Page 92 of Goodbye, Mr. Winters

She nods. I’m an attentive grandfather, but today, I wish I wasn’t. Kamila doesn’t let Kendrick watch television, so when he’s with Felicita and me, we tend to show him television shows for kids from back home.

I wish I obeyed Kamila.

The girl that’s naked on the floor? She stars in one of the shows my grandson occasionally watches with his grandpa. Fuck this.

“Who are you?” she asks, fidgeting with her arms. She attempts to hide her body from me, but I’m not even looking.

“There’s no time for that. Is there anyone else in the house?” I focus once again, attempting to feel out the sounds of the mansion. The girl’s whimpering obstructs my effort.

She shakes her head. “We’re always alone.”

“You know where he keeps your clothes?”

She gives me a quick nod.

“I want you to get dressed and meet me by my car. Can you do that? It’s right outside the door. A big black Escalade. Charles and Vegas are waiting for you at the palace. They’re your friends, right? I’ll take you to them.”

“What? That’s impossible,” Carey Jean croaks. She quivers some more, and it physically pains me.

“What’s impossible? Are they not your friends?”

“No… Why would they come for me? I… I mean nothing to them. Nobody cares about me unless they can make money off me—”

I interrupt her. “Are they trying to make money off you?”

“No… Not Mr. Dane or Mr. White. My friend Grey is dating them, and she seems like she cares about me. It’s my mom. She sells me to Hugh so that I get better jobs. My dad doesn’t give a crap if I live or die. My bosses fired me because Hugh told them to… I’m all alone. Are you trying to lure me into another trap?” She gradually gains her strength, scowling at me. I don’t condemn her for that.

“Hugh abused my partner when she was a kid,” I tell Carey, and she freezes. “I’m here to murder him. It would be best for you to leave unless you want to be a witness to this crime.”

“Oh,” she blurts out. Her eyes fixate on the bottle in my hand. Some of Hugh’s blood spilled on it already. “You’ll murder him with a bottle?”

“Yes,” I confess.

“Will it hurt?” she asks tentatively.

“More than enough.” I don’t offer her my car’s keys because I didn’t lock the doors. Only my fingerprint can start the car—it’s one of the new security measures. She won’t be able to leave without me.

“Okay. I’ll leave you to it. I’m an actress, but I can’t liethatwell. If somebody asked me about today, I wouldn’t be able to hold back. Okay. Okay. Okay. I…” she mumbles.

I turn away from her, giving her space and privacy to leave the room.

“What’s your name?” she asks as she’s about to depart.

“Jordan Winters.”

“Thank you. Please, make it hurt. I’ll be by your car!” She rushes out of the room, leaving me with Hugh Abbott. His suit is dirty with his blood now, but I can’t wait to watch it melt off his skin.

I kick at him with my feet, pressing him to wake the fuck up.

“Did you check on your properties? What do you think? Isn’t it time to pass ownership to somebody else?” I dig my heel into his neck, fucking with his throat. He spurts awake, panting on the floor. His limbs twitch like he’s a fish out of water, and his eyes shoot open, a nasty red making them bulge out of his eye sockets.

At first, he stares at me in confusion.

When I proceed to slam my foot into his stomach to work that shock in some more, he starts coughing for me. Inaudible words that provide me with immense pleasure flow out of his mouth. Is he begging?

Perfect.

“P-Please!”