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“I just heard a lot of gunshots in a building on Billionaire’s Row,” I say. “I think it came from one of those fancy therapy offices, so some officers may want to check that out.”
“Can you tell me exactly where you—”
I end the call and Dr. McAllister’s face is now ghost-white. He holds up his hands, looking like he’s about to beg for forgiveness.
I don’t give him a chance to say another word. I aim the beretta at his chest and unload the clip faster than I’ve ever unloaded on anyone before.
Eleven rounds. Eleven bullets.
His body hits his desk, and then the floor with a sickening thud. Blood splatters all over the plain walls, coating pieces of the hardwood floor in a bright red.
Walking over to him, I set the gun down on top of his chest. “You deserved more bullets than that,” I whisper. “I let you off far easier than you let me and Trevor…”
Taking his cigar collection, I move through the back halls of the office and take a freight elevator down to the lobby. The guests are ru
Dropping the burner phone down one of the city’s drains, I feel somewhat relieved that this chapter of my life is almost over, but I know there’s no way I can go “home” to the mansion right now. I know I’m bound to have one of those nights where I’m unable to escape the final nightmares that come, and I’ve never slept around Meredith for that reason.
I’ll go home tomorrow.
Or maybe the next day.