Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Wait here.” I throw my blanket off me just as Poppy’s hand comes to mine.
“No, Lenny, I don’t want you to go down there. We just have to wait. Remember what happened last time?”
“Yeah,” I say, shoving on my shoes and grabbing the Glock that’s tucked beneath the mattress of my bed. Stole it from him because I knew I’d need it one day. “I stopped it. Just stay here.”
I don’t give Poppy enough time to answer because I’m heading out my bedroom door, closing it gently behind me. Poppy knows what needs to be done for the most part. She isn’t stupid. The house is too silent. Even as I pass the family portraits hanging on the walls, the silence grows. The perfect family. I don’t recognize them. A father, mother, and a perfect doting son. Fuck that and him, whoever he is.
I hit the high archway that leads into the lounge room when I stop my movement. The flames from the fire lick up the cobblestone fireplace, crackling among the embers, and there he stands, holding the marble ornament he bought her for their twentieth anniversary. He’s tall, well over six-foot-five, and has a body fat index below fifteen. He’s a beast. Trains in the gym every day and works the rest of the hours he isn’t training. I don’t know him much, to be fair. But from what I see, he isn’t someone who you physically want to come toe-to-toe with.
He falls back onto the occasional chair that’s tucked beside the fireplace, dropping the heavy marble ornament onto the carpet. The lounge room is adjacent to the dining room, but I can’t see over the table. I don’t have to, though, because I know. I know he has finally done it, and honestly, thank fuck, because I’m over it.
I clock the trigger on the gun and he jolts up, turning over his shoulder to look directly at me. His eyes are the same as mine in color, and I hate it.
I round the kitchen chair, gun still raised and on him as I shuffle further in. Seeing her lifeless body lying in a puddle of blood doesn’t shock me as much as it would have others.
She never could get out. I didn’t hate her for that, she did what she needed to do and what she thought would keep herself safe.
“Sit down, son. I think it’s about time you have a drink.” He tugs off his tie around his neck and tosses it onto the floor beside him. He was always away for business, buying new properties or meeting investors to buy more.
He’s a fucking criminal. We all know it.
“I’m good.” I lower myself onto the chair opposite his, keeping the gun aimed on him and resting my foot against the coffee table. Now with her gone, and the empty text message on my phone, this is going to be easy. “You’re not going to shoot me, Wicked.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the top of his thighs. His brow curves upward in challenge, and I have to force myself to not pounce forward. To not lose my cool and let my rage out. I don’t need to prove myself to him.
Not now.
And not ever.
“Actually,” I say, turning the gun on its side. I can’t show weakness. It will give Jared a chance to jump forward and take the gun, and even worse than that—kill Poppy. “I would.” Years of rage and anger simmer below my surface because I know. I know how to release it. I just have to be patient. The downfall of a killer is the loss of patience, and I have plenty. Clearly.
“What are you going to do, Wicked? Shoot me? Then leave little Poppy out here for the system, hmmm? No…” He leans back against the leather, resting his ankle on his knee. “You won’t do that because you don’t have the kind of wickedness you need inside of you to pull that trigger, so I’ll tell you what.” He pauses, reaching into the inside of his suit jacket and pulling out a packet of smokes. “I’ll save your punishment for Poppy.” The corner of his mouth curves around his white teeth and I snap. My finger squeezes the trigger, and I watch as if in slow motion as the center of his forehead explodes from the impact of the bullet. Blood splatters over the back wall, onto the hot coals in the fireplace, and sprays over my face. I knew what I had to do. To protect her. I will always do what I need to do to protect Poppy, and even though I failed this time, I’m not ever going to with Poppy.
A branch snaps from outside the window, and I slide down onto the carpet beside her, brushing her blonde hair away from her face. Strands are matted with dark red goo, sticking to her cheek. She still wears the red lipstick she wore every day, bruises on her cheek fading from last week. Overall, she didn’t deserve the shit she put up with. She was a good woman.