Attest (Centrifuge Duet Book 2)(20)
“Let me save you that thirty grand,” I offer with menace lacing my tone. If I’d had any doubts before this, they’re gone after listening to him casually discuss how easy it would be for him to get rid of me. He wasn’t going to offer me an opportunity to escape so I’m not going to return the favour.
Judge McManus’ eyes fly open. He swings forward in his chair, but it’s too late. I’m there before he can scream for help. The gleaming blade of the knife slices through his wrinkled, old turkey neck with ease. His heavy-hooded eyes open wider still and fill with disbelief before he grabs his throat. Dark red blood runs like a raging torrent over his fingers, a sputtering sound as he struggles to breathe the only noise in the room.
I watch him bleed out over his desk with dispassionate detachment. When he slumps forward over his desk, the knot that formed in my stomach as I listened to him discuss how easy it would be for him to “eradicate” me unravels and a glacial calmness overcomes me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet voice tells me that I should feel remorse for what I just did, but I can’t muster any real emotion at all. There is nothing, except a beautiful numbness.
All clouds of doubt have been lifted from my mind. B was right. I may be a saint, however I’m also a revenge-filled sinner, and it’s with this thought at the forefront of my mind, that I wipe the dirty blade of my knife across the back of the judge’s light-blue polo shirt to clean it. Once it’s gleaming again, I shove it into its original pocket in my backpack and let my feet take me in search of my next target.
THIRTEEN
––––––––
As I search for the perfect place to park along the quiet streets of this wealthy suburban oasis, I run through the plan once more in my head. It seems solid, but there’s still too many moving parts that could throw everything off balance for my liking. Doesn’t matter. Sticking with B and her crazy plan is always going to be the more worrying choice so stepping outside the rules her game is a risk, but it’s a calculated one that I’m willing to take.
Once my BMW is hidden at the edge of the driveway in a quickly accessible spot, I grab my stuff and head for the backyard of my enemy’s home. The position of my vehicle is deliberate. I’m hoping that my car is close enough that I can make our great escape with ease, yet far enough away that it won’t arouse any suspicions if an occupant of this street happens to be awake and looking out the window.
A dozen worries run through my mind as I vault over the greenkeeper’s fence and continue with my harebrained mission. Slinging my backpack of supplies over my left shoulder and walking down the well-worn trail that leads to the main house, I realise that I need a distraction. Some way to ignore the reality of what’s at stake while I attempt to pull this off. It’ll be my companion until I have Amber back at my side with her real memories intact. I miss her tiny body curled into me, her thin, artist fingers running through my curls moments before I push her on her back and drive my cock inside her welcoming body, and those same fingers bite into my flesh as I bring her pleasure.
“Head in the fucking game,” I chide myself out loud as my dick grows hard. I’m forced to slow my stride to adjust my pants, so they don’t strangle the expanding bulge. Half an hour ago, I killed a man and barely mustered enough sense to leave his wife alive as I left their premises. Now, I’m thinking about making love to Amber when I should be shitting my pants at the thought of what I’m about to do.
If I fuck this up, we’re all dead. Me. Amber and her kids. My parents and my nephew.
There’s those fucking stakes again rearing their head to taunt me. Gritting my teeth, I push everything down and try to do my best impression of a mushroom—left in the dark and oblivious to anything except what’s right in front of me.
Just before I turn around the corner that will bring the house Amber now shares with the devil she calls husband into view, I duck low and double check that I have everything a man planning an abduction could possibly need. Pulling free my handgun, handcuffs, and a couple other bits and pieces that I anticipate needing, I flip the metal circles over in my hands, using the time to settle my adrenaline, before I push the handcuffs into the right pocket of my jacket and force everything else into my left pocket. The gun remains, a comforting weight in my hand, as I grip the butt tight and make my way around the corner.
The monolith of a house—another symbol that telecasts Dr. Jaxon Ray’s need to overcompensate for whatever the fuck he’s missing in that deranged head of his—looms over me. I ignore the tiny spark of jealousy when it tries to ignite in the pit of my gut and, calm and collected as can be, surge forward ready to face Satan himself headfirst.
Tonight was supposed to be the beginning of my end. I was going to kill two people, photograph my bad deeds for proof, and head back to the beach house with my tail between my legs like a good little, unwilling assassin.
Unfortunately, B didn’t factor in the damage this situation has done to my soul. Slitting Judge McManus’s throat switched something on inside of me and I don’t think I want it turned off.
No, tonight is not my end—tonight is about me taking control of the bad hand I’ve been dealt and kickstarting my renaissance.
Another patio and another set of French doors herald the entrance to Jax and Amber’s home. For people with more money than sense, they certainly like to stick with what is tastefully familiar. Gloves in place—my balaclava left on the passenger seat of the BMW because I’ve decided that I’m not hiding from my intended victims any longer—I test the door handle with a tiny bit of pressure.