Aric James …
Jillian clenched her teeth like an animal ready to tear apart its prey. Cage, AJ’s parents, Dodge and Lilith, they paid their final respects to him without her. Some things could never be undone. AJ—she’d never see him again. The coward hiding behind the glare of lights would die. Two men were ripped from her life. Her actions no longer mattered. Jessica and Jude—Jillian and Jackson—would always be killers. New identities in a city surrounded by miles of manure changed nothing.
“I’m going to kill you.”
The woman returned a cynical laugh. “That’s quite the declaration coming from someone naked and hog-tied.”
“Fuck!” Jillian seethed. Pain radiated down her arm from the razor-tipped arrow that had just sunk into her shoulder.
“I can’t break your neck. Hell, it took me thirty minutes to get your body dragged down here. But I can land these in any part of your body with laser precision. So keep that in mind as you plan my death.”
“What do you want?” Jillian grunted, holding still to prevent the arrow tip from moving.
“I want to prove that I’m not a fool. All of you will see that I’m smarter than the rest of you combined.”
“All? Who’s all of you?”
“G.A.I.L.”
Releasing a slow breath, Jillian let the pain in her shoulder go and concentrated on the reality of her situation. The woman knew G.A.I.L., therefore she knew everything.
“Good girl. You were trained to not say anything. That’s fine. I’ll do the talking. Guardian Angels for Innocent Lives. It’s quite poetic and beautiful. Wouldn’t you agree? Named after Gail Brighton, wife to founder, Edgar Brighton, mother to Peter Brighton and me.”
“They only had one child.”
“Speaking already, are you? Not as good at following the rules as I thought. You are correct. They had one child together, although we both know Peter was never actually born. He died in the womb the day she was murdered. Gail had two children. I was her first. My father left when I was seven. My mother married Edgar five years later because she was pregnant with his child, Peter. Edgar never liked me. He thought of me as the poster child for childhood obesity, and I looked nothing like my mom so all he saw in me was my father. He shipped me off to boarding school. I returned home three weeks shy of winter break to attend the funeral of my mother and brother—half-brother.”
Jillian did the math. Her captor had to be about forty-two.
“I didn’t know your mother. I’ve seen Edgar maybe a handful of times, but I’ve only talked to him once, when my father first introduced us.”
“I concur. You see, I know more about you and your family than you do. No worries. Before you die—because you and everyone else will have to die of course—I will enlighten you. The look on your face will be priceless. It always is when someone has their dreams shattered.”
Jillian didn’t have dreams or anything left to shatter. The mentally-unstable woman would be sorely disappointed.
“Who’s your accomplice?”
“What makes you think I have an accomplice?”
“Your intention to make everyone pay. Surely you have help.”
“Once again, there’s a ridiculous amount of irony in your words. I have the great Jessica Day at my mercy, and I did it all by myself. I know how you’ve been trained. But let me tell you a little secret: the most dangerous weapon is revenge with the brains to execute it.”
“I don’t even know you. Never knew you existed.”
“Would you have let my husband fuck you if you would have known about me?”
The impossible comprehension sent pain sledgehammering through Jillian’s head, obliterating all coherent thoughts. Aching muscles screamed for a reprieve from the restraints. A cold tingling sensation settling in her fingers as blood oozed from her shoulder.
“Who’s your husband?”
“Does it matter? The correct answer is ‘No. I would never commit adultery.’”
“I’m not a home-wrecker.”
“Bullshit! Both you and your mother lusted after my husband.”
Again, the hollow breath of an exhale followed a long puffing noise. It sounded familiar, but Jillian couldn’t place it. Her mother was not a home-wrecker either. Sunny Day loved her husband and her children. She lived a good life. Jessica would have known if her mother cheated on her father. Furthermore, the idea of Jessica and her mother sharing a lover was beyond preposterous.
Jessica and Jude both had many lovers—one-night stands—over the years. The difference was Jessica wanted a relationship. Jude did not. The women Jude fucked threw their phone numbers at him. The men Jessica fucked threw her out the door with a string of expletives that included “psycho” and “sick bitch.”
Not Luke. He loved her. Completely. Unconditionally. Eternally.
*
Jones
Jessica was alive.
Time didn’t exist for Luke, neither did his job. After waking in his bed with a slight concussion and Jessica’s forlorn expression branded into his memory, he drank six Heineken and passed out again. He woke eight hours later scrambling to the bathroom. Heineken wasn’t his friend that day.