But from the video we saw those few years ago, it was never a possibility. She was dead a few days later, going by the dates.
When the car creeps forward on the street, my eyes graze over one of the motels leading away from the airport, fading white plaster with a partially glowing neon sign with ‘vacancies’ pulsing against the grey chilled backdrop from the sky.
A woman walks out from behind a car, wearing something that’s guaranteed to give you fucking pneumonia in weather like this, buckling near the trunk of the car as she adjusts her sky-high heels.
The car creeps forward a touch more, Rex mumbling a curse when I glance to see the light hit red again. When I look back, I catch the side profile of someone who looks…familiar.
I know that bastard.
I’ve studied his movements every day since the event.
Engraved his face to memory as she told me what he did to her.
I think I just fucking manifested this.
I glance down at the scarf near my feet. I’d rather a decent bow, something extravagant to mark the value of such a gift. But if I can make one out of that flimsy material, I’m sure the girls will think it was the thought that counted.
He grips onto the woman’s ass as they both walk towards the motel.
Banging the dash with my fist, the glove compartment snaps open, revealing my gun, and I screw on the silencer before slipping it in the back of my waistband, grabbing my cap and sunglasses.
“What the hell are you doing, Saint?” Dad croaks, gripping the headrest and leaning over.
Glancing over my shoulder at him, and then to Rex, a smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. “I’m about to get ahead of the game.”
Not waiting for their answer, I jump out the car and slam the door, adjusting my cap and sliding the sunglasses back on, tugging the zip of my jacket all the way up.
This.
This is what I need right now.
It doesn’t matter how many times I fuck Indie; this type of rage can only be silenced through one method.
Bloodshed.
She can calm my mind, but the rage still simmers beneath the surface.
I need my outlet to be someone that’s hurt her.
The woman’s laughter rebounds through the car park, the wind whipping it round and slapping the high octave into my ears. She’s drunk, got to be to sleep with an ugly bastard like him. She wobbles on her heels as they make their way to reception.
My hand reaches in my pocket for my cigarettes, sparking one up as I prowl behind them. I fire a text off to Rex and let him know what I’m doing, only providing the initials.
Anyone reading that message would have no idea what it meant, but he will. Dawson’s been mimicking the app Regina made so that we can have our own, but something more robust. Something that has a wall strong enough that these fuckers can’t attempt the shit they did to Gina’s.
Stopping under a streetlight, I keep my phone out and pretend I’m scrolling, head cast down, gaze locked on the Chief of Police.
He’s been venturing into the depths of the Omnia’s lifestyle tastes for the weekends, then showcasing himself during the week as the devoted serviceman he is.
He lives in a busy neighbourhood, pretty modest for the salary he’s on, but appears his cover story is that of family inheritance. Patterson might be high up on the police’s structure, but I don’t know any in their history who drives a two hundred grand caronlyat the weekends.
When the female he’s with staggers over to the side, I move in, jogging across the car park when I see lights up ahead.
They abruptly switch off, and I catch one of our cars in the front, the driver giving me a nod as they slink past and head deeper into the tree-lined road.
I flick the bud to the side, opening the doors as a gust of heat hits me. The place is as stale as it is on the outside; it’s a fucking miracle they actually have a heating system.
The young woman at the desk types away on her computer, handing the card over without even raising her head. “Second floor, room 210.” She pops her gum loudly, the rattle of her keyboard continuing as she dismisses them both.
