Page 48 of The Last Shadow

Her eyes dart back and forth, fear and disbelief swirling in her brown depths. “In and out,” I instruct, my voice low and soothing. “Breathe in and out.”

“I’m okay.” Frankie exhales and nods. “I’m okay. What do you know about George McCormick?”

I smile, knowing I’ve struck a nerve. “I know he was the man who broke into your home. I also know you killed him.”

There’s no denying it now. She knows I’m not bluffing when I say I know everything. I help Francesca to her feet, my hands gripping her arms as I steady her.

I guide her to the car, opening the passenger door for her. She slides in, and I close the door gently before making my way to the driver’s side.

“Tell me everything, Frankie. From the beginning.” I need to know every detail, every moment that led to McCormick’s death.

She nods, closing her eyes as her arms wrap around herself in a protective gesture. “I spent weeks tracking his every move,” she says, her voice steady. “I memorized his routines, his habits. I knew where he bought his coffee, where he liked to eat lunch, even the brand of cigarettes he smoked.”

As she tells the story, I listen intently. My eyes never leave her face.

It’s like listening to my own thoughts, my own methods. The meticulous planning, the obsessive attention to detail—it’s all so deliciously familiar.

“I watched him, day after day, waiting for the perfect moment to take him out,” she continues, her eyes taking on a distant look. “I had to be patient, to bide my time until I knew I could take him down without any witnesses.”

“How did you finally catch him?”

She shivers, but her voice remains steady. “I lured him to an abandoned warehouse with a fake drug deal. He thought he was meeting a new supplier, but he found me.”

She hunted him. Unbelievable.

“I wore a hidden camera to record every moment of his confession.” She looks at me, her eyes cold and hard. “When I was there, something in me snapped. I didn’t want to arrest him.I wanted him to pay. I wanted him to feel the same fear and helplessness that I felt that night.”

The intensity of her words sends a thrill through me. This is the Frankie I love, the one who’s not afraid of anything. “And did he?”

A wicked smile spreads across her face. “Well, I shot him in the leg so he couldn’t run, then I cuffed him and put him in the back of the car. He begged. He pleaded. He even tried to bargain with me. But I didn’t let up, not for a second. I made him suffer, made him feel every ounce of pain he inflicted on my family.” She nods toward the barn. “Right there in that barn.”

“You brought him here?”

She nods. “I did. I knew this place would be empty. After my dad—well, the dad I knew—got shot that night, my mom and I never came back to this place. You can still see the bloodstains and bullet holes. So, it was here that I made sure George McCormick paid with his life.”

I look at her, feeling my blood warm. “Ah, kitten. Please tell me how you did it.”

Francesca turns to me, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re a sick fuck.” I can’t stand it any longer. I crush my lips to hers, unable to resist the dark, twisted desire coursing through me. Her lips meet mine with the same intensity, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss.

When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, I rest my forehead against hers. “Please continue.” Her big brown eyes flash with a darkness that mirrors my own.

“He was bigger than when I was a kid by at least twenty pounds,” she says. “I knew I’d need every advantage, so I used plastic ties to bind his arms and legs in the barn. His leg was bleeding, so he couldn’t go anywhere. And if he got away, I had his confession on tape.”

I can picture it vividly. Frankie, a fierce avenging angel, standing over her captive prey. McCormick, helpless and at her mercy.

“He laughed at first,” she continues, a hint of shame creeping into her tone. “Then I put a bullet in his gut, purposely missing any organs because I wanted him to hurt.”

Francesca’s my ultimate dream. She’s exactly like me.

“He said my dad was looking into things he shouldn’t. They had an arrangement, and he broke the rules.” Her body trembles at the memory, but her voice remains steady. “I was angry and in disbelief. Dad was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a dirty cop.”

I nod, offering silent support as she relives the moment.

“I emptied the clip into his body, slowly and strategically, until he stopped moving. I left him there all night to bleed out, and when I was sure he was dead, I got rid of the body and buried it over there under that willow tree.”

“Do you regret it? Killing him?”

“Nope. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

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