“Do it!” I shout, goading him to put me out of my fucking misery. “You weak little bitch!”
I knock the gun out of his hand and rush him, landing a blow to his jaw. The bottle of whiskey crashes to the plush carpet. We wrestle for possession of the gun and it discharges. The bullet whizzes past my head, grazing my ear, then hits the wall. I come out the victor, turning the tables on him and shoving the muzzle against his temple.
“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t end you,” I sneer in his face.
Every fiber of my being demands I pull the trigger. One squeeze will send him to Hell where he belongs.
“Y-you’ll g-go to prison,” he stutters, eyes dilating in fear.
“Not good enough.”
“I’m sorry for being tough on you, but the world is a harsh place.” He licks his lips nervously, sweating like a pig. “It was my parental duty to prepare you.”
“And my mother?” My eyes narrow to slits. “What were you preparing her for?”
John whimpers pathetically.
“That’s what I thought. You deserve everything coming to you tenfold.”
“Maverick, please, don’t kill me,” he begs.
“I’m not going to kill you, John.” I stand, clicking the safety on. “I’d rather watch you burn at the stake. Now get the fuck out of my room.”
John jets through the door, stumbling over his feet. This town is about to become a goddamn circus.
This is the worst Christmas ever. I spoke to Michael and my mom this morning. All other calls and texts remain unanswered. It’s close to noon now. I spent the entire night crying. My face is painfully tight from dry tears. My phone rings again; it’s Jamal for the gazillionth time. Ugh! He’s being such a pest, but maybe I should pick up. What if it’s an emergency?
“Hello,” I answer in a slightly miffed tone.
“What the hell, girl?” He gives me the famous Jamal attitude. “I’ve been calling your skank ass for the last five hours!”
“Yeah, you have, so whatever you have to say better be important.”
“You don’t know?” he asks, dangling the juicy gossip carrot in front of me.
“Umm, no, obviously.”
“Channel Four and hurry.”
I grab the remote and click on the television, then turn to the station he indicated. On the right side of the screen is a male reporter sitting behind a desk in the newsroom, and on the left is his counterpart onsite somewhere. Law enforcement walk to-and-fro in the background.
“… this horrific story has rocked the very foundation of Montgomery, putting a dark cloud over Christmas day for many residents,” the female reporter says, teeth chattering.
The poor woman is getting thrashed by the blistering winds.
“What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“Shh, just watch,” he tells me.
“… a flash drive containing videos of Judge John Carter engaging in various sexual acts was turned over to police earlier today,” the woman reporter continues. “The investigation is ongoing, but it’s believed some of the victims are as young as twelve years old.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe, increasing the volume.
Wait a minute, she’s in front of Maverick’s house. I hadn’t noticed at first.
“And these sexual assaults took place inside Judge Carter’s residence, correct, Diane?”
“Yes, according to my source there’s some type of sex chamber located in the home.”
