Page 12 of Reign of a Billionaire
His eyes grew wide and he paled as I ran my finger along the blade.
“No, no,” he cried. “Don’t?—”
I leaned over him. “Don’t what?” I asked, raising one eyebrow in mock-interest. “Hurt you? Tell me something, Pedro. How many women have you spared when they begged not to be hurt?”
His pupils dilated, understanding sinking in that there was no escaping this. I sliced his gut, and he opened his mouth to scream. The only thing that came out was a small whimper. The drug was working.
I reveled in his helplessness.Let them have a taste of their own medicine,I thought bitterly.
My hand still holding the knife buried in his gut, I twisted it as I reached for the paintbrush in my clutch.
Then I dipped it in his blood, soaking in his pained moans, his terrified eyes on me as I started my process. I preferred to sketch, but blood was sure to get my point across.
Five minutes to draw a sketch of a faceless man all over the wall in my victim’s blood. Admittedly, it was a creepy thing to do, but it was about the only thing that made me feel alive anymore. In the darkest recesses of my mind lived the notion that mysister was here with me when I committed these atrocities. She might be disgusted, but she’d be proud.
So I sketched with their blood for me, my sister, and every woman who’d been wronged by men like this one.
I stood over my victim like an avenging angel, watching him struggle until the life drained out of his eyes.
“Another one bites the dust,” I muttered under my breath. “Bathtime, asshole.”
Dragging his dead weight into the bathroom, I grunted and cursed as I pushed his body, limb by limb, into the filthy, ancient tub.
Once in there, I used the fire escape to fetch my supplies.
It took me exactly five hours to dispose of the body. A sodium hydroxide mixture with boiling water made Pedro disappear down the rusted drain. The stench—pungent, sharp, and acrid—was welcomed. I’d take it over being touched any day.
My heart thrashed with memories of my own sister. They always seemed to reach me at the worst times. I pulled out my phone and retrieved my secret folder, then pressed Play. I’d seen the recording a million times—could recite every detail of it word for word, move for move. That didn’t stop my chest from fracturing with the same intensity.
The gloved and masked men tortured her. She fought them tooth and nail, yanking the chain off one’s neck. I wished there was a way to zero in on the necklace. I needed clues, anything to hunt those responsible down.
In the next moment, they dunked her head into a tub filled with a clear solution, and I watched my twin’s body dissolve intonothing. Pain surged across my chest, the way it did every time I thought of her.
The cartel—specifically the Tijuana cartel, who had close ties to the Cortes cartel—took something valuable from me. In return, I would take itallfrom them. When I was done with them, there’d be nothing left but ash.
Even if it included my own mother and me.
Chapter 6
Kingston
Rush hour in the city was in full swing when I entered the building that Byron called “meet in the middle” restaurant.
The place was crowded, but my family had a reserved table. A privilege of being wealthy. Our mother left her inheritance to her children, and each one of us had built our empire from the ground up. My brothers became some of the top real estate tycoons, and I became one of the top killers and trackers in the underworld.
I made my way over to the table where Kristoff Baldwin and my brother Byron already sat with drinks in their hands. Bourbon for Byron, scotch for Kristoff. They were way too predictable.
Kristoff pushed his hand through his hair, flagging the waiter over.
“Kingston,” he greeted me, handing me an envelope. It was a deed to another property I acquired.
I took my spot, nodding my thanks.
“Byron, I thought you were still in France?” I remarked. “Are your wife and kids here too?”
“We’re here just for a week.”
The waitress was back with a refill for Kristoff, who downed it before she disappeared.
