In Seconds

A cruiser sat in the driveway. But Ink wasn’t worried about it. There was no one inside. The cop who normally drove it wasn’t even on duty. He had to be in his house, asleep, like the other neighbors on the street. “He probably lives there. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” L.J. looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. “This is crazy, man!”

“Stop! He won’t even know we’re around.”

The kid was so nervous he kept glancing behind them, shifting from foot to foot, sighing aloud or doing any number of other irritating things, like hocking a loogie every five seconds. Ink was about to tell him to go wait in the truck, which they’d hidden behind some trees part-way around the lake. He didn’t want L.J. to ruin his victory. But he needed a wingman, someone to help if the situation got out of control, especially with a cop possibly living next door. He didn’t want to risk getting caught before his revenge was complete. He still had Virgil and Rex on his list.

Fortunately, he wasn’t too worried that he’d run into problems. If he played it smart, he’d be in and out of her house without creating a disturbance, and be long gone by morning. It wasn’t as if she lived all that close to her neighbors. The cop wasn’t far away, but the other three homes were strung out like pearls falling from a broken necklace—like that one of his mother’s he’d once broken, on purpose.

She’d been so sorry to lose that strand of pearls…?.

Remembering her tears, he smiled. He’d kept a handful of those milky-white globes in his pocket for days, so he could reach in and touch them whenever he wanted. They’d been a gift from her father, all she had from him, and he’d taken that away from her.

He was going to take more than a string of pearls from Laurel, although he liked the idea of using a necklace to choke her. He could creep into her room and find something like that, the belt of a robe or a pair of panty hose, maybe. She’d wake up when he slipped it around her neck, but she’d be disoriented and groggy and, before she was lucid, he’d yank the necklace or belt so tight she wouldn’t be able to breathe. Her eyes would fly open and show him the terror he wanted to see.

Then he’d tear the clothes from her body…?.

Imagining her utterly and completely at his mercy, unable to even scream, sent a shudder of pleasure through him as powerful as any climax he’d ever experienced. Sex had never been easy for him. He’d never felt what he was supposed to feel—no tenderness, no sense of connection, no relief of tension, ever. Violence, on the other hand, came as naturally as breathing. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d get his first boner since the shooting. That would be fitting, wouldn’t it? He’d punish Laurel for crippling him by tying her legs apart and raping her.

Nothing but the best for Virgil’s sister.

And if he couldn’t get an erection, he could be creative, use the most painful objects he could find. One way or another, he’d be satisfied, and she’d be sorry.

Sorry she ever met him.

Sorry she’d tried to defy him.

Sorry she’d ever been born.

Drawing a deep breath so he could handle the excitement, he gazed at the stillness of the lake gleaming like a mirror beneath the half-moon overhead. He’d tossed the electric can opener he’d used to bludgeon the old guy into the lake, but he didn’t let that bother him. He wouldn’t let anything ruin this moment. Not only did he finally have Laurel, she was the key to all the rest. The key to finding Virgil, who thought he was so damn great. And the key to finding Rex, who owed him more than any of the others.

“Come on, man, let’s get this over with,” L.J. muttered.

Ink nearly whirled on him. “Shut up! You’re not going to ruin this for me, you hear?”

Scowling, L.J. backed up a step. “What’s wrong with you? We’re in a hurry. She lives next door to a cop, man. Why else would that cruiser be there? We need to get this over with.”

“I don’t want to get it over with. I want to take my time.”

“Oh, my God, you’re loving every second.”

There was that disgust again. It infuriated Ink. L.J. had no right to make him feel inferior. L.J. was just a kid; he could never do all the things Ink had been able to accomplish.

But Laurel and her children came first. “Damn right,” he said from between gritted teeth, “and it only gets better from here.”

Whispering for L.J. to stand guard at the front door and to shoot anyone who came through it, he made his way around to the back of the house, where he used his elbow to break out the small square of glass closest to the door handle.

The noise reverberated around him like a symphony of promise but not loudly enough for anyone else to hear. He watched the cop’s house for a couple of minutes, searching for any response, any change, and there wasn’t one.

Then he stepped inside.

Too worked up to relax, Myles paced the hallway outside Marley’s room. He’d deposited Vivian on his daughter’s bed at least fifteen minutes ago. Despite her protests that he’d hurt his back if he didn’t put her down, he’d managed without so much as a twinge. She was tall but didn’t weigh much. Now she was tucked in and fast asleep.