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Alone in the warehouse, my staging ground, I stared at my cell phone while white-hot anger swept through my insides.

Who does he think he is, bailing on me like this?

I read his text again and thought my skull would explode. But I took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to lose my head.

One thing was for sure. I had to get to Otto, and do it now, because he had to die.

As soon as possible.

There wasn’t any telling what he’d do. He might even go to the Feds.

But first, I had to pack up anything that might lead law enforcement to my person should Otto rat on me. Luckily, I traveled light. It only took about five minutes to grab my shit and toss it in my backpack. I didn’t need to clean the warehouse. First, it would take too long. But second, even if Otto did tell the Feds my location, it wasn’t as if they could track my DNA. I didn’t have a record. I wasn’t in their system.

If I ever needed to use my saliva or cum or blood or whatever in my soon-to-be legal career, I’d simply falsify it. I’d learned there were always willing helpers around.

But again, better safe than sorry.

Fuck you, Otto Walker.

“I’m out?” I scoffed at the ridiculous message. “You can’t get out…and continue to breathe.”

At the bottom of the stairs was a landing with two exits to the building. I could take a right through the metal double doors and immediately find myself outside in the empty loading dock ringed by abandoned warehouses. Or I could take a sharp left around the metal handrail and continue down another flight of rusty metal stairs to the underground parking lot.

It was important to have multiple points of egress. I’d read that somewhere.

If all else failed, there were also the sewers.

My truck was parked out of sight of drones or any overhead surveillance monitoring the lot. Well, it wasn’t exactly my truck , but I wasn’t being chased, so I took a left down the stairs. And there she was, safe and sound, just as I’d left her. And right next to her was Patrick’s Honda Ridgeline, gathering dust.

I drew a big smiley face in the dirt on the driver’s window. In the wrong light, someone might think Patrick was still in there, just waiting to step out from behind the wheel.

Chuckling, I got into my Tacoma. I started her up before plotting a route to Otto’s apartment across town in Miro Meadows. The GPS on my phone said it was about a fifteen-minute drive from the warehouse in East Bank to his place. Tossing the thing on the seat next to me, I put the truck in reverse, backed up in an elegant curve, and accelerated off, across the parking lot and up the ramp to the loading dock, which fed out to the street.

It wasn’t good to be out in public in a stolen truck, so I needed to keep my head. I’d drive the speed limit. No need to get pulled over by some overeager traffic monkey.

As I went up the on-ramp, I scowled at the traffic on I-24. I merged in. Once in a lane, I looked over at my phone on the passenger seat and had to suppress my rage once more.

Chill.

The traffic moved steadily. I stayed in the right lane.

I considered how I’d gotten here.

Mrs. King was in my thrall when she died. There was no other way to put it.

She wanted it.

I let her, at first. She was the one who first made the moves on me. I ran with it. Like how she ran with all of that “Administrator” BS noise. It was so obvious he was screwing with everybody. Why did no one else see that but me?

But it made sense she wanted me. I was really strong. And tall, like her. And I was great at sports. Football was my thing. Not even lying. I was great at debate too.

Maureen ran the debate team. We got close after the third meeting. That was when she first went down on me.

She was bored, I think.

I was just a gutter kid. From the trash. But smart as fuck, and she thought that was hot. She knew what she was doing. We started doing it everywhere after that.

Dammit. I missed her.

Gripping the wheel, I pushed away the image of her riding me, needing to focus on what had to be done right now. I had a goal, and a pesky problem keeping me from attaining it.

The exit was coming up, and I still hadn’t thought of a revised plan, or even an immediate one for Otto.

Think.

Suddenly, I wanted to get out of Nashville, but I needed the money.

Kill Otto…and go full on Maureen with it. Add all that crazy shit. The Administrator would love it.

Get Knox and Yates on the scent.