Page 12 of Liar's Heart
“There's something there,” he says confidently. “I think she likes the push and pull, and I’m in it for the long game.”
I hum, about to turn and ask what he means by that, but am stopped by the sight of Jonah fucking Dewitt signing his own death warrant as he wraps his fingers around my wife’s wrist and doesn’t let go, even when she tries to pull her hand out of his grasp. “Ro,” I growl.
“On it,” he replies, both of us already in motion, weaving through the crowd.
It only takes moments to reach them, but in that time, Jonah’s leaned in to whisper God knows what in Merrick’s ear, fingers still locked tight around her wrist. He’s too closeto be able to see her face, but her eyes are thunderous beneath her fox mask. Our eyes connect, and despite the fact that I know I’m doing nothing to hide the murderous look on my face, her lips quirk up into a faint smile. My hand clamps down hard on his shoulder at the same time I hear Roman ask Merrick, “May I have this dance?”
Jonah lets go of Merrick, and she immediately pulls her hand back, only to place it into my best friend’s offered palm. “Absolutely you may.”
Roman dutifully escorts my wife toward the dance floor, and I zero in on the man stiffening beneath my grip. I plaster a smile on my face and move my hand to offer it in greeting as he turns around. “Mr. Dewitt, right?”
His throat bobs as he swallows, looking me over to gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t relax, but he does take my hand and shake it. “That’s correct. Mr. Sinclair, right?”
See? I knew he knew who she was. “Sorry to interrupt, but the staff stopped me and asked me to find you. Your wife is on the line, said she’s calling from the hospital. I think it’s regarding your daughter.”
He frowns, then asks, “I wonder why she didn’t call my cell?”
I shake my head. “Dunno, man. Maybe she tried and couldn’t get through?”
Jonah nods, accepting my explanation, and says, “I should take that. My wife stayed home tonight because our daughter wasn’t feeling well. She must’ve gotten worse since I left.”
Or she was finally able to seek medical treatment without you stopping them and was banking on you either not coming home or being too wasted to notice they weren’t there when you got back. Same difference, right? “Absolutely. Here, I’ll show you to the library. The landline connects there, and it’s far enough away it should be adequately quiet for you to hold a conversation.”
“That sounds great, thank you,” he says. The fucker hasthe audacity to look relieved that I stopped him for a legitimate reason and not to coldcock him in the middle of a crowd.
I lead the way, weaving through guests until we reach a side hall. A few guests are mingling in the quiet outskirts of the fray, but it doesn’t take long for us to be all but alone. Still, I navigate us to the library as promised, if only to keep from being interrupted.
It’s been years since I’ve freely wandered my childhood home, but the library is almost unchanged from how I remember it. This used to be one of my favorite rooms in the house. I’d spend hours curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs with books and live out any life between the pages other than my own. It was my favorite escape.
Until Alec would find me and drag me back to hell again.
Ushering Jonah in first, I close and lock the door behind me before reaching up and feeling along the top of the doorframe. My fingers quickly find what I’m looking for—a small wooden wedge I would use to jam the door. I learned the hard way that Alec has a skeleton key to get through the old lock on the door and had to get creative. It only ever made the torture worse in the end when I’d barricade myself in here, but it was worth it for the peace of mind, knowing I at least knew he was coming and could slow him down.
Crouching down, I slip the wedge under the door and smack it into place with the toe of my shoe as I stand. “Where’s the phone in here?” Jonah asks.
Turning around, I begin undoing my bow tie. He’s facing away from me, with his back to the only threat in the room like a fucking idiot. “It’s over on that desk by the window.”
He walks over to the desk, looking for the phone, while I pull my tie out of my shirt collar. Jonah is still searching the desktop when he says, “Really? I don’t see it.”
I wind the ends of the silk tie around my fists, creating agarrote, and make my way behind him. “That’s odd. Should be right there.”
“Are you su—” Jonah starts, but it turns to garbled yelling when the tie pulls tight against his trachea. His hands fly up to his neck, and he tries to wedge his fingers between his skin and the silk, but I’ve got too good a grip on it for him to gain any purchase.
Making sure he’s tight against my chest, I tell him, “I really want to cut your hands off since you can’t seem to keep them off women, but I don’t have time to deal with the mess. I’d rather spend my night in bed with my wife than dismember your corpse, so you’re going to have a dumb, drunken accident instead. Okay?”
He struggles against me, trying everything he can to break my grip, but nothing works. I’ve got a few inches on him in height, so I take one foot and sweep his out from underneath him, forcing more weight against his throat. He drops enough that I’m able to slide him forward and push his torso over the front of the desk. I follow him over the top and plant a knee in between his shoulder blades before I pull hard and tight against the tie. His head comes up off the desk as far back as his neck will allow, and he has nowhere else to go to find relief.
The mangled noises coming from him begin to slow down until they eventually sputter out, but I don’t let up yet. A lot of people don’t realize that it takes a long time to strangle someone to death. They’ll fall unconscious from oxygen deprivation before they actually die, so you have to give it a few minutes and double-check that they’re really gone before you release them. Otherwise, they’ll pop back up on you, and let me tell you, they’reveryangry when they do.
It’s a mistake you only make once.
When I’m sure Jonah’s dead, I let go of the tie and pocket it before carefully climbing down off the desk, making sure not to let his body drop. It’s not that I couldn’t move him offthe ground, but why make more work for myself than necessary? And odds are high he’s pissed himself. At least this way, I know he’s not flopped into a puddle, and I don’t have to figure out which parts of him aren’t wet before moving him.
I open the window next to the desk, swinging it out wide before turning back to Jonah. Staring down at his limp body, I contemplate whether or not I should break his neck to sell the story better but decide that ultimately, no one’s really going to question it. Grabbing under his arms, I bear-hug him and drag him to the window. Lining up my shot, I pitch him forward, and his torso catches on the windowsill. Then I bend down, grab his feet, andbye-bye, Jonah.
I walk away from the window and try to calm myself down, but my hands are still shaking from the adrenaline dump and fatigue. It’s not often I let my monster come out and play anymore, but that old, familiar friend is far too worked up now to willingly go back into his cage. Still, I force myself to stay in here for a few minutes and steady my breathing. I check myself all over—hands, hair, mask, shoes, clothes—to make sure there’s no blood or anything on me.
The monster purrs as I bend down, undoing the door jam and putting it back in its hiding place before I unlock the door and make my way back to the party. He still wants to hunt.
