“Too bad,” Diablo sneered, “your husband never taught you how to shoot, sweetheart.”
The gun shifted. First, to me. Then to Melanie.
“If you shoot me,” he taunted, “then I have to shoot him.”
Melanie didn’t lower the gun. But I saw the slight tremor in her hands. Panic clawed at my chest. I couldn’t afford to hesitate. Not with Melanie’s blood sugar dropping, not with a loaded gun in the hands of a madman who enjoyed dragging things out just to watch people squirm. But before I could make my move, something unexpected happened.
Diablo tensed.
His entire body went rigid, and for the first time since he slithered in here, his face twisted—not in amusement, but in shock. His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something. Then, without warning, he collapsed.
Flat. Face-first.
I blinked.
The gun slipped from Diablo’s fingers, hitting the floor with a dull, lifeless clatter. My breath caught in my throat. My gazesnapped to Melanie. But her gun was still raised, her hands trembling, eyes wide with shock.
She hadn’t fired.
Then, who?
A shadow shifted in the doorway. A man in a suit. Crisp. Polished. The kind of fabric that didn’t wrinkle under pressure, just like the bastard wearing it. A silencer glinted at the end of the pistol, still pointed at Diablo’s unmoving body.
And the man holding it? Richard.
“Sometimes,” he said smoothly, lowering the gun, “when you want something done right, you have do it yourself.”
The world shrank. The air thickened.
Melanie didn’t move. Neither did I. We just stood there, watching the man who had tormented her for years act like he’d just swatted a fly.
Richard sighed, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “I knew that slug bastard would fuck up somehow. I’m just glad he took a check.” His tone was casual, almost amused, like he hadn’t just murdered someone in cold blood.
My stomach twisted. This wasn’t just a producer with money and influence. This was a man who had done this before. A man who killed without hesitation, without remorse. And he was standing in front of us like we owed him a goddamn thank you.
Richard’s cold eyes flicked to me, filled with the same detached amusement. “Didn’t I tell you?” He tilted his head. “You were never good enough for my daughter.”
Melanie sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers curling tighter around the gun at her side. “You?—”
Richard waved her off like an impatient parent. “Had to clean up your mess? Yes, sweetheart. I did. Before you did something stupid.” His gaze slid back to me, dark amusement still playing in his expression. “And now, we have unfinished business.”
The room was silent except for the pounding in my ears.
Diablo had been the threat. The distraction. But the real danger had been here the entire time. Watching. Waiting.
Richard’s lips curled into a slow smile. “Man, I didn’t think thatwould feel as good as it did.” He lifted his hands, gesturing with each word. “Richard Thompson—Hollywood’s golden man—saves his daughter again from her fraudulent, dangerous husband.” He grinned like he could already see the headlines. “This is going to look so good in the papers tomorrow.”
Melanie’s breathing was ragged, her hands shaking.
“Nick didn’t kill him,” she seethed, voice trembling with rage. “You did.”
Richard chuckled. “Tell that to the cops, sweetheart.”
The distant wail of sirens cut through the night. Getting closer.
His eyes gleamed as he turned on his heels, already rehearsing the performance of his life.
“Just another episode of he said, she said, folks.” And then he was gone.
