Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 19570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up and swallow. My pulse ticks at my temple as I count down from ten. Nine... eight... seven...
When I get to three, one of my men steps into view near the far hedge line and gives the signal.
Rest in hell.
I step out of the car and head inside, Chester behind me.
Keeping my steps quiet, I move down the hall, straight for the dining room. The air grows heavier with each step—warmer, tighter, like it remembers what happened the last time I walked toward a table full of people who never saw it coming.
I slow at the edge of the doorway, pausing in the shadows.
They’re all there.
Rush Banks sits at the head of the table, laughing.
Salt-and-pepper hair, slicked back like he’s still thirty. Pale grey eyes—cold and calculating—cut through the flicker of candlelight. There’s a ruthless stillness in the way he holds himself, like violence is his second skin, like he’s never had to raise his voice to make someone disappear.
The man who made me an orphan.
The man who’s spent years hunting me like I’m a missing piece of his empire.
The man who thinks what he stole is still his.
I set the timer on my watch. Check my chamber. Signal to Chester, who gives a slow, measured nod.
Then we move.
Our gunfire cracks through the air—controlled, relentless. We aim for heads and chests first, giving no room for response. No time to reach for weapons. No time to scream. Just impact and collapse.
Rush dives from his chair, scrambling for the gun at his side, but Chester fires first—straight through his hand. The weapon skids across the tile, useless.
The rest of the men fall like dominos. I’ve run this scenario too many times in my head to miss. Each shot is clean. Intentional.
When the final bullet falls, only two are left breathing: Rush and the henchman slumped to his left.
I cross the room slowly, wiping my gun with a handkerchief before setting it down on the table. The sound of metal against wood echoes louder than it should.
My men rush inside to move bodies and bullets, painting the scene the way I need it to be.
“I’ll be outside in five minutes, Chester,” I say. “You and the men need to give me some time alone with Mr. Banks.”
“As you wish.”
They disappear through the side door, which slams shut behind them like a period at the end of a sentence.
Rush is wounded but conscious. Bleeding but far from dead. If someone called an ambulance, he’d be in and out of surgery within the hour—and back to orchestrating chaos by morning.
“Mister Edward Rochester,” he says, lips split, blood trickling down his chin. “Nice to see you.”
“I’ll never be able to say the same.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a man elude me for so long,” he muses. “Your layers of protection always fascinated me. You fascinate me.”
“Again,” I say. “I’ll never be able to say the same.”
He laughs through a wince and places a bloodied hand against his chest.
“Hit me right here. I think that would be quite fitting.”
I glance at the other man—barely conscious, barely worth sparing.
I lift my second gun and fire four rounds into his chest, silencing him for good.
Rush watches without flinching.
“Cost of the game,” he murmurs. “I’m very impressed with you, for what it’s worth.”
“You don’t need to talk to die,” I say, stepping closer. “Silence is best.”
“I shot your mom right here.” He taps the same spot on his chest. “Two holes in her heart. Sorry I had to do that. She seemed like a nice woman.”
I don’t respond.
My finger hovers over the trigger.
“Your father begged me not to kill her—or anyone else,” he continues, voice softening like it’s supposed to mean something. “He said, ‘Just take me. Just take me.’”
“I remember.”
“Where exactly were you hiding?” He spits blood onto the floor. “I’ve always wanted to know.”
“Safe room.”
“It must have been devastating... hearing your entire family die from behind a wall,” he says. “Almost as painful as realizing I somehow missed one—the smart one.”
“Flattery won’t save you today.”
“I’m betting on that. I’m just filling time until you pull the trigger—if you’ll pull the trigger.”
Trust me, I will… “I’m just waiting for something.”
His brow lifts at the same time sirens wail in the distance. Red and blue lights flicker across the windows, painting the walls in waves of consequence.
“Hurry up, Ryder,” he says. “I’m ready to see my men on the other side.”
“I’m not giving you that satisfaction.” I press the gun to his temple. “As much as I’d love to see you buried beneath the filth you created, I’d rather you rot. I want you to wake up every day in agony. I want your pain to be slow.”
“Stop grandstanding,” he snaps. “You’re no better than I am.”
“You hired someone to set that fire at my estate,” I say coldly. “You killed people who had nothing to do with this just to make me look like a monster who’d murder his own guests.”