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“How about your severed head? Hmm?” Ronan responds deadly.
Richard stiffens at that. His Adam's apple bobbing uncontrollably.
I yank off my mask with a sick grin on my lips. Ronan and Mal follow suit. “Mr. Cree, it's come to our attention that you have been involved in a few things that...don't sit well with GenCre.” I check my nails, then look back at him.
“GenCre.” The mayor flushes, the color on his face drains drastically, and he stumbles again.
“You have a second to say everything, and I want you to say it to the camera above your bookshelf,” Ronan says as I feel his warm fingers grazing over the sensitive area of my neck.
The mayor chuckles sheepishly and shakes his head. “I don't understand what you are speaking about. I am the mayor, a good citizen of this city who wants nothing more than to see it flourish and thrive—”
Bam!
A bullet hits next to his head. The mayor shrieks and ducks to the other side of his bookshelf.
Wicked Mal lowers her sniper casually.
“You just shot at your mayor! You cannot—”
Bam, bam, bam, bam!
The bullets hit each book that's near him, and he ducks and hits the floor, crawling under his desk.
“Come out, you coward, or I'll shoot that ugly ass desk of yours.” Wicked aims at the desk while still laying on the couch as if she's watching a movie.
Seconds later, he crawls out with a terrified expression. His shirt is loose and wrinkled; his normally slick hair is wild and disheveled. He rests back on the heel of his shoes. “What do you want?”
“The truth. Speak. Now,” Ronan says, releasing an exasperated breath.
His lips part as his eyes well up, then close. “I—”
Wicked aims again.
“Wait, wait. Please.” He holds his hands up. “It's not what you think. I have never taken them myself. I only provided the names of higher status people. That is all. I never wanted to be involved in this.”
“Gave them to whom?” Ronan’s ask.
He shakes his head. “I only did what they told me to and left the rest up to them, that is all!” he says, deflecting Ronan’s question. “I didn't want to be involved,” he repeats.
“Then why stay and help if it's not what you wanted.” Wicked says, now fully sitting up.
Richard swallows, shifting his blank stare to the ground. He doesn't answer, and I know why that is. I can spit on him right now.
“Because even though you hated it, you didn't hate the money you were gaining from it. Am I right? Or are you going to justify that, too?” Ronan slides his fingers through my hair before standing.
I tilt my head. “I wonder what your father would think if he were alive. I can imagine the disappointment he has, even with him buried underground.”
His watery gaze snaps up. Although there are glistening tears, not one spills in.
I continue my rant. “My father knew your father. And if I’m not mistaken, your father was an advocate for crimes against women and the injustice we face. What you have done is a disgrace to the legacy he built. You never deserved this title.”
His face morphs with anger. “I have done everything I could for this city to shape it to what it is today. My father could never do what I have done. I am the one who makes true sacrifices.”
“No. You’re just disgusting,” I say, standing as well.
“Filth,” Wicked adds on eerily as she slowly rises.
He watches each of us, and he gasps, scattering back until he can't anymore. “Please don't kill me. I have a family. Wife and kids. Please.” He points to the picture that's propped at the edge of his desk. I look at the photo, and I feel sick. A nauseous twist at the pit of my belly gathers in my throat.