“No!”
At her exclamation, I tilted the mug and poured the contents down her throat.
She broke free and doubled over, retching.
I turned away and poured myself more vodka. Leaning a hip against the counter, I regarded her with the detached interest of a spider watching a fly struggle for its life within the sticky confines of its web.
She crashed to the floor, grabbing at her throat. Coughing and crying. “You bastard! You bastard!”
I strode over to her prone form and pulled her hair, forcing her to arch her back and face me. I tapped her forehead with the tip of my finger. “Stupid whore. I’m not a bastard. That is what this is all about.”
I released her hair and stood over her, legs wide. “Get up.”
She sniffed. “Fuck you.”
I kicked her in the ribs. She fell against the wall and rolled onto her side.
“I said get up.”
Pushing up on her palms, she slid along the wall as she slowly rose.
I placed a hand over her head and leaned in. “Good girl. Now, as I said, the drug you gave him will put him in a coma. When it hits the news, you will rush to the hospital and play the grieving fiancée. Understood?”
She swiped a hand over her cheek. She opened her mouth to speak.
“What?”
Her cheeks flushed red. “Nothing.”
“Is there something I should know?”
Her eyebrows rose. “No.”
“Skylar?”
“There is nothing.”
Of course there was nothing. She was stupid but not stupid enough to lie to me. She knew the consequences of that.
I continued. “You’ll say the two of you reconciled in secret and he proposed. Unfortunately, you then fought and broke off the engagement. In his despair, he tried to kill himself.”
“Pierce would never?—”
“He’ll be in no position to object.”
The plan was simple. The easiest way to lose a body was in a morgue. The same paramedics who I blackmailed to switch out my body after the crash with a cadaver will helpfully cart Pierce’s dead body away after I kill him and take his place.
I would then miraculously come out of my coma and leave for Europe for a year to recover. When I returned to Cliffs End, any slight difference in appearance or demeanor would be blamed on the long absence.
For now, I needed confirmation that the first part of my plan was in place. “Has our man called to confirm the staff have found Pierce unconscious?”
“No. Not yet.”
“He better fucking call.”
“He’ll call.”
I reached for my belt buckle. “In the meantime, you might as well make yourself useful. On your knees.”
