “Let me tell you exactly what I have in mind. If you could, ah…call off your dog? So we can get to work?”
Vincent waved the guy with the gun away. She exhaled, and put her hand in her pocket, fondling Maynard’s damp, sticky tooth as she laid out how the plan would work. The resources she would need, the steps to be taken. Her heart thudded with excitement.
The sweetest part of it all was going to be making Ethan Masters believe he’d been betrayed by a lying whore. Nicole had seen the way he dove into those thorn bushes for that girl. The way he’d kissed her. He had it bad. He was so whipped.
Let Ethan Masters take a turn at feeling like a fool. Taken in by a honeytrap temptress who led him by his dick…straight to his own destruction.
Perfect.
CHAPTER34
Ethan
Ascream jerked me awake. Thin, shrill, bloodcurdling. Kat and I both practically levitated off the bed, grabbing the nearest article of clothing, with Kat snagging my T-shirt, and me the bathrobe that lay on the floor. I took the gun from my nightstand before we ran out, keeping Kat behind me. We sprinted, barefoot, toward the relentless screams that came from Holly’s room.
I slapped the door open. Holly sat on her bedroom rug, her head in her arms.
Kat dropped down to the floor and gathered her up. “Baby, what happened? Are you hurt?”
“V-v-v-video.” Holly’s normally rosy face was colorless. “Of Dad.”
My stomach dropped. “What video, honey? From where?”
Holly held up her smartphone. It had a pink cover, featuring some cartoon princess or other. “From this.”
