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Keira
The hours spent on the road, strategizing the murder of one of my family, were some of the longest I’ve endured.
It’s not like I haven’t thought about Richard’s death before. I’ve pictured it. I’ve even paid a man to complete the task. But I’ve never discussed every intricate detail that would lead to his last breath.
Sarah spoke each word with emotional detachment. She didn’t appear fazed by the brutality. It was business. Nothing more. So I mimicked her demeanor, shoving all my fear and panic deep down inside.
I want this.
I need it.
His demise has to rest on my shoulders. I don’t want Sebastian to be responsible. Or Hunter. Or even Sarah.
This needs to be all me.
I’m just nervous as hell at pulling the metaphorical trigger.
What if I freeze? Or get caught?
What happens if I can’t think on my feet and I make a crucial mistake?
I suck in a shuddering breath, resting my hip against the cold metal of the car as I turn my attention to the hospital looming in front of me. The dominating building is bathed in shadow, the outside lights only illuminating the lower levels and leaving the dark rectangular windows to peer down at me.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sarah asks. Again. For the seventy-fifth time.
I’ve heard the question so many times it rings in my ears. “I’m sure.”
“And you don’t want me going in there with you?”
I wipe a hand over the arm of the leather jacket I borrowed, making sure the capped syringes are still firmly taped to my wrist. “No. It’s better if I do this on my own. Less suspicion that way.”
“We can only hope.” She steps closer, grabbing the fringe of the long black wig to give it a jiggle. “At least you don’t look recognizable.”
The different hair, the colored contacts, the fake lashes, along with the full mask of plastered make-up that accentuates my cheekbones and slims down my face, have all worked together to transform me into someone else.
Someone who will hopefully slip into the ICU without drawing attention.
“Will you call Sebastian and let him know what’s going on?” My heart clenches at the thought of him racing here to stop me. He needs to know he’ll never make it in time. He can’t. If he does, the whole plan could blow up in my face.
She nods. “He’s going to be pissed.”
“I know.” God, how I know. The guilt over the anger and disappointment he would be harboring claws at me, digging deep into my soul. “But he gave me no choice.”
This was my decision to make. Not his.
I’ll own my actions.
The consequences, too.
“Just remember to keep your cool.” Sarah continues to run her fingers through the long strands of the wig. “If something goes wrong, don’t panic. Most people get caught making rash decisions.”
I could laugh at the absurdity. Every decision I’ve made in the last three days has been rash.
Every. Single. One.
I don’t know how to think differently anymore. The adrenaline-filled snap decisions have become my new norm.
“And I know you don’t want to think about this…” She gives me a sad smile. “But if you get up there and can’t follow through, it’s not the end of the world. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay right here in the parking lot, so you can come back and ask for help at any time.”
She’s wrong.
I can’t back out twice. I don’t want to prove Sebastian right. It’s not an option. I failed a lot of women for not reporting my uncle when I was a child. And I’ve failed them every day since.
I won’t do it a moment longer.
“You’ve helped enough already.” I inch to the side, moving out of reach. “And we both came to the conclusion that this is an easy plan. In and out, remember? Undetected and u
“I never said easy, Keira.” Her brow furrows, the concern written all over her face. “Please tell me you’re not jumping into this without being emotionally prepared. I need to know you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” I lie. “I’ve been ready for years.”
I’m not ready. I never will be. But there’s no way in hell I’ll let fear keep me from giving Richard what he deserves.
“Okay.” She reaches into the car, grabs the large bouquet of flowers lying in wait, and maneuvers them out the window to hand them to me. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Thanks.” I grab the overbearing arrangement, holding it high in the crook of my elbow and take a steadying breath to keep the nerves at bay.
Taking the first step feels like the hardest part. I have to consciously think about putting one foot in front of the other. Heel, toe. Heel, toe. I keep my head strategically low, making the blooms and colored cellophane wrap shield my face from any hidden surveillance cameras. The long hair shrouding my cheeks helps, too.
It’s my heart that causes the problems. The heavy beat pulses in my throat as I stride through the sliding doors and straight into the nearest elevator.
The confined space suffocates me. I cling to the flowers like a lifeline, breathing nothing but the floral scent tattooing my nostrils.
I’ll never be able to enjoy the smell again. Not without remembering this moment.
By the time I reach the ICU, I’m a sweating, shaking mess. The only thing saving me is a lifetime acting out a fake persona. I know how to exude confidence when I don’t have it. I’m no stranger to playing a role.
I stroll down that hall, relaxed and laid back. My fear and overwhelming hysteria hidden. I blend, letting the bouquet shield me as I pass the nurses’ station.
The closer I get to Richard’s room, the more my chest aches with heavy beats. I’ve only been to see him once. The sight of him battered and lifeless could only keep me captive for a few minutes before I strode from this hall, and this hospital, for what I hoped would be forever.
I prayed I would never have to see him again. That divine intervention would fix this mess. Somehow. Some way.
I pi
I know better now.
Nobody else can fix this.
It’s me. All me.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
The voice calls from behind me, back toward the nurses’ station.
I ignore it, hoping like hell the woman is speaking to someone else. I only have one more room to pass until I’m at my destination. Five more feet. A few pained breaths.
“Ma’am?”
My pulse becomes a deafening throb in my ears as rushed steps approach, freezing me in place. I don’t know what to do. I can’t fathom what to say. Have I been caught already? Did Sebastian make a call and warn staff about the crazy woman about to commit murder?
“I apologize for disturbing you.” Her voice is closer now, almost right behind me, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “But flowers aren’t allowed in the ICU.”
All the air leaves my lungs in a barely audible heave. Relief washes through me, then just as fast as the relaxation arrived, it flees.
No flowers means no shield.
No shield means my face will be harder to hide.
Don’t panic. I hear Sarah’s voice in my mind. Most people get caught making rash decisions.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” I keep my gaze low and my back toward the nurse. “What should I do with them?”
“I can take them, if you like. We sometimes place them in other wards. I know it does little for your loved one, but it saves them from being wasted and helps to comfort other patients.”
I nod and pivot toward her on the pads of my feet. I don’t meet her gaze, I keep those flowers in line with my face as I hand them over. “Thank you.”