Page 52 of Assassin's Prey
“Sir, do you have a cell phone?”
I found myself fishing in my pocket, pulling out my phone. The screen lit up, and by rote I entered the security code with blackened, blistered fingers. The home screen was so bright it burned my aching retinas.
“Let me help you.” The cop reached for the cell, but before he could grasp it, an incoming text pinged.
The message preview flashed on the screen for no more than a couple of seconds, but what I saw will forever be burned in my memory. One little sentence that smashed the rubble that was all that was left of my world. One sentence, that was all it took.
You had your chance to stop this.
Nothing more. Nothing else was needed. I squeezed the case in my hand, imagining Redding’s neck, imagining that the moment the plastic crumpled into pieces, I was crushing his spine. The cop watched in confusion as I dropped the phone to the ground and stomped it, pulverized every last piece until all that was left was a pile of plastic shards and metal. My fingers dripped blood from various cuts and broken blisters, but I didn’t register the pain. The agony inside was all I could handle. Nothing more.
Not until I really did have my hands around Warren Redding’s throat. Repentance might be good for the soul, but not Redding’s. He would die with his sins, and if I had my way, I’d follow him to the depths of hell and kill him all over again.
Abby was gone. Nothing would bring her back. And as I sat on the grass, numb to all but my rage, and watched the crowds disappear, the officials go back to their vehicles—watched the world slowly try to return to normal—I knew without a doubt that I didn’t want to live without her. Not even my brothers could make me stay.
Redding would die, and then, God help me, so would I.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’m not sure how he knew, but Detective Bryant arrived on the scene at some point. One minute I was pounding my phone into the ground, and the next, his weary eyes were right in front of me. He’s the one that got me to my feet. He’s the one that called my brothers. He’s the one who forced me inside Mrs. Sanderson’s duplex when officials arrived to remove the body.
The body. That’s how they referred to her. As if she were just a thing, not the very breath in my lungs.
Mrs. Sanderson had sequestered herself in her bedroom, away from friends and family. Away from me. Which was as it should be. I was the monster who’d brought this horror into her life. Into Abby’s life. And yet I found myself outside her door, palm and forehead laid against it, trying to soak up the love and energy and joy Abby had radiated around the older woman, as if she was still here. As if she wasn’t…
I couldn’t saydead. She was simply gone, but we would only be apart for a little while. I had to believe that. It was the only way to bear the pain long enough to do what had to be done.
“Come in here, honey,” Mrs. Sanderson called through the door. She always called mehoney, but this time it didn’t make me laugh. I didn’t question how she knew it was me either. She just did, and I opened the door like it was the gateway to the only hope I would ever have.
And closed it behind me. This was private. No one else should see.
Mrs. Sanderson’s huddled frame was shrouded in an afghan where she sat in an old wooden rocking chair. All of her was still but her fingers, which plucked restlessly at the threads of the blanket. Bloodshot eyes rose to meet mine. She reached for me. “Come here.”
So I came. I knelt at the old woman’s feet and laid my palms in her lap. She covered them with her own.
“Mrs. Sanderson—”
“No more of that,” she said sharply, but tears brought a glossy sheen to her brown eyes. “My girl is gone. Who else is going to call me Geneva like she did, like she was my own granddaughter?” She nodded slowly as if considering. “You will. Just like you’re my own as well.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the grief in her voice and, to my horror, felt a single drop of moisture dripping down the side of my nose. A tear. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t give in. It would make me soft when I needed to be hard. Needed to be sharp.
But I opened my eyes to find the slightest smile on Geneva’s lips, the barest tilting of the corners. The expression wasn’t happy, more like…approval. “That’s right, my boy. It hurts something powerful, and we all need time to grieve.”
My grief was best spent behind a weapon, but I couldn’t tell her that. Instead I followed the urging of her hand at the back of my head and rested a cheek on her knee. There I absorbed the generosity of a woman who barely knew me, and felt my rage grow as I soaked up her pain.
A faint knock came at the door. “Levi, your brothers are here.”
My gut went tight. I glanced up at Geneva. “I have to go.”
She patted my cheek. Not in that condescending way some old people use; no, I’d seen her pat Abby the same way, a gentle brushing that somehow signaled care and understanding all in one touch. I even found myself leaning into her fingers as if I could siphon off some of her strength, when really I should be the one who was strong.
Not gonna happen. Not tonight. I’d save my strength for facing Redding.
“Go on then,” Geneva said finally. “I’m sure your brothers need you. I’ll be here.”
I watched her gaze drift to the window next to her, to the small garden Abby had helped her plant behind the duplex last spring. She sighed. “Let me know…”
