“Right, let’s speed this along.” I clap my hands together. “We’ve never had a proper conversation before, and I don’t plan on starting now. So here’s how this is going to go.” I swing my leg over the back of the chair as he says something in the same garbled language as before, gaining enough consciousness to push himself up on his elbows. “I’m going to break your ribs, then bludgeon your head in with this chair. Once I’m done, I’m going to leave you here to die.” I push myself onto my feet and instantly miss my three seconds of rest. “How does that sound?”
“No,” he coughs out, fruitlessly attempting to get the chair off him.
“That was a rhetorical question.” With every ounce of energy in my buzzing veins, I flip the wooden seat over and bring the back down onto his diaphragm.
Still too disoriented to fight back, he folds like a lawn chair. I can practically hear all the air punch out of his lungs in time with thecrackthat follows the impact. But the seat tumbles onto the floor when I lose my grip, and I buckle over.
Boris groans and hugs his center as he rolls around the floor like a worm. I yelp when his large hand wraps around my ankle and yanks me off my feet. Crashing onto the ground next to him with an unceremonious thud, my instincts take over. Kicking my free foot at his face, he cries out, loosening his hold around my other foot. I keep kicking for the hell of it; his face, stomach, ribs, everything I can.
Strands of hair stick to my sweaty skin, and my knees click in the process of rising to my feet. I glance up at the clock and curse. If Tony doesn’t stay and wait for me, I’m killing him too.
Pulling my leg back, I add as much power as I possibly can intoburying my boot into his side. Pain thunders up my foot as soon as it collides with flesh. His wails bounce off the cold walls, and I do the first thing I can think of: I throat punch the motherfucker. Sound and air instantly cut off with a gasp, and he sputters and chokes while he futilely tries to stand.
I move to the chair, stumbling from the ache that tears through my foot. For fuck’s sake. Twist—or partially dislocate—your ankle once, and that shit will never heal.
“No hard feelings,” I pant, voice hoarse with exhaustion as I raise the seat over his head. Hundreds of images flash behind my eyes of all the times he’s thrown me around, kicked me, yanked my hair, spit on me, and fuckinggropedme. Boris deserves to die. “You’re just a fucking dick.”
His eyes widen as I bring the chair down with the rest of my meager energy. Boris doesn’t get the chance to fight back or move out of the way. The black metal leg of the chair pierces straight into his eye socket, creating ashlurpsound that has bile lurching up my throat. I slap my hand over my mouth and stagger back to stop myself from emptying out the contents of my stomach. Men like Boris don’t deserve my suffering anymore.
ButJesus fuck.That is vile.
He twitches once. Twice. Six times. Then stops. All that’s left of him is the blood oozing from his broken nose and punctured eye, spilling onto the floor in pools of brown and maroon.
This is mercy compared to what I had planned for him. I planned on breaking each and every one of his bones until he begged me to stop, praying that I’d let him go—the same way I did when he locked me in the tub. But this form of vengeance is far more poetic after all he’s done to me, because Boris died while the sun shone and thegrounds were packed with people.
He could have screamed. He could have shouted his pleas to the rooftop. But his voice was taken away. So no one heard him. No one came to his rescue.
Just like the day in the tub.
I pat myself on the back, ignoring the shiver that runs down my spine as I commit the sight to memory.
I’m no expert, but I’d call it a clean kill. Whatever a man can do, a woman can do better.
Suck my dick, Kohen. I didn’t need you on guard dog duty.
Maybe if I thought this entire interaction out first, I wouldn’t be murdering a man when there are over a thousand people on campus and I’m meant to be making a getaway. And I most fucking definitely wouldn’t be killing this man with a fuckingschool chair.Either way, dead is dead, and Boris is on his way to hell.
See you there, asshole.
Two murders in one month. Other than my timely disappearance, I doubt they’d lead this back to me when everyone hates Boris because of all his manhandling. Plus, little ol’ me couldn’t possibly do this.Orbe the reason behind McGill’s closed-casket funeral. I’m rainbows, butterflies, and a goddamn fuckin delight. I shit innocence and exhale purity.
With one last glance at the clock and the corpse, I wipe down the chair with my sleeve, pocket the taser, kick him with my good foot, then haul ass out of the room. The added weight of the duffle bag makes it harder to move quickly when there’s pain slicing through my ankle every time I put pressure on it.
The heat of the outdoors hits me as soon as I break out the back door of the cold gothic structure. I pant heavily, darting my eyesaround the terrain to ensure no one is around. I still when movement from my left side catches my attention, and I push myself back against the brick wall. A couple of students trip over each other as they laugh, moving between the main block toward the boys’ dorms.
There’s a good hundred-and-fifty yards between where I am to the first tree line, and there’s nothing but wide open space between here and there. I don’t have a choice but to make it work. If someone catches me, I’ll have to drop my bag and make a run for it.
Taking a stabilizing breath, I double-check that all of my hair is hidden beneath my hood, and I slip a pair of shades on to conceal my features—honestly, I think I only look more suspicious. Pushing Mrs. Crichton’s sunglasses up my face, I try to hobble toward the trees inconspicuously, side-eying my surroundings as I go. But my attempt at moving toward the tree line in a calm, orderly fashion is thrown out the window when I catch a glimpse of one of the Whitlock’s FBI-looking guys.
All logic and reason disappear from my brain, and I book it the rest of the way, then zip behind the first tree I reach. Gripping the bag strap with clammy hands, I inch around the thick trunk and immediately snap back into place.
I really wish I had just kept running right about now. At least three security guards and two of my grandfather’s men can be seen from this angle. None of them are looking my way, but there’s one guy uncomfortably close to the tree line a few hundred yards from here.
Taking deep breaths through my nose, my eyes dart over the forest in front of me. Sunlight filters through the canopy of bright green leaves and blossoming flowers. Birds chirp, hopping from tree to tree while the insects sing their song, oblivious to my existence.There’s half a mile between me and the fence I need to get to, then nearly double that to get to the spot where Tony is meeting me.
And Grandpa’s guard is only a few paces away from entering the forest with me.
Fuck it.
