Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucas
It’s fifteen past ten when my Angel alert goes off. I ease off the rope of Chad’s neck. “Saved by the literal bell,” I joke and get to my feet.
Miss you babe. Hope you’re not eating all the Doritos. I know you eat like hell when I’m not there.
I’ve decided against eating until you return.
I never eat while I’m working.
“Are you fucking texting someone?” Chad rasps from his chair behind his desk. We’re in his home office and it’s very cozy with dark paneling, a large wooden desk and a window with a privacy panel. There’s a large sofa across from the desk. The blue light I ran over it before Chad got home showed a number of fluids on the surface. I avoided it.
I spare him a slight glance away from my screen. “I am.”
“What kind of sick motherfucker are you? You killed Washington, didn’t you?”
“No. That was you.” I tap my gloved finger against the envelope I brought. “You’ve killed approximately thirty people for the last ten years or so. A very busy man you’ve been.”
“That’s bullshit. I’ve never killed a person in my entire life.”
“You’re right. This list doesn’t even begin to enumerate your offenses and the people you hurt. After you got off the pedophile from Martin County, he went on to molest three other children. The abuser you got acquitted in Capital City killed his wife and two kids.”
“How are those deaths my fault? I was just doing my job!”
“And so am I.” Shakespeare was right. To start with, we should kill all the lawyers.
The one my mom hired to get her away from her abuser did no good. I let him live but killed the man who hurt her. The man’s death was the only one I hadn’t planned. I was young with a bad temper and hadn’t paid enough attention in biology class to realize I could kill someone with a blow to the head. It was that man’s death that sent me back to the books.
Can I ask what you’re doing so I don’t worry?
I cock my head and study Chad. How should I explain myself to Angel so that she can sleep well tonight? There’s sweat pouring off his face and his eyes are slightly pronounced. His hands dangle uselessly at his sides. This is one of the dullest ways to kill someone and for Chad, a man who has harassed my wife and made her afraid to walk out to her car, an easy death. I should be pounding his face in with his golf cleats until his chin turns to mush. I can’t, though, because it’d be obvious he didn’t kill himself.
I’m cleaning house.
Don’t work too hard.
I won’t. I love you. I add a heart emoji for emphasis.
I love you. Be safe.
I tuck the phone back into my pocket and grab the coil of rope on my way back to Chad.
He jerks away and blabbers, “I’m sorry I talked to your wife. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I crouch down in front of him. “For a famed defense attorney, you aren’t being very persuasive. You’ve said that fifty-two times tonight.”
“You’re a sick fuck,” he cries as I place the rope around his neck. “Why are you tormenting me? Just get it over with.”
Hand around the knot, I pause before tightening it and say, “Before you were pleading with me not to hurt you and promised me a lot of money if I would let you go.”
“Money isn’t working, is it? Tell me what it is that you want. You want a girl you can knock around? You have a kink you need to work out, I can find someone. No matter what it is.”
“What if it’s this?” I jerk the noose tight.
Chad’s eyes water. “Yeah. Yeah,” he chokes out.
“Not interested. I have everything I need and you’re endangering it. You should’ve never talked to my wife. Never looked at her. Never touched her. Those are the rules.” I rise, dragging his body with me. He’s forced to stand, his feet scrambling to find purchase but Chad spends more time on his ass and he’s got no strength.
“You never told me. If I had known—“
The rope cuts him off. I whip it over the beam in his ceiling and pull it down, wrenching his body up. He makes some noise, probably more threats and promises, which I ignore. As if I needed to tell anyone what the rules are. Angel’s got a ring on her finger. I made my claim years ago. Before leaving, I double-check everything with my blue light, stick the suicide note in the top drawer for the good detectives to find and leave.
As the door closes behind me, I text my wife.
Am going to bed. Sleep well. I love you.
She doesn’t text back but it doesn’t matter. I strip off the gloves and burn them half way to my car that I parked a mile away. The rubber smells acrid, but the biodegradable gloves disintegrate quickly, leaving only a pile of ash. My efforts to make our office more green pay off in so many ways. I return home, quickly wash and then get into the car. It takes only a short time before I’m out in front of Angel’s sister’s house. The lights are out. I check the front door and am pleased to find it’s locked. The back door is secured, too. Reassured with my wife’s safety, I climb back into the car, lower the seat and close my eyes.