Paint It All Red (Mindf*ck #5)(34)
“No,” he says in a rasp whisper.
But then his eyes turn to ice, and the resonating sound of a dead click rattles around the room that is otherwise cloaked in silence. Fear replaces determination when I smile.
And he pulls the trigger again, and again, and again…all while I take a step back.
“Hope you don’t mind, Sheriff. I took the liberty of emptying all the bullets from every other gun in the house, sans your service weapon you left in the other room.”
He starts to rush by me, surprising me by not lunging for the helpless looking woman before him. I guess I gave him too much credit for being masculine and all that.
My knee slams into his stomach, halting his retreat, and he hits the ground, collapsing with a pained cry.
“I’ve always preferred knives,” I say as I pull mine out, sliding it under his throat as he goes stiff and still beneath the blade.
I crouch beside him, holding the knife there.
“How are you alive?” he asks almost too quietly.
I grin, waggling my eyebrows. “A lot of pain. A lot of healing. And a hell of a lot of tequila. But mostly, I’m here because of Jake. You remember him, right? Jacob Denver? The boy you overlooked as any sort of threat once you realized he’d been in love with my brother? Because what sort of weak man loves another man, right? No way would such an abomination be awesome enough to help a dead girl slaughter so many of your monsters.”
His lips part for a breath of surprise to escape, and the knife presses closer to his throat with the motion.
Casually, I pull out my phone with my free hand, dial Jake, and set it on the ground beside me after putting it on speaker.
“I take it you’re still working on phase five?” Jake asks as I stare at the sheriff’s face.
“He’s still letting it all sink in that all this is his fault. What’s the fun in simply killing him if he doesn’t go through at least a little mind torture of the reality he’s spun from all his lies and corruption?” I ask, grinning down as the sheriff’s eyes turn hard.
There’s the arrogant son of a bitch I know.
“Phase six worked better than planned. The personalized messages got through to everyone except three. I’ve just loaded the last one in the car, skipping the dump truck that was unnecessary. I’ll drop them at the safe zone as soon as I check for the whereabouts of the deputies, and then I’ll move on to phase eight.”
“Good. I want the sheriff to hear phase seven, which is why I called.”
I can almost hear Jake smile as I watch the sheriff watch me.
“Getting out my clone of the sheriff’s phone now,” Jake says.
The sheriff’s eyes shift to my phone, curious. I press the mute button, holding it up for him to see it, while still keeping the knife pressed to his throat with my other hand.
“Deputy Hayes, I need you to assemble all the names I’m about to read out to you. They’re the ones I trust. The deputy and uniformed officers not mentioned should go to the outlying borders and start seeing if they can find anything. Understand?”
There’s a pause, and I watch the sheriff’s face. We can only hear Jake’s side of the conversation.
“They’ll know it’s not me,” the sheriff growls, then winces when talking causes the blade to nick his throat just barely. A trickle of blood spills, and I continue to hold him in place.
“You hear Jake’s voice. But when it passes through that particular phone, it sounds just like you on the other end,” I tell him, grinning as his face pales. “Did I mention Jake is a boy genius?”
Jake starts listing the names of everyone involved with my father’s death and the assembly that resulted in the death of my brother and the death of Victoria Evans as everyone knew her.
Even the retired deputies get called in, considering they’ve already rallied to help ‘defend’ the town. Saves me an extra trip of paying them individual visits.
“You have one hour,” Jake goes on, finishing up the list of names.
I hang up the phone, watching as the hope fades from the sheriff’s face. Helpless is a delicious look on him.
“Now stand up,” I say, pulling the blade back and slowly standing to my feet.
He watches me warily as he slowly sits up, but doesn’t move past that.
“I’ve had to be patient for ten long years, Sheriff. Stop stalling, because I’m out of patience.”
His eyes narrow in challenge. He’s planning something stupid.
His arms open wide.
“If you want me up, then—”
His words end on a scream as I stomp his ankle with the heel of my combat boot. A satisfying crunch follows the stomp, and I grind my heel into his ankle before he lurches to grab at my foot. Then my foot flies up, connecting with his face.
Blood sprays from his mouth as he sails backwards again. He stops his head from pounding the tile, and I calmly walk toward his head.
“I said get up. You decide how much of a beating it takes for you to comply.”
“What’s the point?” he growls, spitting out blood. “You just plan to kill me. You’re a monster. The devil’s own spawn.”
I kneel beside him, keeping a safe distance between us, and my eyes meet his.
“Your son was a monster, Sheriff. Holding a bible or wearing a badge doesn’t offer you absolution from your own inhumanity either.” I tilt my head, watching the fury and unprecedented indignation sweep over his eyes.