How the Hitman Stole Christmas - Sam Mariano Page 0,90
the most white bread individual I’ve ever met. If he ever committed a crime, it would be some boring white collar thing, like embezzling or tax evasion.
“He didn’t tell you,” Brady realizes, scrutinizing my reaction. “Apparently, I wasn’t kind enough on the voice mail I left my faithless girlfriend. Your new criminal boyfriend thought someone should pay me a visit and tell me to be a little nicer to you.”
“Okay, you know what? That’s enough. I am not a faithless girlfriend. You’re a dick, Brady. The reason I’m not your girlfriend anymore? It’s because you’re a dick. You didn’t treat me right, and you didn’t deserve to keep me. It isn’t because I left you for anybody. If that’s the story you want to tell to vilify me, you go right ahead, but the truth is, I should have dumped your ass a long time ago.”
Brady’s shock that I’ve talked back to him is so great, his jaw hangs open. It takes him a moment to recover, and when he does, his eyes are alight with fury. “Me? I’m the dick? I’m the bad guy? You’re the one that decided to dump me so you could be some gangster’s whore. Those guys might have money, Autumn, but make no mistake, they’re the scum of the Earth. If you think I’m bad, you are in for a real shock, babe. Your new guy? Yeah, he’s a lot fucking worse. Doesn’t matter which one it is, he’s a hell of a lot worse than me. They’re criminals, they’re murderers, they’re fucking sociopaths, and if you think it’s fun to mess with a dangerous guy like that, if you get some kind of sick thrill out of it, go ahead. But it will end badly. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Brady looks so satisfied with himself at the end of his obnoxious rant, I want to smack the smug look right off his exceptionally punchable face. “You know what, Brady? If he’s so terrible and he treated me infinitely better than you ever did, then what does that say about you?”
His eyes narrow with dislike, but before he can respond, I hold up a hand to stop him.
“Unh-unh, no. That was a rhetorical question. You called me a whore—you don’t get to keep talking to me after that. You and I are no longer together. There is no reason for us to ever speak again. I would ask you to keep that in mind while we’re stuck on this flight together. Treat me like a stranger. I am one to you now, so you should get used to it. If you talk down to me now, I will not tolerate it. If you make me uncomfortable on the plane, I will tell a flight attendant and ask to be moved. I am not yours, and I’m done putting up with your shit.”
Brady stares at me for a moment, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and more than mildly offended. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
I laugh a little and shake my head. Even if I told him, he wouldn’t understand.
I don’t bother, though. Brady will never give up his victim card and take responsibility for the way he treated me when we were together. He’d much rather blame his problems on someone else than own up to his own bullshit.
While I’m thinking of it—and so he doesn’t have another excuse to speak to me—I reach into my inner coat pocket and draw out the envelope full of cash Jasper gave me in the car on the way here.
“Oh, and here. This is for the Christmas gifts.”
He eyes the envelope skeptically as if it might be a trick, then slowly reaches for it.
“I think there’s a tip in there for you, too,” I tell him with a wink, before turning my attention back to my phone.
The flight home is peaceful. I take the window seat and put on the noise-cancelling headphones Nora bought me for Christmas. They’re rose gold and they do a decent job of keeping Brady out of my ear. Since she’s a flight attendant, she said she can’t even help buying airplane-friendly gifts for people she does know, but since she didn’t know me, she went as general as possible.
She got me a lovely scented lotion as well. I slather it on after I take a shower to wash off all the airport muck, then I crawl into bed, because that’s all I really feel like doing.