Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
I have a destination in mind, and I make my way there, avoiding cameras where I can and using a mixture of buses and pounding the pavement to make my way to a bungalow in Mid-Wilshire. I haven’t had a lot of time to hunt this guy, but I know his schedule well enough. The city’s sloppy surveillance setup plays right into my hands. Their carelessness is my gain.
I arrive at the house and circle the perimeter twice, making sure the house is quiet just like the neighborhood. One light is one and I find the best point of entry, the back door that’s only secured by a twist lock that’s easy to breach. Within minutes, I’m inside the bungalow. It’s quiet, not eerily so just quiet enough that I need to be careful and cautious.
The downstairs is untidy but not exactly messy. The living room contains a discarded throw blanket, an empty energy drink can and a bag of potato chips. The kitchen is messier with a sink half-full of dirty dishes. It’s nothing to bother me and under normal circumstances I wouldn’t be here but this isn’t exactly normal circumstances. This isn’t revenge or karma, it’s a utility that is necessary for my survival.
I creep up the stairs, listening carefully for sounds of life that come in the form of a few annoyed grunts and curses. “You dirty fucker!” The man’s voice is deep but not exactly filled with the vitriol his words convey, more like amused yet disgruntled. I check all the other rooms to make sure we’re alone before I stop in front of the door where the man speaks yet again. “We’re fucked, thanks to you.”
I’m not sure if he’s alone or talking to himself or on the phone but my patience is wearing thin. He’s been on The List for the shortest period of time, but it is imperative that tonight is his last night alive.
I knock on the door three times, each knock following a five second pause. When he doesn’t respond, I press my ear to the door and wait until I’m sure he’s alone before I push it open and step inside.
“What the fuck?” He spins in his task chair, eyes wide with shock and then fear when he realizes who I am. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for you. I thought that was obvious.”
His fear is palpable. I can practically smell it wafting off his sweaty skin, mixing with the stench of beer and pizza in the air. “I hadn’t planned on killing you, but you made it necessary.”
He shakes his head, his eyes wide and frantic as reality closes in around him. “No. You don’t have to.”
“Oh, but I do. And more than that, I want to.” I lunge forward and grab his hair in my hand, twisting it around my fist until I have enough leverage to yank his head backward.
“I didn’t—” he begins, but I push the tip of the blade against his neck until the skin is pierced and a small stream of blood appears. “I swear to you I didn’t say a fucking word.”
“You said enough.” I didn’t come here to have a conversation, to rehash events that may or may not have happened. I’m here with one purpose in mind. To end his life. “Just relax, and this will be over before you know it.”
He doesn’t relax, of course. He squirms and cries and begs, pleads for his life to no avail.
“Relax,” I whisper before plunging the knife deep into his throat, and slicing it across his neck. I get mesmerized by the way the blood shoots out in spurts before landing on the carpet and the walls, narrowly missing me by mere inches. “There we go, it’s all right,” I whisper as his body slumps over.
His death isn’t as satisfying as I wanted it to be. Oh well. Maybe next time.
I take my time cleaning up, ensuring not a single trace of my presence remains. By the time I slip back out into the night, it’s as if I was never here at all.
But I was. And the high of the kill buzzes beneath my skin as I make my way back to Frankie, back to the mask of the doting boyfriend.
She’ll never know the monster that shares her bed.
Not until it’s far, far too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Frankie
Being drugged has a way of changing the way a girl thinks about her life.
I don’t like it—this sense of vulnerability, of not being in control.
It’s a feeling I’ve spent my entire career trying to avoid. But I can’t dwell on it now. I have a job to do, and I need to focus on that.
So, I do what I always do when my personal life threatens to bleed into my professional one. I shove it way deep down, lock it up tight, and concentrate on the task at hand.