Expletives burst past his yellow, chipped teeth while he rolls across the ground, shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Would you shut the fuck up? Someone could hear you, and then I’ll get in trouble,” I reprimand, smiling wider when another string of colorful words spills from his mouth.
Truthfully, we’re in a shitty part of town. He can’t legally leave the country,
considering the government suspended his passport due to unpaid child support, and he doesn’t have enough money anymore to buy a fake one. So, he was trying to hide in the boonies a few hours out from Seattle, but that is currently backfiring. There are probably several people who heard him scream, but no one is going to help him.
Not when they’ve got their own criminal activities taking place and their noses or veins clogged with whatever drug they could find. Pretty sure a dead guy is lying on the side of the street up the road, and several people stepped over him and kept it moving.
It’s a very mind your own fucking business type of neighborhood. Perfect place to commit homicide. Weather’s nice, too.
“Z, are you playing with your food again?” Jay pitches in with exasperation.
“What gave it away?” I ask, standing up and walking over to where Rick lies
on the ground.
He’s attempting to crawl away, dragging himself little by little with his arms.
Desperation is running out, and resignation is setting in.
“You’re going to burn in fucking Hell with me,” the sad little man spits, saliva shooting from his mouth. “Just you fucking wait.”
I sigh wistfully, rolling up each of my sleeves. “I sure hope so, Rick. That way I can torture you there, too.”
I kick the side of his stomach until he rolls onto his back, what’s left of his kneecaps bleeding profusely.
He’s limp, now praying for death instead of trying to escape it. Even if he did
survive, what kind of life would he have with no fucking knees? The dude is short as it is, he can’t afford to lose any more inches.
Crouching again, I tip up his chin and press the sharp edge of the knife to his
throat. He doesn’t fight, only seethes at the Grim Reaper from beneath his blade.
“Any last words?”
“I—” I slice his neck, cutting off more than just his response.
“I don’t actually care,” I say, his eyes widening in surprise and mouth parting
as he begins to choke on his blood.
“Ugh, can you mute your earpiece? I can hear him gurgling from here,” Jay
groans in my ear. I roll my eyes and ignore him, continuing to saw at his throat.
The knife is duller than a grandma’s sex life, and getting through muscle and
bone takes much longer than I’d like.
Eventually, I remove his head from his body, my arm aching from the effort.
His blood covers me like oil, and I feel like I just walked off the Carrie movie
set.
After tossing his head on top of his chest, I wipe my hands on my jeans then
fish into my hoodie pocket and pull out a cigarette. Rolling the tension out of my
neck, I light the stick and inhale deeply. Tobacco fills my lungs, instantly calming me.
I inhale death in order to erase the urge to create it.
“Rio booked a flight to Greece,” Jay informs me. He’s been jumping all over
the country since Addie escaped, and just like Rick, what’s in his bank account
isn’t enough to manufacture a new alias which means he’s easily traceable. And
if I can find him, so can Claire.
He’s on borrowed time regardless of who gets to him first. Personally, I’d like
to be the one to stick my knife through his throat, but a particular little mouse is keeping me from doing so.
She hasn’t said it aloud, but she doesn’t want Rio dead. What pisses me off
more is that I can’t entirely blame her. She formed a trauma bond with him, and as much as that irritates the hell out of me, I’m also glad she had someone kinda-sorta looking out for her in that house.
Doesn’t negate the fact that she was there because of him. He may have
helped her escape and cleaned up her wounds, but he still helped destroy her first. Just because you take the time to pick up the pieces after shattering a dish doesn’t mean that it’s not your fucking fault that it broke.
So, therefore, he should die.
Exhaling a thick plume of smoke, I take out a small container of lighter fluid
from my pocket next.
“Continue to keep an eye out for other intelligence tracking him, especially from Claire. Send out one of my mercenaries to trail him, too. I’m sure he has a massive hit out on him, and they will need to be taken care of,” I order Jay.
“Only I will be the one to put a bullet in his brain.”
“Roger,” he murmurs, and the sound of keys clicking arises, causing my eye
to twitch in irritation. So. Fucking. Obnoxious.
“Have fun on your… adventure.”
I grunt, the earpiece clicking to indicate the call ended. Then, I uncap the lighter fluid and drench Rick’s body and severed head in it.
Taking one more deep pull first, I flick the cigarette onto his corpse, stepping
back as it bursts into flames.
“The ride to Hell is going to be a tough one, Rickety Dick. Have fun on your
adventure.”
Chapter 30
The Diamond
One Month Later
“Does Francesca happen to have short blonde hair?” Daya asks, storming into
the living room with her laptop in hand.
“No,” I answer, sweat dripping into my eyes. Sibby drops her hand, which was curled into a fist and ready to drive right into my face.
I rub my eyes, feeling the heat pressing in now that I’m no longer distracted
with the screaming banshee that likes to use me for a punching bag.
“Well, she does now.”
My eyes light up, forgetting all about how hot and exhausted I am.
“You found her?”
“You’re goddamn right, I did. Fucking freak accident too. Cam from an old diner tagged her in a small town in South Carolina about eight hours ago. She was walking to the restroom and a waitress collided with her. Her sunglasses went flying, and bam—”
The second the words come out of Daya’s mouth. Sibby’s fist is flying into my stomach.
I tip over, the oxygen ripped from my lungs as pain explodes throughout my
abdomen.
My eyes bug from my head, and only a wheeze escapes.