Page 117 of Born into Darkness

My elbows press against the dirt when a red corvette pulls into the parking lot. I check the license plate, making sure it matches the one I’d memorized. It does, and as soon as the woman gets out of the car, my finger moves to rest lightly against the trigger. Completely oblivious to the gun pointed at her from half a mile away, she turns her head to grab her purse, and I see the small diamond in her nose sparkle under the sunlight. Her hair is still cut in a short bob, and thanks to Niki, I’d recognize her face anywhere.

I’d told him about the waitress who had drugged Talia and given him the description of her. He’d found her for me, and every week he’s been sending me her weekly work schedule. I waited to take her out, waited for longer than I wanted to, but I can’t have this coming back to our family. I needed to put as much time as possible between the kidnapping and the murder that I’m about to commit. Plus, I wanted to see what kind of person she is. After she drugged my sister and got her payout, she posted several photos to social media—all of them showing her smiling face as she held up her new purses and shoes, and then finally a picture of her with her brand-new, red corvette.

I hope she has enough time to appreciate the fact that I’m letting her die next to it.

Aiming for her right thigh, I let out a slow breath and give the trigger a light, steady squeeze before I inhale, taking the shot on the natural pause between breaths. The recoil is like a shove to my shoulder, but my cheek never leaves the rest and my eye stays locked on the scope. The conditions are perfect today, allowing me to see the mirage-like vapor trail before it hits her thigh, exactly where I’d been aiming.

I watch her mouth open, first in shock and then in pain before she falls to the ground, grasping at her leg, blood already soaking her jeans and puddling beneath her. The .338 Lapua Magnum bullets that I use mean she could easily die from this shot alone. Her femur bone is shattered, her thigh nothing but a bloody mess, and there’s a good chance I’ve hit the femoral artery, which means she’ll be unconscious in a minute and dead in less than three.

I think about the hell she put my sister through and wait for the seconds to tick by. While I wait, I wrap my hand around the bolt, lifting and pulling it back until the spent casing is ejected. It lands on the ground next to me as I push the bolt forward again to chamber the next round.

When I look through the scope again, it’s just in time to see her slump back against the car, weak but still conscious. Her hands still grip her upper thigh, too afraid to touch the large hole I made in her leg, but still trying to slow the blood loss down. When I see her hands start to slacken, I pull the trigger again, this time aiming for her heart. She’s dead before anyone’s even realized what’s happened.

I scan the parking lot, making sure everything still looks okay, and when another waitress pulls in for her shift, I lift up and stretch my arms before rolling my shoulders and head to get the stiffness out of my neck. Pocketing the spent cartridges, I grab my rifle, use my boot to erase any marks I left on the ground, and then head back to the Jeep.

Taking my time, I carefully pack up my rifle before getting in behind the wheel. The casings in my pocket will soon be added to my ever-growing collection. There are too many for me to remember, but I’ll remember this one. This wasn’t just for work; this was fucking personal. Talia is my sister, the person I’m closest to, and when I’d been a terrified three-year-old, she’d been the one to hold my hand and give me her stuffed bear so I wouldn’t be scared. It never mattered to her that I wasn’t her biological brother. I became her brother in every way that counts the day they brought me home, and that meansno onefucks with my sister and lives.

By the time I pull the Jeep into the driveway, I’m feeling better than I have in months. I set a wrong to right this morning, and marking that particular job off my to-do list feels pretty damn good.

I walk into the house and start making coffee, and when the lights flicker, I turn to see who’s just walked in. My brother yawns and scrubs a hand over his face while using his other hand to sign,Well?

Taken care of,I sign back, and he gives me a big grin before smacking me on the back and grabbing the mug of coffee I’d just poured for myself.

Too slow,he signs, and I can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s not just smiling, he’s also laughing.

Fucker,I sign, making his shoulders shake even more. I try not to smile at him, but it’s impossible not to.

He sees it and smiles even bigger before opening the fridge.Eggs?

I nod and grab the skillet, ravenous after this morning’s outing.

THE END