Then there’s Gary, who won’t stop harassing him about returning to work, calling every day like Kelly’s faking a brain injury for vacation time. The stress is slowing his recovery when he should be resting. Time to eliminate both problems.
I walk toward his house. Three stories of typical suburban bullshit. No security system visible and no cameras. Sloppy work that makes this easier for me.
I move around the side and hop the fence into the backyard. Still no cameras or motion lights. Gary doesn’t believe in protecting himself, which works perfectly in my favor. Thesecond floor has a light on, one window glowing through the trees. It’s past midnight, but the bastard’s still awake.
I spot the balcony, and it’s not too high; I can make it up without equipment. Gripping the stone edge, I climb up and haul myself over without making a sound. The balcony door handle turns easily. Unlocked.
Gary fucking Miller doesn’t believe in basic security. Perfect for what I need to do.
I need to be careful not to wake his wife. Moving through the house, I hear movement downstairs and start down the staircase one step at a time. Light from the refrigerator glows in the kitchen, then disappears as someone closes the door. I pull out my gun and click the safety off. The giant man with gray hair turns around at the sound with his mouth full, holding a cookie he just bit into. He gasps and starts backing up, then stops suddenly and grabs his throat, making choking sounds.
I stop and watch him drop to his knees, still gripping his throat.
“Heee,” he tries to say, grabbing at his neck again while his face turns red.
“Help,” comes out as a wheeze, and he tries to cough but nothing happens. I walk over to the counter and lean against it, watching with a grin while he chokes on a fucking cookie. I was prepared to stage a fall down the stairs. This works better.
When his body finally slumps forward, I step over him, grab a cookie off the tray and eat it on my way out.
The housethat Kelly used to live in with David Collins looks smaller than I expected.
I wonder how many times David hurt Kelly inside these walls. How many times he promised he would change and wouldn’t hurt him anymore. Only to break that promise the next day and hurt him again. I’ve gotten more details over the past two weeks, and I’m not going to make it a quick death for this asshole.
Mendez is tied and gagged in the back of our car currently.
“Are we going to do this, or are we just going to sit here all night?” Mikhail asks with a sigh.
“Let me go in first, and I’ll text you when to bring in the other asshole.”
“Whatever.” He pulls out his phone and plays some game.
I step into the freezing night air.
The neck gaiter and hoodie go on, then I move along the side of the house toward the back. Daniil said there were cameras and a security system—this one needs care.
A camera sits mounted beside the back door. Spray paint comes out, the can rattles once, and the lens disappears under black.
At the lock, I crouch and work it until it clicks. The door opens a few inches before the security chain catches. I slip inside as far as it allows and disable it fast, no alarms triggered. The security panel is already waiting; the code goes in, the system dies, and the door closes behind me without a sound.
The place reeks. Trash litters the floor, beer bottles everywhere, the air thick and musty. Broken glass crunches underfoot as I move through the kitchen and into the living room. Nothing. No movement.
Light flickers from a television in the back room. I stop, scan, then turn toward the stairs and take the first step up.
A sound freezes me mid-step. A baseball bat swings into view. I duck and it smashes into the wall behind me with a sharp crack.
“What the hell,” he screams, and the stench of alcohol hits my face immediately.
I kick him in the stomach, and he falls onto the floor. He tries to get back on his feet, but I stomp on his hand. I pull down my neck gaiter so he can see my face.
“Time to die, David.”
I pick up the bat and hit him over the head before he can answer me. He groans, so I hit him again harder until he passes out.
I send a quick text to Mikhail to get his ass in here. Then crouch and pull out plastic zip ties to secure his hands behind his back. I run upstairs to make sure the house is clear. When I return, Mikhail’s dragging a bleeding Mendez inside.
“What now?” Mikhail asks.
“The houses in this neighborhood are too close together. We should move them to the basement.”
