Page 41 of Wicked Things
Again, we’re met with silence.
“Motherfuckers,” Alaska hisses under her breath. She turns the handle and the door swings open, much to her surprise. She was obviously expecting it to be locked. Her mask of shock turns to one of complete rage when she looks into the room beyond. There’s blood everywhere. Everywhere. Up the walls, on the ceiling, gathered in glistening crimson pools on the floor. Amongst all of that blood, two bodies have been abandoned, one of them with their fucking throat ripped out.
“Where is she?” Alaska fumes. Her eyes glitter with unbridled rage as she stalks into the room and kicks at the closest mangled body with her high heel. “Where the fuck is she?”
A smug warmth floods through my veins. Michael got her out, or she got herself out. Either way, these two cunts aren’t going to be able to lay a finger on her now.
Darkness swirls at the edges of my mind, unleashing new ideas and new possibilities. Now, I know Sloane is safe…these ladies are in for a world of fucking hurt.
As if on cue, Lowell’s phone begins to vibrate in the pocket of her pantsuit. She whips the phone out and hits the answer button too quickly—she doesn’t realize what she’s doing. She doesn’t realize what this means, now. If she’d thought about it for more than a second, she’d have made sure to keep her gun trained on me, that’s for fucking sure. “Yes, I’m fine. We have everything under control,” Lowell bites out. This is the call she was waiting for—her partner, making sure everything is in order, calling to confirm that he shouldn’t blow up the entire stadium with us inside. She scowls as she hangs up and slides the phone away. Alaska spins around, her outrage spluttering out as she turns her attention to Lowell, then to me. And then over my shoulder.
Michael must be smiling. There must be a grin on that fucker’s face a mile wide, because he knows these two have nothing to hold over me now. And he knows I’m about to tear them into pieces.
I’m about to ask Lowell if she has any last fucking words, but then a cellphone’s ringtone echoes down the corridor behind me—weirdly, it’s the Game of Thrones theme song. I spin around, and the Barbieris are standing there behind Michael and Mason, covered in blood and looking bored.
“Can we have the redhead?” Sal asks.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“You told us to find Lowell. We found her. We also found your girlfriend. And those guys.” Theo jerks his chin in the direction of the bodies on the floor. Huh. So it wasn’t Michael and Mason who got Sloane out, then. It seems I have the Barbieris to thank for that.
“You’d better back the fuck up,” Lowell says stiffly. It seems it’s just occurred to her that she is now in an untenable position, with no means of escape. She hurried into the room after Alaska. She bulled ahead without thinking it through, and now there are five angry men barring her escape. “Don’t forget…the explosives,” she says. “If my partner—”
“You just spoke to your partner. You told him everything was fine. That must give us…what?” I ask Michael. He looks up, making a show of thinking.
“At least fifteen minutes.”
“Hmm. I think you’re right. We can get a lot done in fifteen minutes,” I growl.
“Don’t be fucking stupid. I’m DEA. If you kill me, the cops will know it was you. They’ll come for you.”
“Actually, our father already has a number of the Seattle PD in his back pocket. And the DEA?” Theo barks out a single harsh laugh. “Roberto Barbieri and the DEA go way back.”
Interesting. That’s obviously how Roberto got hold of the case Lowell has spent so long building against Sloane. The bitch takes a considered step to the left, and I immediately know what she’s doing. The body she was so proud of parading in front of me a moment ago, Lacey’s dismembered, disfigured and disrespected body, is now a thorn in her side. Seems as though Lowell is no longer interested in displaying her handiwork and riling me up.
I hand myself over to the dark, wicked thing inside me that has been pleading for the reins so desperately, and I think Lowell sees it. Her face blanches, turning a dull, sickly grey color.
I’m going to enjoy this.Reallyenjoy it. “You. Are. Fucked.”
“Zeth, wait—”
No more waiting. No more sitting back. No more letting her get away with this shit. She’s had plenty of opportunities to walk away. She knewIwalked away from my old life when Charlie died. She saw me set up a legitimate business and try to build a regular life with the woman I love, and what did she do? She desecrated my sister’s grave. She tried to have Sloane killed.
She fucked up.
Big time.
“Yeah,” I finally answer over my shoulder to Sal. “You can have the redhead.”
Alaska looks stunned. Hurt, even. What the fuck did she think was going to happen? I would send her on her way after this? Forgive her? Allow her to keep on breathing? No fucking way.
Defiance replaces her surprise. She lifts her chin, narrowing her eyes at me. “At least do me the honor of killing me yourself, Zeth.”
“Theo and Sal will do a better job, I think.” I step forward, looking her up and down with disgust all over my face. “I’m gonna turn my fucking back on you now, just as I always have done, and I’m not going to look back. I’m not even going to watch them as they destroy you. Because I don’t give a shit about you, Alaska. I never have, and I never will. After tonight…I’m never even going tothinkabout you again. You will be forgotten.”
Tears well in her eyes, on the brink of overflowing, and I know it: my casually spoken words have hurt her more than my actions or my countless rejections over the years ever have. I make good on my promise, turning away from her, and I do not look back. Theo and Sal surge into the room, and Alaska’s scream bounces off the concrete walls, high and terrified.
Reaching into my back pocket, I withdraw the single tool I took from my black duffel bag before I came here. The knife is vicious-looking, jagged and cruel. The teeth that run along its spine are made for ripping and tearing flesh, the most efficient hunting knife on the market. I don’t need it for hunting, of course. My quarry is right in front of me, cornered, trapped and shaking from head to toe.
