Page 34 of King of Depravity

I cross to her window and take her baseball bat, jamming it diagonally from across the top window sash so that it can’t be opened and then I return to the bed.

“Tomorrow night, baby.” But I lean back down to kiss her again. “Tonight, I’ve still got work to do.”

“Work? What kind of work?”

“I need to talk to my brothers.” Which is true. But first, I’m going to do what I should have done a while ago. I’m going to tear that motherfucker Preston Wingate apart.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Killian

I’ve always knownthat killing Preston would be easy. But as I lounge in the desk chair of his hotel room, waiting for him to come back, I shoot Gris a text from my burner.

Making it happen tonight.Sorry I took so long.

The three dots appear,but I turn the sound off the phone, dropping it in my pocket as I hear the key rattle in the lock.

Preston enters his room, stumbling his way straight to the bathroom.

That’s when I hear him start to vomit.

Christ, it doesn’t get any easier than this.

Part of me would like to make him really suffer. Tell him that he’s being offed for Chloe and for Arabella. But explanations are for movies.

So instead, I move to the bathroom door.

He’s just lifting his head, his eyes glazed and unfocused when he catches sight of me.

“What the hell?”

Grabbing the back of his neck, I smash his head as hard as I can into the porcelain of the toilet.

He slumps to the ground.

It’s the oddest sensation. Usually, when I kill, I feel an initial sensation of satisfaction, followed by a deep loathing.

Tonight, I feel neither. Resignation beats in my chest along with my heart. I wait until I’m certain he stops breathing and then I carefully wipe the chair I sat in, the doorknob, and the back of Preston’s neck before I go.

Everyone will assume that Preston fell and hit his head while drunk. They won’t look much further, but I’m still thorough.

Slipping out of the room, I pull a hat over my head in case of cameras and cover my tattoos. I make my way down to the end of the stairwell, all the way to the basement level.

I’m near the pool and I can smell the chlorine as I head out the back entrance. The Kincaids own this hotel. Preston should have had the fortitude to at least stay in a hotel not run by his ex’s family.

He’s a prick, though, and the Kincaids own the best of everything. Probably thought he deserved a hotel this nice.

I don’t drive often…but the car I keep is a black Honda Pilot. It’s not what anyone would think a guy like me would drive, but that’s the entire point. It blends.

Hitting a few buttons on my Apple Car Play, I’m calling Triston. He answers, clearly half asleep as he slurs, “Hello?”

“I need a meeting.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Call Mason and then call me back.”

“Fine,” he answers and then hangs up. I get it. It’s three in the morning.

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