Abel sees it, too. His fingers close around my wrist, shoving, twisting, almost tearing the gun free from me. His breath reeks of chemicals and sweat as he snarls in my face, “You don’t get it. You can’t touch me.”
Oh, can’t I? I’ve fought far stronger men than you, you piece of shit.I wrench sideways, slam his shoulder into the wall, and jam the barrel up beneath his chin.
I could finish this in a second. One bullet and it’s over, but it has to be clean. A gunshot will draw too much attention. I must make his death look like an accident.
The rage drains from Abel’s eyes, replaced by something colder—arrogance. A crooked smile curls his mouth, split and bleeding. “Go on, pull it. I dare you.” He tips his head back against the wall, grinning like a lunatic. “You can’t, can you? You know about my little app. If I don’t check in, Birdie is toast. All her dirty little secrets go wide. Every filthy thing she’s done. You put a bullet in me, and you bury her, too. She’ll rot in prison before she rots in hell where she fucking belongs.”
He thinks he’s won, that he’s untouchable. I should rip his tongue out and dice it into dog food for talking about Reagan like that.
“You mean the lies you’re spinning with your buddy Shane. I wonder what happens if he’s no longer available to cooperate. How the fuck would you prove anything in your pathetic little fabricated story?”
He snarls. “What the fuck did she make you do, Morra?”
Ding.
The sound of his phone chiming from the living room slices the apartment. A message. One he isn’t expecting. His eyes flick down to the hallway.
I smirk, pulling him out of the room, switching the gun to the back of his head. Then I push him against the table where his phone lies next to an array of drugs, powder bags, pills and syringes. He’s definitely evolved from prescription meds to crack. “Go ahead. Check it out.”
He does. Curiosity always kills the arrogant. His thumb swipes the screen. A photo blooms to life. Shane. Face pale, body slumped in a prison cot, blood blooming across his blue shirt. A shiv buried deep.
The color drains from Abel’s face.
With the right amount of money, anything is possible. During my very productive visit to Raiford, I’ve learned that you don’t need much to get a scumbag like Shane shanked.
Shane wasn’t the only one who got a tablet that day. I was generous with several others. It’s rather sad that something as trivial as a device that allows poor inmates to reach their families anytime, charged for a year in advance, can earn you kill favors.
I wasn’t gonna use them until it was necessary. Shane sending that message to Abel made it happen. “On the other hand, we have evidence that you are the creep that has been sending Birdie the sick notes.”
“What the fuck?”
Ding.
That’s the hotel video Ashford has shown us.
He shakes his head, manic laughter bubbling up. “Birdie isn’t what you think she is. She’s poison. She’ll gut you the way she gutted me. You’ll see. You’llallsee.”
In a heartbeat, he explodes forward and ducks. The next thing I know he’s throwing the table at me. I fall back. Wood splinters. Pill bottles roll. His filthy syringes scatter across the floor. The gun skids out of reach, clattering under the couch.
Abel grabs a shard of wood, swings it and catches me across the jaw. I punch him in the teeth. His head whips to the other side, and then he pulls something from his pants. It glints as he drives it into my arm. A fucking knife.
Pain sears through me as he dives for the gun. I ignore the burning in my arm and lunge, catching his wrist just as his fingers close around his Glock. The barrel jerks toward me. My own reflection stares back from the hollow muzzle.
He grins through bloody teeth. “Looks like you lose, soldier boy. Birdie is mine. Eight fucking years of my life I’ve done nothing but lose myself, my mind, my soul, to that bitch. I earned her. She can’t just toss me around and replace me with a fucked-up loser like you.”
Growling, I slam his hand against the floor, the Glock half an inch from my face. My free hand scrabbles through the wreckage until it closes around the one weapon I’d like to use tonight.
One of his syringes.
I don’t hesitate. I stab it into his arm.
Abel’s eyes flare wide, the manic grin breaking into shock. He tries to pull the trigger, but his muscles slack, and the gun drops from his grip.
I shove him off me, sucking in air, securing the gun, arm and jaw screaming. “She was never yours. She’s always meant to be mine.”
Blake Abel twitches on the floor, pupils blown, just like my father during the last moments of his sorry existence. I crouch over him, blood dripping from my mouth, and whisper, “When you clicked on the photo and the video I’ve sent you, it captured your biometrics and sent them to me. You can kiss your dead man’s switch app goodbye. I can now check in and delete the message you have in there.” I give him another dose.
“You’ve made the worst mistake of your life.” His eyes droop. “You should read the message before you erase it. You’ll know why.”