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He looks up, his stare glassy as it makes contact with mine through the mirror. “Stand back, you fuck. Give some space.”
“Arran Maxton says goodbye,” I say an instant before I jam the knife he barely had time to register into the back of his neck, severing his spinal cord.
It was quick. Painless. But he saw it coming, and even if it was only for a split second, it filled his soul with horror. At least I can give Maxton that. Because the judge deserved a drawn-out death. And the blood smattering my hand now is anything but innocent.
I leave him bent over the urinal, dick hanging out, his face smeared with blood and pee. Within minutes, the place will be swarming with drunk patrons taking pictures of his corpse even as they question how something like this could happen in their midst.
Cameron might be dead, but his humiliation has just begun.
Before anyone takes notice, I disappear back into the shadows.
My debt is paid.
* * *
