Something inside of me that was mastered a very long time ago tells me that tonight is the night he makes his move. I have that same feeling running down my spine that I got when my grandfather would look over at me displeased about something or the way the air felt in the house on certain mornings before I even got out of the bed.
I ignore the burn on my back, knowing it’s phantom pain. The jagged mark was made over twenty years ago, a punishment by dear old grandaddy because I was unable to control my father’s actions. If my father hadn’t killed my mother, he’d be around instead of leaving my lessons up to an old man. My grandfather never let me forget what a fucking burden my presence was. Each day was a reminder. Each day marked with pain and a level of education I never asked for.
I parked my truck around the block, and just like it was difficult to stay hidden at Varon’s house in Telluride, it’s difficult now outside Sylvie Davis’s house. Spade, the same Cerberus member that accompanied her to Colorado, is inside with her now. I don’t know if they’ve just gotten complacent or if they’ve gotten intel about Varon’s whereabouts that I’m not privileged to, but there is no longer a Cerberus SUV parked out front.
They’re in there alone, and this would be the time that he’d strike. The man is egotistical enough to think he could take on one club member, but not dumb enough to think he could manage any more than that. I have no idea what Varon’s mental state is these days, but knowing he’s been lurking around town is a clear indication he’s not thinking straight.
He’s had more than enough time to leave the country, but he hasn’t taken it. For some reason, he seems desperate to seek revenge. Sylvie Davis has nothing to do with his true self being discovered, but he’s a narcissistic piece of shit and needs to blame someone other than the woman he killed before leaving Telluride.
A shadow moves across her lawn, but I hold tight in the darkness, having found a better vantage point behind a tree in her neighbor’s yard.
My heart doesn’t race. I don’t wonder about different outcomes. I’m not concerned about Sylvie Davis or her male companion inside.
What I do work through my head is how I need to react. Killing this man could bring a storm of hell into my own life, but as easily as he could’ve disappeared, so could I.
I didn’t have to stick around town after dropping that little girl off. I could’ve easily headed back to Texas or found a different job, but something about this man bothers me. The outcome of what he did doesn’t seem settled.
It’s not Greta. That stupid bitch had the chance to leave, and rather than hauling ass out of town, she walked right back into the lion’s den. Look where it got her? Fucking dead.
As much as I don’t want to think about it, I know it’s the little girl.
I didn’t get details about what happened to her, but I know she suffered. I doubt she was just beaten. Men like William Varon don’t keep pretty little girls in captivity because they want daughters. They’re there for horrible reasons.
Instead of breaking in like I expect, Varon rings the doorbell like he’s an old friend or someone delivering a fucking pizza.
The balls on this man.
I hear yelling from inside the house just as the front door opens. It isn’t Spade standing in the doorway but a frozen Sylvie Davis. She looks utterly terrified, as she should. It makes me wonder what Lauren would do in this situation. I have no doubt she’d pull a gun from thin air and put a bullet between Varon’s eyes, but Sylvie isn’t trained like Lauren is.
The porch light glints off the knife in the man’s hand, and it seems to be his weapon of choice. I can give him credit for sticking to what he knows even though a gun would get his revenge much quicker.
“Hi, Sylvie,” the man says, the sound of her name so sinister it makes me wonder how she never suspected him of being a monster.
“Will,” she says, the tremble in her voice making her fear known.
I inch closer, making no noise as I approach. If she were to look over his shoulder, she’d see me, but her focus is on the weapon in his hand.
“I came to give you a gift.” Varon has a necklace dangling from his free hand as I pull my gun from my waistband.
I don’t know the significance of that stupid fucking piece of jewelry, but it has the power to nearly bring Sylvie to her knees.
Sentimental shit is dangerous. People will do anything to keep it close. It’s why I don’t own anything I can’t leave behind. It gives people power over you, and that’s something I’ve avoided my entire life.
“No. Please no,” she whispers, her voice taking on a broken note.
“You recognize it, don’t you?” Varon taunts. The locket at the end sways back and forth, but the knife in his other hand remains steady.
“My dad was livid when my cousin brought her home. I was very young, but I can still hear them arguing about taking a woman so close to where we lived. Dad was certain that it would bring the cops to our door. She had the power to bring down the entire organization.”
I have no idea why I’m still watching all of this go down. Maybe it’s the tears on her cheeks, or the sureness in his voice despite Spade standing only a few feet behind Sylvie. The man has to know this isn’t going to go well for him. He isn’t just going to be able to walk away from Sylvie if he hurts her like he was able to do with Greta. There’s a very real chance the man will die tonight, and maybe that’s what he’s seeking. Maybe he’s ready for it all to be over for him.
“Lucky for us no one even filed a missing person report on her.” Sylvie is shaking her head as if the man is telling the truth but she just can’t believe it. “It was a gift, right? Something she always wore and never took off? My cousin told me she fought for it when it was pulled from her neck.”
“Will,” she says, the pleading in her tone making my skin crawl.
“Do you think she’d still love you today if she knew you gave up so easily on her?”
She begins to sob, her hand shaking as if she’s willing to risk her life to reach out and grab the thing out of his hand.