The man stared at me in confusion, then dropped his eyes to my phone, where the baby’s cries were coming from. It took several seconds for the fog to clear from his eyes, but when it did, his face turned a disturbing shade of red as rage rapidly built inside him. I tilted my head as I watched him practically implode with his anger. I pointed at him.
“That’s a nasty temper there, Mark. Is that what poor Amy had to deal with on a daily basis?”
“Who are you? What the fuck are you doing in my house?” he seethed. “I’m going to kill you!”
I nodded as I looked down at him, a full head and a half taller than he was and twice as broad. “Yeah. I can see that. A big man like you. You’re used to beating up on small women, though, aren’t you? Not used to men bigger than you calling you out for being the piece of shit that you are.”
Mark clenched his fists, his bloodshot eyes shooting daggers at me, telling me that if I were a woman, he would have already started using those fists against me. “I’m calling the police.”
“It’s too late for that,” I chuckled. Stepping to the side, I let the man think I was giving him room to take the final step to the top. When he lifted his foot, I lifted my own. While he was off balance, I kicked. It wasn’t even a full kick, barely half my strength. I would have loved to take his head off with a roundhouse, but I couldn’t leave any evidence that he’d been pushed. His fall down the stairs had to look just like that —a drunken fall.
I watched with grim satisfaction as Mark tumbled backward head over ass in the most undignified way. I was disappointed that it would cause little injury, though. Other than a few bruises, the man would be fine. I was going to have to stage his fall after all.
But then, as he landed at the base of the stairs, he landed on top of the broken picture frame that he’d knocked down when he’d hit the wall. A side of the busted wooden frame pierced the middle of Mark’s throat almost perfectly.
He lay there with wide eyes as I slowly descended the stairs until I came to stand a few feet above him. He let out a strangled cough, and bloody droplets flew several inches into the air before falling right back down to cover his face as he blinked in startled confusion.
I swept my gaze over him. His legs were still on the stairs, with his ass lying on the floor at the bottom step, a wet spot steadily growing larger where he had pissed himself. His arms were spread wide, and his shirt had ridden up, showing off his hairy beer belly. The broken portrait was right next to his face, the blood-spattered smiling face of his fiancée, Amy, staring at him as the wooden frame impaled his throat.
Mark Shumar was bleeding to death, and it was indirectly caused by the woman he’d terrorized. That was true justice. I chuckled as he gurgled.
I glanced at the growing puddle of blood and knew I couldn’t walk past him, and eyed the banister instead. I gripped the wood and shook it firmly for a second, testing the stability. I’d learned my lesson back when I was a kid to never trust the craftsmanship of something before putting your entire weight on it.
I finally cut the recording, the baby’s cries ending abrupting in the house, changing to the softer, dying gurgles of the man choking on his own blood. After sliding the phone in the innerpocket of my jacket, I used a hand to brace myself, then vaulted over the side of the stairs to land in the living room.
Walking around the puddle of blood, I went into the kitchen, picked up my bag from the floor, and walked out the back door. I paused to lock the door, and after replacing the key where I’d found it, I left the neighborhood, heading in the opposite direction from the way I’d arrived.
By the time I made it back to the ranch, it was late. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from checking in on my newest obsession. Using my master key, I let myself into Parker’s cabin, noting that it was tidy. She seemed to keep her belongings well organized, not that she brought much with her.
I stepped into the bedroom and just stood by the doorway, not wanting to contaminate her with my hands after what I’d been doing that night. Not until I’d had a chance to wash the taint of filth from me first. But later? I would have her in every way she would let me.
After staring down at her sleeping form for a long moment, I left the cabin, locking it behind me, and was stopped by the flare of a match lighting the darkness on the porch next door. Stepping up to Dante’s cabin, I leaned against the railing and waited.
“How’d it go?” he finally asked, after taking several deep puffs on his cigar.
“If you’re asking about the asshole, it was actually pretty anti-climactic. The bastard took himself out.”
Dante stared at me for a long moment, then huffed and shook his head. “Seriously?”
“Yep. His fall down the stairs, unfortunately, wasn’t bad enough to kill him.”
“Okay, so did you have to resort to breaking his neck like planned?” he asked, squinting at me with one eye while taking another puff.
I gave a low chuckle. “Nope. He had knocked down a picture frame from the wall on the way up the stairs. Fell right down onto the broken wood. Pierced straight through his neck.”
“Any chance he could have survived it?” Dante looked at me expectantly, knowing I wouldn’t have taken chances, but wanting to hear confirmation.
I shook my head. “He was still breathing when I left, but there was no way he was going to survive. The amount of blood he’d already lost just in a few minutes was enough to know he’d hit his carotid.”
“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” he snorted.
I just nodded. “She accepted our offer of a temporary relationship,” I finally said. “She also wants you.”
He just stood there silently, staring out over the fields into the darkness. Without saying another word, he stubbed out his cigar into the ashtray on a nearby table. Then he turned around and headed back inside his cabin.
Chapter 20
Parker
