And if it was someone trying to taunt me, I knew they’d be another victim of Enzo’s. I didn’t want more blood on my hands.
Twenty-Seven
Enzo
I peeledthe bloody glove off my hand and stared into the dead professor’s eyes. The woman across from him in the room had been dead for longer.
The woman’s blood wasn’t on my hands, per se. She’d been Blair’s roommate at her previous university. The one who’d thrown her under the bus, lied, and made my precious Fawn sad.
Only I was allowed to make my Fawn sad.
Scanning the dining room, I eyed my work with pride. I always loved when a good plan came together.
The professor’s home conveniently had two marble pillars dividing the dining room from the living area.
Earlier, after I’d walked in on him face-fucking her, I dragged their naked bodies out of bed and tied each one to a pillar so they faced each other. After handing them each a gun, I explained that only one of them would leave the house alive. If they wanted to live, they had to shoot the other person.
I gave them an hour, left the room, and ate a bowl of Cap’n Crunch in his kitchen while I waited. When I heard the gunshot, I grinned and dropped the spoon in the bowl.
The woman’s body was slumped against the now-blood-smeared pillar. Blood dripped onto her hair and pooled beneath her.
I knew the professor would be the first to shoot. It was what pussies like him did.
“There,” the professor had said, his hands shaking as he stared up at me. “Now, let me go.”
I had laughed out loud—a rarity for me—and said, “Compliments of Blair, you creepy fucking bastard,” before shooting him in the head, straight between his dimwitted eyes.
Afterward, I wiped down every surface I might’ve touched and staged the scene. Once I was certain there was no trace of me left behind, I dropped the suicide note I’d forced the professor to write before tying him and the woman up beside his body and left.
A private jet was waiting for me at the airport to take me back to New York.
I’d spent the past few days cleaning up the crimes I’d committed against those who’d hurt Blair. And by cleanup, I meant each person I’d found was either no longer breathing or lost everything when I unveiled their secrets.
Returning to New York didn’t mean I was finished. More people were still on that list. I also was figuring out the identity of some of them.
And I would, no matter how much work it took.
I never left my business unfinished.
After stepping onto the private jet and making myself comfortable, I checked my phone and snarled in disappointment.
I’d hoped my last text to Blair would’ve tempted her to challenge me and send me a video of her playing with her pussy. It’d have been a satisfying way to end my day of murdering.
As the jet door closed and the pilot muttered bullshit through the speakers, I lowered my phone’s volume and opened my private folder, typing in the password. My tongue dragged slowly across my lips as the video of me fucking Blair from behind filled the screen.
My cock twitched, and I lowered my free hand to my pants, squeezing my dick through the fabric as I listened to her moans and groans.
She’s so fucking hot.
So perfect.
My foot tapped as I kept squeezing my erection, seeing the blood smears on my cock as it came out of her pussy. I loved the evidence that I was the first man to tear through her.
I frowned, pausing the video, and cursed myself for not recording while fucking her missionary. Jealous heat burned inside me as I wished I could see her face while I plunged inside her. I wanted the reminder of what her lips had looked like as they formed her perfect moans.
Why do I want to see her like that?
I’d never cared before.
