Now, I’m in the back of a cab finally heading home, my foot tapping against the floorboard because the driver is following every traffic rule, playing it safe, driving me so goddamned mad that I imagine every possible way I can kill him quietly and dispose of the body.
The timing of this couldn’t have been worse. Had I not been out of town, I would have my car, I would be breaking every traffic law, and I would be inside my penthouse right this second.
But I’m not.
Fortunately, the drive only takes another fifteen minutes, and after I’ve mind-stabbed the driver every time he stopped at a yellow light or took too long at a stop sign, I pay him and climb out of the car, my stride eating the ground between the street and the elevator, my body practically vibrating as I insert my key, input the code and wait out the short ride with my teeth grinding together.
The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and my stare meets Lincoln’s where he stands in the hallway awaiting my return.
“She’s still alive.”
I shoulder past him without saying a word, drop my bag on the ground in the living room and head straight for the guest room. I won’t believe anything until I see it for myself.
The amount of bruises on her face and body are going to matter. I’ll count each one, dedicate them to memory, and be sure to return them to Grant before ending his miserable life.
His won’t be an easy death. More like the worst I can imagine. And the thought only brings me a little peace as I step into the shadow of her dark room and approach the bed.
Adeline lies motionless over the mattress, the blanket tugged up to her chin, but her face is so swollen, she won’t be able to open her eyes fully for a day or two.
He beat her to a damn pulp.
Rage blooms through me like algae in warm water. It becomes a virus racing through my veins, infecting every cell, locking every muscle in place as I stare down at her.
But I’m not just mad at Grant.
I’m mad at myself.
It would be ignorant of me not to realize I had a part in this.
And that just pisses me off more.
I hate it when Adeline is still. She hasn’t so much as twitched a finger in the time I’ve spent watching her.
It has to be the drugs.
She’ll never touch the fucking things again.
I turn and walk out of the room. A man on a mission. A blade that will gut Grant Cabot and feed his intestines to him as he screams and bleeds out.
There are so many different ways I can imagine his death that it’s difficult to pick just one.
“What are you going to do now?”
Shutting her door quietly, I pull my keys from my pocket and lock it from the outside. It’s fucked up, I know that, but I can’t have her waking up and stumbling into the living room where a new nightmare awaits her.
“I’m going to kill Grant Cabot.”
Lincoln follows me as I march into the living room, grab my computer from my bag, toss it on the surface of the grand piano and flip it open.
“Well, that’s obvious. But how do you plan on doing that without two and two being put together? People will remember you, Ari. A week isn’t much time for them to believe you’re out of the picture.”
“I’ll wait it out,” I answer as I access Grant’s camera again, my lips curling at the corners to see him standing with police in his foyer, an expression of feigned panic on his face.
“He’s called the cops,” I mention, scanning through the cameras in the other rooms to see a forensics team in the bedroom analyzing the broken French doors and photographing the blood on the floor.
Fucking dumbass. Doesn’t he know the first thing they’ll check is his security system? It might clue them in when they watch him beating Adeline. With that thought, I check the archives and curse under my breath.
“He’s smart.”
Lincoln cocks a brow in question.
“He erased the footage of the beating.”
I was a little surprised he had the forethought to do so, but apparently Grant thought along the same lines as me. I’d already erased everything from the night I went to their house for dinner so he had no record of me.
“Don’t you think the cops will wonder why it’s missing?”