“Of course I will. Did you even need to question it?”
I chuckle, feeling my chest warm. “Just wanted to be sure.” Beningfield looks stunned, like he’s never seen a proposal before. “Come on, you rapist piece of shit. We have a scene to set.”
Hill climbs onto Beningfield’s obscenely large bed and grabs him by the hair, yanking him off the other side. Beningfield hits the floor with a thud and a cry, but Hills doesn’t care, pulling him up to his feet and pushing Beningfield in front of him. “Walk. We want to see your office. I’m sure it’s just as lavish as the rest of this place.”
Stumbling over his feet, Beningfield says, “Please. I have nothing left but you can take anything. Just leave.”
More than a dozen lawsuits have been filed against him, especially from the women he hurt. Even if he had money left, he’d be bankrupt by the time they were done with him. I don’t blame them. They were backed into a corner when they signed their NDAs, not able to do much else but try to live their lives knowing their abuser was walking around freely. But now, they can get everything they deserve, and I hope with his death they feel some relief.
And get paid with his estate.
Beningfield has no children and the rest of his family had written him off years ago because of his terrible businesspractices, so he’s all alone and his estate will be handled in probate. Every red cent better go to those women.
Hill pushes Beningfield in the back until he falls flat on his face, groaning when his nose smacks into his expensive flooring. “We don’t want shit from you. Nothing but your life.” Before we step into his office, Hill grabs Beningfield by the hair and pulls his head back, a blade pressed to his throat. “You tried to have me killed. Did you see that the man you hired is no longer with us? Courtesy of yours truly.”
Beningfield sobs, his shoulders quaking. “That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Damn right you shouldn’t have,” Hill hisses, digging his knife in until blood trickles down his front. I’m not worried that some medical examiner will see the wound since that’s where we planned to shoot him. “Now let’s go see what you have in your office, shall we?”
When I had my people dig up the floor plans of this place, he found a safe built into the wall of Beningfield’s office. I’m sure there’s cash or assets in there and we have big plans for them, no matter the amount.
Beningfield trips over his feet when Hill pushes him toward a large framed picture of a French woman, his blade at one side and a Glock aimed at his head. “Open it.” Beningfield hesitates, so Hill cocks his gun. “Now.”
Hands trembling, Beningfield pulls the picture back, showing a large safe. He turns the dial to open the safe, begging us over and over not to do this. I so badly want to slap him across the mouth so he’ll shut the fuck up, but we can’t leave any unexplainable wounds behind.
When he sees we’re not going to show him any mercy, he sighs and opens the safe, revealing stacks of money and gold.
I scoff, looking at the contents. It’s probably all the money he stiffed people for. That probably means it’s untraceable.
Perfect.
“Why didn’t you run?” Hill asks, genuinely baffled.
“No passport,” I answer for Beningfield. “And no friends to help him. He fucked everyone over, so no one will stick their necks out for them.”
Beningfield sputters, trying to pull himself up to his full height. “I beg your fucking pardon.”
Hill turns his gun back on him. “You know it’s true, so cut the shit. If you had allies, you’d have left the day all your dirty laundry was aired.”
Swaying on his feet, Beningfield sputters again, begging us to spare his life.
Gripping him by the lapels, I drag him over to his chair and sit him down with force. “Shut the fuck up. For too long, you’ve gotten away with your bullshit. No more!”
Pulling a syringe from my pocket—its contents designed to disappear into the bloodstream—I inject it into his neck, watching his eyes flutter, then close. He slumps in his chair, almost falling over, but I catch him in time.
“I wish I could beat the shit out of him,” I mutter, forcefully resisting the urge to slap the taste from his mouth. “Let’s get this done so we can go. Gotta lotta money to pack up.”
Before we kill him, we set the scene for a suicide. Going to his filing cabinet, Hill finds some files for his business dealings and places them on the desk in front of him. I place his decanter of whiskey on his desk and fill a glass up halfway. Then I take his hand I don’t plan to fire the gun with and wrap it around the glass, getting his fingerprints all over it. Once that’s done, I knock the glass over, getting whiskey on his pajamas.
I check him over, ensuring I’m happy with the final result. With the liquor spilled all over his documents and open decanter nearby, not to mention that he reeks of alcohol, no one will believe this is a murder.
Hill hands me a clean gun and I arrange it in Beningfield’s hand. I tuck the barrel under his chin, step back and pull the trigger. Blood mist settles on my face, the blowback making me smile.
Beningfield’s body flops back heavily, a wet exhale leaving his lips.
“Beautiful,” Hill murmurs as he steps up beside me. He takes a wet cloth and wipes my face, cleaning all the blood from my cheeks. “I love watching you kill. Have I ever told you it’s a turn on?”
Letting Beningfield’s hand and the gun drop at my feet, I turn to him, pull Hill closer. His erection pokes my thigh, making my own grow in my jeans. “You have, but I still like hearing it.”
