Chapter 128
“She’s a problem,” I mutter under my breath. “She shouldn’t even exist in my equation p>
“Then let her breathe for now,” the second woman replies, walking toward me. Her voice is like ice sliding beneath the skin. “You’ll get another chance. But not if you draw attention. We’ve already failed twice. A third time will bring questions we can’t afford.“1
My anger cools, just slightly. The air feels heavier, the kind of silence that comes after a storm.
I glance at the first woman–my fiancé, my accomplice, the love of my life—and she finally looks up, eyes wide as if she’s been waiting for my verdict.
“You’re sure you were careful?” I ask again, quieter now.
“Yes,” she answers quickly. “I wiped everything. Burned the gloves. Tossed the clothes. No fingerprints. No trace p>
“Good.” My voice drops to a low murmur. “Because if they find even a thread… I’ll make sure you’re buried with it p>
Her lips part, but she says nothing.
I know what you’re wondering. Why would I threaten the woman I love? Well, the truth is, it’s not just a threat; it’s a promise. Nothing and no one will stand in the way of what I want. If it means getting rid of her to get what I want? Then so be it.
The second woman steps forward, hands folded like a simple guest at a funeral.
“Let them lower their guard. When they think it’s safe, we take the chance they’ll never expect p>
My anger eases, replaced by a slow, dangerous calculation. Calm is worse than fury; it’s the prelude to precision. I like the idea of patience. If we can use it to set a trap so tight nothing can escape.
I cross to the window and look out at the concrete canyon of the city. Lights blink. Life moves ignorant and careless below while Sierra lives among them… For now.
“Fine.” I turn back. “We wait. But the next time there’s no room for mistakes p>
She nods, acknowledging a promise she will hold me to. “That’s more like it p>
They leave the room and the sound of the closing door is a small, satisfying click. I watch the last shadow of them disappear, then flip my phone open.
There is a number I keep for this sort of work… low profile, burner clean as a whistle. I thumb it and listen to the ring thrice before the voice on the other end is mine in a softer register, a ghost of the man I am when not tearing apart a life.
“Status,” I say.
A breath, then the reply: “You’ll get what you asked for p>
I let the word sit, heavy and hot. “No mistakes this time. I want eyes on her–the hospital, the staff list, any new hires, and her home. Anything and everything related to her. Also get me the names of the two you hired to tamper with the machine and her brakes p>
“And Brook?” the voice asks, casual like it’s checking the weather.
I stare at my reflection, a ghost in the glass. “I want every proof clipped to her throat p>
“Understood,” the voice says. “You’ll have the files by morning. We’ll lie low for now. When you say go, we move p>
I end the call and the room returns to silence, but the quiet is different now. It’s the calm before the strike. I should feel satisfied. Instead, there’s a small, metallic tingle of hunger under my ribs. Today’s failure burns, but soon I’ll have what I’ve always wanted.
There are so many ways to ruin a life. I intend to learn every one of them, because next time I’ll make sure Sierra won’t be able to escape death. 4