Page 24 of Broken Queen
“I got another one,” I said. “Can you do a cleanup? A personal one, this time.”
“For a price.”
“How much do you want?”
He cleared his throat. “Two grand.”
I had that stored away from Daddy Bloom’s cash outs for the work on his gym. “Done.”
After I gave him the address, I hung up, getting back into my truck. This time, my chest buzzed with eagerness as I drove myself back to the motel. Zira didn’t care about her husband, but I knew she cared about him more than Spiky. Cheating had been a low blow, but it wasn’t the actual act that had upset her. It was the loyalty. He was her husband and a board member now, in a secret society that didn’t give a shit about her. There was only one way to logically fix that problem, both for her and for me. I didn’t need that ‘I’m married’ excuse, just like she didn’t need a cheating husband blocking her way to her throne.
I had to kill Logan.
CHAPTER 7
Hazard
Logan must have thought highly of himself to have one measly staff member guarding his property. Either he thought he was an invincible son of a bitch, or he thought nobody gave a shit about him.
I loved fucking with those kinds of people.
Pretty boy Logan worked in finances, and though his property was modest compared to his neighbors, it was still extravagant in a way that a poor Oakmont boy like me was never supposed to even glimpse at from the outskirts of town. Much less break into and destroy everything.
I scoffed under my breath. He must have had oatmeal for brains to be fucking that brunette and not Zira. But love is love. And if that’s what brought me closer to Zira, then go ahead, pretty boy, and screw the brunette like she’s the only hole left in the universe; I don’t give a fuck.
Too impatient to stalk Logan and figure out his schedule, I lured his only staff member away with a little bribery through an email message. Then I hid in the backyard garden, watching the two lovebirds in the living room. A movie was on the massive screen, filled with bright colors and pretty faces. Somehow, they made it through the entire film without fucking. Then, like two little teenagers, they scurried to the master bedroom, a panel of glass windows decorating the side, giving me a clear view. He laid her on the bed, kissing her breasts, then led his lips down to lick her pussy. After getting her lubed up with his saliva, he braced himself on his elbows, ready to ram inside of her.
Missionary. On a bed. Like a good ol’ champ.
Logan’s face twisted as his hips sped into action, and the brunette’s ankles shook, her manicured toenails gleaming. I kept waiting for her pleasure face, but it never came. When the brunette came, did she look like a well-kept princess, twisting her head to the side, hiding her shame? Or was she like a demon, screaming into the night, her lips contorting into a monster’s scowl?
I wanted to see Zira’s disturbed expression when she came. I had a feeling she was one of those demon types, where you don’t know if she’s dying or coming, because she couldn’t control herself.
After ten minutes, the brunette left the house like a good little mistress, and Logan settled into his bed. He lifted a down-turned picture frame of Zira on his nightstand, like he was suddenly the good husband again. Then the lights went out.
Earlier, I had picked the locks, so they were ready to go. I slid the glass door to the side, then set the ax and crowbar down by the door. I had my gun and my handcuffs too. There were options. I always liked seeing where the night took me.
I crept forward, then jumped on the bed, throwing a rope around his neck, yanking him off to the side. He pulled at the rope, grunting like a pig in a pen, but I pinned him to the ground, getting handcuffs around one of his wrists.
“Who the hell are you?” he shouted.
I grinned. “You’re worst fucking?—”
His foot mashed into my chest, flinging me off of him. The rude ass had interrupted me! I grunted, then stomped toward him as he threw a punch and I ducked, swinging around, about to kick his ass to the ground when he threw me to the wall and knocked the wind out of me.
Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to be that difficult. But I never shied away from a competitive game.
This time, when Logan took aim at me, I punched him out cold. He fell to the ground.
My knuckles throbbed. For good measure, I grabbed the crowbar, swinging it down onto his knees until I was sure they were busted. He couldn’t do shit now. I pressed a boot onto his chest, treating him like an insect. He should have been a gift. I wanted to present him as a surprise to Zira. I could tie him up, bind him, and she could finish the job by herself. That had a satisfying end to it. Poetic justice. The final epic song at the end of a dramatic film. All of us bowing down to our queen.
But the more I thought about it, the better it seemed to finish the job myself. Who knew what would happen when he woke up?
No. That was an excuse. I wanted to kill him. And I always did what I wanted.
I pulled Logan back to the bed with the intention of tying him to each of the bedposts, but as soon as he was there, I swung the ax down, letting the blade slice through half of his neck. I laughed with glee. Blood soaked the pale blue sheets, and a red splatter marked the walls. It was a work of art; a manic mess of depravity and violence. And once I handed it over to my queen, she’d give me everything I wanted.
I stood on the bed, the mattress dipping with my weight, gazing down at the corpse. Then I kneeled down, removing the ax from his neck. I angled it into his chest, then leaned my weight on it until the bone cracked. One by one, like carving the skin of a pumpkin, I dug a hole into his body, ready to pull out his organs.
