Mr. CEO(64)

Instead, all I see is exactly what I want Jackson to see. He might have been my best friend ten years ago, but a lot can happen in ten years. The Jack DeLaCoeur I knew is gone. Jackson has followed in his criminal father's footsteps—partying, f*cking, and ruining people's lives. While Jackson may not have had anything to do with my parents' death, this is the only way to put my plan in motion. Besides, I'm leaving him alive. That's better than what his father did to my parents.

Thinking about the bombing, the way the fireball rolled across the concrete ceiling and stained the parking garage by the convention center, singeing my hair even though I was fifty feet away, the smell of everything burning... knowing my parents were trapped inside, and I couldn't do anything but watch helplessly...

I shake my head. I can't let the blackness overtake me, not right now. I can't afford it. Before it sinks its eagle claws into my brain again, I go over to my dresser to retrieve a small plastic bottle. This isn't on any medical directory in the world, but this special concoction my herbalist connection makes for me works wonders. It's got GABA, a little THC extract, and some Chinese shit I can't even pronounce. Unscrewing the top of the bottle, I shake out four capsules. They look like rabbit food—little pellets of grass trimmings and yellow pollen sitting in my hand. I down them with a glass of water, then grimace. They taste like rabbit food, too. I lie down on my bed, the cheap springs creaking in complaint despite the fact I only weigh one hundred and twenty-five pounds. The bed's a piece of shit, but it's all the bed I need.

I made sure to leave myself enough time for this next part, and I close my eyes, starting my meditations.

There is no peace. Peace is a lie.

Freedom is a lie.

Happiness, love, and the future... are lies.

The rage is the truth. Rage gives me power.

Anger gives my power focus.

I have my target.

Rage... Power... Anger... Focus.

DeLaCoeurs... Vengeance is mine.





It takes me fifteen minutes exactly to run through my meditations until I'm calm and my pills kick in. I sit up and double-check my outfit, noting that everything's still in place. Good. My training is still strong. I am still strong.

I go to my dresser again and pick up my work phone. It's a cheap prepaid burner, and I make sure to switch out the SIM cards every four days on a rotating basis. I take a deep breath, then punch in the number to reach Domino. That's not his real name of course, but he lets me call him that. He understands my need for secrecy, as well as the meaning behind the nickname I've given him. Once I tip him over, the domino effect starts.

“Domino? Yeah... yeah, it's me, Mercy. You still want those pics of Jackson DeLaCoeur, right? Come on, Domino. You know once you break a scandal on the Big Easy's biggest playboy, you'll have a ton of website hits, and that's just the minimum. You know you can even sell some print copies if you work the angle right... Yeah, okay, I'm not gonna tell you how to do your f*cking job, but I'll do mine. So you gonna be there, or not? If not, I can always call up Vicki at the Picayune. No? You know if you aren't there, I'm gonna come after you next... okay. That's right, Riverwalk, the event tonight. Don't sweat it, he'll be there. You'll get your money's worth and then some.”

I hang up with Domino and place a second call, this time to Vicki. She's probably going to be there anyway, but it doesn't hurt to make sure that she's cued in. Domino's going to be expecting it anyway, and I'll let them jockey for the best position for the pics themselves. They're both vultures, but at least they're useful vultures.

I swap out the SIM card on my burner and slide it into my tiny clutch along with a few other essentials. I also make sure to grab a pair of sunglasses for my getaway. Putting on my shoes, I check myself one more time in the mirror, then nod. “I hope you're ready, Jackson. Because tonight... I start to get my vengeance.”



Jackson



She's moaning, her caramel-kissed skin dotted with sweat in the muggy New Orleans afternoon heat, begging me to f*ck her, f*ck her harder... give it to her the way she needs it.

“Oh Jacky, oh God baby, you're going to make me... Jackkkkkyyy...”

Her * tightens around my cock, and she's not faking it. I can tell that for sure. I've been pounding her like a machine for I don't know how many minutes, and she's barely coherent at this point. It's easier now to detect the syrupy accent of her native Acadian Creole, but I'm already bored with her. She might be beautiful, and she might be a student at Tulane, but this girl just isn't a good f*ck. Besides, I hate being called Jacky. Jack—I guess that's okay, even though that's what I went by as a kid. Jackson's better. But never Jacky.

I speed up a little more, closing my eyes and letting my fantasies push me over the edge so I can come. All glove, of course. I wouldn't give her the gift of my come even if I believed her story about being on the pill. I can't take that chance.

She collapses on the bed next to her friend. The other girl's been passed out for a good ten minutes by my estimate—I played with her for a while, but she didn't have my stamina. They never do. I pull out and slide the condom off before taking it to the bathroom. I make sure to rinse it out in the sink before I flush it down the toilet. I'm not taking any risks. I don't need some gold digger saying I knocked her up or any stupid shit like that.