Chapter 43

CHAPTER

FORTY-THREE

EDMUND

Samuel holds Michales in a painfully tight grip as Grant skillfully ties knots around each of his wrists. Grabbing the slack hanging from his left hand, Grant secures the rope around a thick branch of one of the trees. With the other, he repeats the process, leaving Michaels strung between two trees with his arms in a deep V above his head.

Once Michales is held in place by Grant’s meticulous knots, Samuel releases him. He struggles for a moment before releasing that it’s futile.

Walking before him, whip in hand, I lean close before menacingly whispering, “You should know, I fucking love to make it hurt.”

I stalk behind him and crack the whip to get a feel for it in my hand. It’s been a while. By the time I turn around, Will and Samuel have spread a large tarp beneath his feet.

No evidence we were ever here.

“I enjoy inflicting in pain. Wicked, brutal pain, delivered in ways that I’d never expose Harper to.” I crack the bullwhip, allowing just the tip to nip at his skin. Blood prickles through his white undershirt from the little bite popping open his flesh, and he cries out in pain. “But you…I’m more than fucking willing to show.”

Quickly raising my arm, I crack the whip again. Michales howls as I let the thick thong of the leather slice down his back. It splits his shirt and the skin beneath, blood immediately trickling down his spine.

“You almost took her from me.” I swing the whip again. He’s still crying out when I crack it once more. “Every hand you laid on her is going to be repaid with your flesh and blood.”

The whip cracks, echoing through the night like thunder. A vicious storm. Snapping the whip again and again, the flesh peels from his back with every flick of the handle and his pained howls become exhausted yelps.

When I finally stop, the muscles of my arm burn. My chest heaves from exertion, and sweat dampens my hairline. I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead to prevent it from dripping into my eyes.

Michales is slumped before me. The ropes digging through the flesh of his wrists as they force him to stay upright. Closing the distance between us, I note that some of the gashes along his back are so deep that I catch glimpses of bone through his shredded flesh and muscle.

His breaths are labored, and he teeters on the brink of unconsciousness.

We can’t have that.

Samuel grabs a container of salt from the bag and sprinkles it generously over what is left of Michales’s mangled back. He wails into the night, the burning pain forcing him to remain awake.

“No one…will…ever believe…I…k…killed myself,” he stammers through labored breaths. “with…out…a…b…body.”

“But they will.” I slap his cheek to keep his attention on me when it begins to falter. “Because you told them. Right down to the coordinates where you anchored the fishing boat that you rented this afternoon.”

He opens his mouth, but not a sound comes out. Once again, we are so many steps ahead of him that he never saw it coming.

Grant hacked into his finances this afternoon and used his credit card to secure the rental. William, adorning a pillow beneath his shirt to match Michales’ build, took the boat from the harbor and left it anchored several miles offshore. Exactly in the location noted in confession where he described how he would end his misery and guilt.

When authorities find the boat empty, they’ll assume he purposely went overboard. Ending his own life as cruelly as he ended the lives of all the women pinned to his office wall like trophies.

“Be happy that time is on your side,” I cock as brow as Will steps behind Michales, “because I’d happily go at this for days. Stopping only when there wasn’t a scrap of flesh left on your bones.”

I tip my head, and Will snaps his neck. His legs immediately crumple beneath him, and he hangs from the ropes binding him to the trees.

“I’ll get the SUV.” Will wipes his bloodied hands across the front of his shirt. As he walks away, Grant and Samuel help me cut the ropes, causing Michales to drop onto the blood-covered tarp spread across the ground. Tossing the ropes and my whip onto his body, we securely roll every bit of evidence into the 12’x12’ square of plastic.

The four of us load him into the plastic-lined trunk of the SUV and climb into our respective seats.

“Which street?” Will asks, expecting to be placing him with the other bodies we’ve left in this town.

“Not The Preserves.” I shake my head. “Twilight Bluff.”

The three of them turn to look at me, expecting an explanation. One I have no problem giving.

“The foundation of my new home is being poured in a few hours,” I share. This build has been in the works for nearly a year. It was going to be an exciting place for me to play.

Instead, it’s going to be my home…

…with Harper.