Page 50 of Retribution
Rebecca flops onto her back, her tits pressing against the soft pink sweater she’s wearing. Getting herself comfortable against the pillows, she glances up, catching me watching her.
A smile spreads across her face, making my heart leap in my chest. “Hi,” she says softly.
“Hi,” I return. “How’s your book?”
“Good. One of the characters is a real asshole. I keep reaching for my knife every time he’s mentioned.”
I bark a laugh, imagining her going after a fictional character, brandishing her knife at him. She returns to her book, and I watch her for another minute, a wave of contentment washing over me. I’m wholly unfamiliar with the feeling, so it takes a second to understand it. For the first time in my life, I feel peace.
Thank you for giving me this woman, Father,I say silently, turning my eyes heavenward.She is everything.
Basking in this newfound feeling for a moment longer, I then turn back to work. Judge Easton has a court case in three days, and according to the schedule his personal assistant has drawn up for him, he will be preparing for two hours beforehand in his chambers and has requested no disturbances during that time.
It’s a tricky one. It may be relatively early in the morning, but it’s at the courthouse, which is always busy. He may have requested no disturbances, but a secretary, fellow judge, or lawyer could stop by, needing an urgent word.
But, the optics! That’s what gets my heart thumping in my chest. Imagining his discovery, a full courtroom awaiting his presence, only to be sent away as his grizzly death is discovered.
It’s just about enough to give me a boner thinking about it.
The good thing about smaller towns? Their security tends to not be up to par. Thirty minutes is all it takes to hack into the courthouse’s security system. Running over the floorplans, I match up where the cameras are located, and it’s laughable how few there really are. There is one outside of the actual courtroom, but none inside. There’s an inner hallway leading from the courtroom to the judge’s chambers, but again, no cameras to be found. There’s an emergency exit located just off the inner hallway, which will allow for access. It’s alarmed, but again, it’s only basic. Nothing that will stop us from getting in.
I can’t stop the wide smile stretching across my face as I get everything set up. All I’ll need to do that morning is disarm the alarm, which I can do remotely from the car. We’ll need to be quick; we won’t have time to torture him, unfortunately. But it should make a statement.
After that’s wrapped up, I turn my thoughts to what we’ll do for the next couple of days. The image of Rebecca whooping and grinning during our helicopter ride when we visited the Grand Canyon presents itself in front of me. She had so much fun that day. We were both in awe of the Canyon—something neither of us had seen before. And she’s definitely an adrenaline junkie, if her screams of delight on the helicopter were anything to go by.
Checking that she’s still engrossed in her book, I pull up the internet and am a bit disappointed to find that there aren’t really any theme parks in this state. We’d have to go to California for something like that, but there’s no time.
Disappointment flashes through me until I locate a small park near Phoenix. It’s certainly not Six Flags, but it has a couple of coasters, a few rides, an arcade, and miniature golf. I wonder for a moment if I’m just too old for this sort of thing, but you know what? Fuck it. It’s not like either of us ever got to do something like this when we were kids.
I quickly book tickets and find a nice hotel in Phoenix. My girl deserves a day of fun. A day to laugh, enjoy freedom, be carefree, and leave the pain and sadness behind. She has suffered so much, endured so much tragedy. I’m in awe of her daily. Most would be nothing more than a broken shell of a human, but not my Rebecca. She’s stronger than anyone could give her credit for. She fights every day to bring the sick fuckers of the world to justice. Instead of curling up and dying, she is fighting back, and I am so proud of her.
I’m not dismissing the darkness she lives in, for I live in it as well. I know it might not take much to send her spiraling into depression, maybe to never return. I’ll need to be careful with her, to support without suffocating, to be at her side but not overpowering.
This will be hard for me, I’m not so disillusioned about myself to not know who and what I am. My obsessions can be difficult to keep a restraint on, and I like to be in control. Rebecca is the first person that I’ve relinquished it to.
I can’t imagine doing this for anyone else on earth. I promised myself that there would be no more fucking around. That this time, I would take what I wanted. But now that I have her, I need to keep her. While I will gladly do that anyway—whether she wants it or not—I find myself craving her acceptance. No, fuck that. Not her acceptance, but her wholehearted agreement. I want her to choose to be with me, stay with me, because she wants to.
I know I’m the villain, not the prince of our story. Do killers deserve love? I shrug to myself, considering it. Maybe, maybe not. But looking at Rebecca smiling softly as she reads, her head nestled against my side, I know that I would lay down my life for hers.
Fuck, maybe that makes me the prince after all.
***
Rebecca is wrapped around me like a monkey, her head on my chest while she sleeps. I hate to wake her, but I want to get on the road early so we arrive in Phoenix in plenty of time to enjoy everything the park has to offer.
“Rebecca,” I murmur softly, stroking her hair.
She groans and tightens her grip on my waist.
“Baby, time to wake up. I have a surprise for you.”
Her eyes flutter open, those aqua orbs reminding me of turquoise tropical seas that hazily look up at me. “Surprise?” she mumbles against me, rubbing her eyes.
Chuckling under my breath, I press a kiss to her head. “We’re going on a trip today. Come on, lazy, let’s go.”
Pulling off of me, she sits up, the sheet falling to her waist, her bare breasts bouncing, nipples pebbled.
Fuck.
