She pushes the gun out toward me even farther. “I’ll do it!” Despite her bravado, I can hear the tremor in her voice. She isn’t ready to take a life, not even mine. What the fuck is she doing out here? And who is she?
I have to decide whether to rush her or shoot her, so I run my mouth some more to buy time. “I’ve killed plenty. With a gun, my hands, a cane knife.” I shake my head. “That last one is pretty brutal. You ever seen a cane knife? It’s what you use to harvest sugar cane, sort of like a machete crossed with a meat cleaver. Sharp, heavy. A skull cracks like a coconut if you hit it just right.”
“I already know you’re a monster.” Her tone burns like acid. “You don’t have to do any more convincing.”
“Not a monster. Just efficient. And if I’m threatened—” I advance again, close enough to tackle her. “I react. And I keep reacting until the threat is room temperature.”
She lets out a deep breath, as if she’s trained for this moment. “I told you to stop.”
“How about you put the gun down, we get out our aggressions on each other, and then—”
Her glare intensifies. “You’re still trying to make a pass?”
“Not a pass. I’m offering to fuck you, to give you what you need so hard that you beg me to stop. Something tells me you need a good, rough fuck to knock some sense into you. Because you aren’t a killer. You’re something else. Something I want.” The black hides her, but not enough. I can see the swells of her full breasts, the flare of her hips, the way her pants hug the sweet spot between her thighs. Damn. “How about this—let me get you off, then you can shoot me. Sound good?” I edge closer.
“I said stop!”
I give her a smirk, the one I already know tends to infuriate its recipient. “Darlin’, I never stop.” I lunge for her.
The gun blast knocks me off my feet.
4
Evelyn
I shot him.
I yank my mask off and toss it into the passenger seat as I start the car.
I. Shot. Him.
A laugh bubbles out of me, tickling along my lips and growing until I’m giggling. He’s dead. I killed Lucius Vinemont. The bitterest sugar magnate is no more, and I was the one who finally dealt him the justice he deserved. The giggles overtake me, and I’m laughing so hard that my ribs hurt, and I can barely breathe.
“Oh my god!” I bang on the steering wheel, joy and adrenaline mixing inside me until I’m whooping at the top of my lungs. I shot him in the heart, just like I’d practiced so many times at the shooting range. He fell back, his body going limp. Dead.
Another squeal rips from me, and I slump in my seat, relief welling as I consider what this means to me. All these years spent with one goal in mind, one endgame. And it happened. It was easy. So easy to take his life. Nothing like all the scenarios I’d played out and trained for. No, I snuffed him out like someone cutting the head off a snake.
Justice. That’s what it was. Right? Yes. It has to be. My laughter turns into tears so quickly I wonder if I’m cracking under the pressure. I wail into my hands. Tears of joy, relief, and maybe finally, closure?
I don’t know, but the emotions that I’ve had bottled up for so long are free now, and I let the tears flow until I can’t breathe without sobbing. After what feels like an hour but is more like a few minutes, I reel it in, letting the explosion of feelings dissipate as I catch my breath and blow my nose. I can only hope the weight of grief is finally lifting, the promise of a new beginning shining brightly. I did what I came to do. Revenge served cold. I can leave Lucius behind. Finally.
I spend a few more minutes quietly blubbering before blowing my nose again and composing myself as best I can. There’s so much to do. First, I need to ditch the gun, burn my clothes, and make sure my ass is covered. Someone will discover the body soon enough. I need to be back in New Orleans before that happens. Besides, I have an appointment in the morning with the board of Magnolia Sugar to lay out the benefits of them siding with me on the hostile takeover. I may have killed Lucius sooner than I planned, but I still intend to bring the entire Vinemont empire crashing to the ground. I won’t kill the other two brothers. Lucius was the only one who had to die. But if they cross me, I might change my mind. After all, I’m a killer now. What’s a few more notches on my gun?
God, I’d had this whole speech prepared for him. It wasn’t “my name is Inigo Montoya” great or anything, but it laid out his sins against me. I didn’t have the chance to utter a word of it. It was just over, done, the end. One minute he was breathing, the next I’d taken his twisted life. So easy.
I shouldn’t dwell on it, not when I have more plans. I’ll have a bottle of prosecco and a long bath when I’m safe in my loft, not sitting out here in the parish I used to roam.
Pulling down my mirror, I swipe the wetness from below my eyes and blink hard a few times. “You can do this. You proved it,” I tell myself. “You’re not some weak girl who just lets things happen to her. You’re strong. You make your destiny.”
With a deep breath, I stow the gun in the glove box and start the car.
My new world is just beginning, and it’s so much brighter now that Lucius Vinemont isn’t in it.
5
Lucius
She shot me. She fucking shot me!
I sit up and feel my ruined shirt and the vest beneath. This is worse than being kicked by a horse.
“Jesus.” I cough and half expect to spit blood. The bullet didn’t knock me out, but I sure as hell played dead so she wouldn’t add a slug to my face. But I didn’t need to worry. She stood there for a few seconds, seemingly shocked into silence, and then took off through the woods.
Like I said, she isn’t a stone-cold killer. If she were, she would have made sure I never drew another breath. Instead, she ran off, scared and full of adrenaline, not thinking straight.
I struggle to my feet, the pain in my chest radiating to my ribs and around my back. “Fucking hell.” I lean against the tree.
What did I do to this woman? I yank my shirt open and reach for the straps holding my vest in place. She wasn’t familiar, not that I could see much. But she’s got some major anger issues where I’m concerned. She wanted to kill me herself, not hire it out to a contract killer or watch from afar. No, this was personal for her. But who the fuck is she?
I’ve wronged plenty of women in my life, mainly by making promises I never intend to keep. Once I get them in bed, I’m done. I’m the typical asshole who lives for the chase, and once I’ve gotten a taste of my kill, I move on to the next. But I can’t imagine that any of those women could be this pissed at me. After all, I make them come—usually many times over—before I take my leave.
I finally free myself from the vest and throw it down. A red bruise takes shape over my heart. It’ll be black and blue in a few hours.
Walking gingerly, I return to my house and pour another bourbon. I’m going to have to finish this bottle to make a dent in the pain. Picking up my phone, I dial Sin.
“What the fuck do you want now?” My brother’s classic coldness doesn’t bother me.