VANESSA
Yesterday, before the arrest
“Pablo, I’m going out. Lock the windows for me, will you? And don’t let anyone in unless it’s me,” I say as I put on my white gloves.
“Do you need a lift, madam?” he asks as he watches me put on my coat.
“No, thank you. I’d rather go alone.” The truth is that I don’t want anyone snooping around while I’m hunting for a killer.
Time to pay Phoenix Sullivan a visit. I’m going in broad daylight because I assume he won’t be home during the day and probably doesn’t expect me to come at this time. Always surprise your enemies.
I jump in my Aston Martin convertible and drive off, putting the address into my TomTom as I race through the streets. I’m just below the speed limit, so I won’t get a ticket but still able to get to his house quick.
When I get there, it’s not at all what I expected. A small apartment building in the middle of town, with noisy cars racing by, streetlights shining through the windows that probably keep the tenants awake, and an awfully rotten smell hanging in the air. Damn, I didn’t know killers could live like this. Well, the more you know…
I park my car somewhere hidden from the apartment building and then make my way to the front door. Before I go in, I check if there’s anyone following me or looking at me. When I know the coast is clear, I enter the building and go up the stairs.
Number fifteen is just above, and the closer I get, the harder my heart is beating. I’m starting to wonder if he’s really not home. I mean, would killers kill in broad daylight? Maybe not. Maybe he’s home, waiting for me so he can strike me down where I’m vulnerable … in his own home. I’m walking into my own grave.
Except, the moment I realize this could all go to hell, I’ve already knocked on the door.
I wanted to make sure nobody was home.
What a stupid move.
I want to slap myself in the face for even considering it, but now it’s too late. The handle is moving, the lock fiddled with, and then the creaky door opens. I swallow away the fear seeping down my throat, which feels blocked as I face the person who steps forward.
It’s a woman.
Confused, I part my lips, but I have no idea what to say. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here, let alone a woman. I’m a bit flabbergasted.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asks.
Frowning, I gaze at her. She looks so familiar, but I don’t know why.
“Uh …” I briefly shake my head to pull myself together. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit confused. I thought a guy named Phoenix lived here?”
“Yeah, he does, but he isn’t here right now.” The door closes a little, and I get the sense that she isn’t so keen on actually helping at all.
I place my hand on the door. “Wait.”
She looks up at me with frightened doe-like eyes, her fingers clutching around the wood in an attempt to brace herself for what’s coming. And that’s when I realize why she looks so familiar. Those eyes, that voice, the way she moves … My jaw drops.
“It’s you …” I mumble. “You live in his house … You’re Phoenix’s girlfriend?”
She looks confused. “Yes, but please leave now.”
Oh, my god. I can’t believe it.
Phoenix’s girlfriend is the same woman who slept with my husband.
Within a second, my gloved hands are around her throat as I push her inside and slam the door shut with my heel. No one needs to see or hear what’s going to happen in here.
***
PHOENIX
With a nice cash withdrawal, I make my way back to the car, ensuring I’ve tucked the money safely in my bag. I throw it in the backseat of the car and drive off. It’s not much, but it’s more than any man normally carries, which is why I’m careful not to run into any police by driving cautiously.
My girl doesn’t know about this money. She thinks I’m a poor salesman, and I’d rather keep it that way. Fuck, if she knew I was carrying this much cash, she’d try to pry it from my fingers. She’d probably even go as far as to rake it from underneath my dead body, that money hungry bitch.
Nope, no way I’m ever going to tell her what I really do for a living. Besides, it’s too complicated and too many things at once. I’m what you call a jack-of-all-trades. If they want me to kill, I kill. If they want me to sell drugs or torture someone, I will do just that. I don’t care what or where, I will get the job done, which is why people like to pay me.
Don’t judge me. I do what I must to survive.
Besides, it’s not like I’m the only one with a questionable profession. My girl isn’t a saint, either. She works at a strip club where customers love to take pictures of the women, including mine. I don’t mind, it’s not like they’re competition anyway.
Unless, of course, she tries to fuck them. In which case, I will bury them alive.
Don’t fucking touch my girl. I don’t love her, hell, I don’t even fucking like the bitch, but her pussy is mine and no other man will get between those legs. Ever. Which is also one of the reasons Phillip Starr is now dead.
I park my car close to the building and go up to my apartment. When I reach number fifteen, the door is open.
“What the …”
I tread carefully through the door, trying not to make a sound. I don’t know what the fuck happened here, but I sure as hell won’t be caught by surprise by some burglar. The curtains are closed and the lights are off, which turned the living room dark. I find the light switch and flip it on.
What I find in the middle of the room shocks me so much that I throw my keys so hard they make a hole in the wall.
“Fucking hell!”
My girl is tied up in a chair, her head hanging, showing no sign of life. I rush to her side and press a finger against her neck. No pulse.
“Fuck!” I fish in my pocket and take out the Swiss Knife I always carry with me and cut through the ropes that bind her, which turn out to be the ropes that kept the curtains together. I grab her lifeless body and place it on the ground. That’s when I notice the foam bubbling out of her mouth.
“Oh, fuck no …” I mumble, pressing my hands on her chest.
I start pumping, using both hands to push down on her ribs. However, nothing seems to jumpstart her heart. After a few minutes, I give up and sit down with my head resting on the chair, sweat drops dripping down my back. Panting, I throw the knife on the floor and growl.
She’s gone. I might not have loved her, but she lived with me for quite a few weeks, and I did actually enjoy her presence, unlike most women I spend time with. I can’t believe she’s gone. I might actually miss her. I didn’t want her to die. It wasn’t her time yet. Someone killed her, and it wasn’t me.
Fuck that. I know who it was and what it was. She was poisoned, and from the smell of it, I know exactly where it was taken from.
I get up from the floor and search through the cabinets in my kitchen, throwing aside all other herb pots. I don’t even care that they break apart on the floor, leaving a mess, as I fly through the cabinets looking for that one fucking bottle. The same bottle I used on Phillip Starr.
That one bottle is now gone.
And I know exactly who took it.
I know she saw my license plate, but fuck, I didn’t think she’d actually go for it. I thought I scared her enough. Guess I was wrong. Fuck! I fucking hate her. She fucking dared to step foot into my house and murder my girlfriend? She’ll fucking pay for this. I’ll make sure of it.
Rage boils up inside me, consuming me whole, as I roar out loud. “Vanessa!”
