I fucked up.
She wasn’t supposed to see me. I was supposed to stay dead.
Why did the drug take so long to knock her out?
My plan was perfect.
She never saw me walking around her apartment, trying to scare her off so she’d finally shut her mouth and go back to writing about history and whatever.
But every time I tried to intimidate her, take away that false sense of safety in her apartment, push her into rethinking everystupid article she wrote, she just turned the music up and acted like the place was mildly haunted, not breached by a killer.
I should’ve put the officer’s head on her kitchen table. Maybe that would’ve finally gotten through to her. Not that she would’ve recognized him. Not after I split his face in two.
Pathetic bastard. Begged like they always do when they realize who they crossed.
However, I did the police a favor. Got rid of a cop who hands out classified files to journalists just because they crawl into his bed.
She drinks too much. It made things easier.
There were nights when the alcohol had her so heavy I could’ve wrapped my hand around her throat and ended it. Part of me wanted to. Her small neck would break in my hands like a stem.
The scars on my hands are tightening as I’m clenching my fist in my lap.
“Kas,” Adrien urges me again and I finally lift my gaze up to him, sitting on the other side of the table.
He looks troubled.
“What’s the plan?” he finally asks.
I move my gaze back to my cigarette, not giving him an answer.
Plan.
I always have a plan.
Plan, execute, clean. Simple.
But with her, everything went sideways. She saw me. And from the way she talked to Adrien, she knew it was me.
Did she know I was alive this whole time? Why the hell was she digging into my business again? This woman can’t take a hint—she had to know someone would put a target on her back eventually.
I had to move fast. I had barely an hour to make a trip that should’ve taken ninety minutes. No time to think. No time to adjust the details.
“Who was assigned to kill her?” Adrien asks.
“Rodrigo,” I answer without moving a muscle, still zoned out on my cigarette.
I need to think.
“And where’s Rodrigo now?”
I bet he knows the answer.
“He’s dissolving in the basement.” I pause, still not moving. “Michael will clean it up,” I brush him off with a dry tone.
From all the people in this manor, Michael is the one I always trust the most with bodies. Adrien is too messy. He’s having too much fun when it comes to work. I like to execute my plans precisely, without unwanted mess.
“Did Lucien put the target on her?”
