Killer (The Company Book 2)

VANESSA

Days later

Rain pours down from above, crashing down onto our umbrellas. The sky is dark with gloom, thunder booming every so often. With clattering teeth, I hold onto my black dress so it doesn’t blow over my head. What a dreadful day. Not just the weather, though. Mostly the fact that we’re standing in the graveyard, watching my husband’s casket lower into the ground.

Arthur holds onto me, rubbing my arm as they start shoveling up the wet earth. I just watch the ordeal and try to picture myself crying. It’s the least I can do, even though it’s not working. Maybe thinking about it will work.

There aren’t many guests at his funeral. Half of his friends are inside, where it’s warm and comfy, waiting for the rest of us to come in as well … the other half was happy he was dead. I’m not sure which camp I belong to.

The hospital finally lets me out of their grasp after I begged them numerous times. I was so done with that place, especially after they got all suspicious about Arthur and me. As if we’re not allowed to hold hands and tell each other it’ll be okay. I don’t care if anyone thinks it’s wrong; we both needed someone who understood what we were going through.

He lost his brother, and I lost my husband. We both think Phillip is a complete douchebag. We’re both happy he’s gone. Glad that we finally get to spend time with each other without him looking over our shoulders.

Even if it’s wrong, it’s too good to deny.

I should feel upset about Phillip’s death, but all I feel is anger. Toward him, but also his killer. Why was I involved? Was it an accident? Maybe my husband was supposed to die from the poison, and we weren’t supposed to get into the car. Maybe it didn’t go as planned, and maybe I was a loose end in the entire scheme.

If so, I bet he isn’t counting on me remembering everything.

He probably knows I survived, so he must be watching us closely. I doubt he’ll take the news well if he finds out I can recall the name of my husband’s killer.

Waiting for the sand to fill the grave is not a good time to be pondering these things, but still I can’t stop thinking about it. I never expected it to be him—the man I slept with at the party, out of all people. It’s as if the devil himself played me.

Maybe he knew all along. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe I was just another conquest, just another person he could kill.

Grinding my teeth, I grab Arthur’s hand and entwine my fingers with his. The glass that I gave to him poisoned my husband, but I will not go down for this. I’m not the murderer here. I will find the real one, and I will bring him to justice. Whatever the cost.

***

PHOENIX

From a distance, I watch the crowd as they bend over his grave. The umbrella I’m carrying barely keeps the rain from soaking my coat, but at least it’s something. I fucking hate the rain. I prefer sunny days over any other, especially when there’s a funeral. Nothing dampens a happy day more than rain, and this should be one fucking marvelous day.

I eliminated my target. The grave has been dug. The casket containing his body has been lowered into the ground. It’s truly done. Mission accomplished.

However, that woman and my stupid conscience interfering with the job really put a damper on everything. Just by rescuing her, I put myself at risk. If she remembers anything about that day, then she knows I’m the one who murdered her husband. Judging from the way she acted around me, I don’t think she’d be afraid to fight me on who’s responsible for his death. Even though she was the one who ultimately pulled the trigger on him, I was the one who handed her the weapon.

I don’t think she’ll be pleased.

The thought alone makes me grin.

I love it when people are angry with me. Makes for a good show.

She doesn’t know I’m here, and she doesn’t need to know. I’ve been watching her for days, listening to conversations, hoping to catch something that indicates she remembers. If she’s going to tell anyone what she knows, I’d rather be prepared than sorry.

The way she holds the hand of the man next to her pisses me off, though. Not just because I fucked her, hell no, I’m never jealous. No, I hate it because it means they’re getting close … and whoever she gets close to will learn the truth eventually. No one is safe. No one can be trusted. Everyone will turn into my enemy in the blink of an eye.

I’d rather not cause more deaths than necessary, but if she starts hunting for the truth, I can’t promise anything. Not even if she begs me to … although, of course, I would love to hear it. I can already hear her raspy voice as she asks me to spare her life, touching my body with those soft hands of hers. So desperate to save herself, that she’d even let me fuck her … over and over again until finally I’d kill her anyway. Because that’s just how I roll.

I have one rule for anyone who dares to come into my life; don’t fuck with me, or I’ll fucking kill you. I make zero exceptions. Just because you have a vagina doesn’t mean you’re any less likely to die.

I snort as the crowd near the grave starts to walk away, with the exception of Mister and Missus hold-hands. She leans up against him, and he wraps his hands tightly around her body. Aww … they’re hugging. How sweet. Barf.

If I wasn’t fucking forced to watch her and make sure she didn’t tell on me, I would’ve gone over there and thrown him into the grave with that other bastard. They both belong there anyway. Yeah, I know they’re brothers, but I also know neither of them is good, even though this one portrays himself to be. Fucking liars, all of them, including her. They’re all living a lie, and they know it. And I’m here wondering when the fuck they’re all going to wake up and see what they’re doing.

Too bad for me, it’s only going to get worse. The guy next to her caresses her cheek as she gazes into his eyes. She looks upset, confused even, but I can’t tell well from this distance. However, what I can clearly see is when he leans in to kiss her.

Fucking hell.

Now I want to kill him, too.

Luckily, she takes her lips off his very quickly, and she leans away from him. I guess dear brother-in-law didn’t quite cut it. Of course … no kiss matches up to mine. I’m probably still haunting her dreams … and nightmares … and I wouldn’t have it any other way.