Page 30 of Widow’s Walk (Women of the Mafia #1)

Chapter twenty-five

Sinclair

T oday will be a reckoning.

The last scene before the final act.

The stage is set. Now, all we need is our performers. Thanks to my old pal, Baxter, I know that Blackwell knows my location. He called me with the heads-up yesterday, right before he left town with the money gifted to him. If I know Blackwell at all, he’s on his way right now, bringing the cavalry.

I finish the final touches to my makeup. “Well?” I glance over at Blender. “What do you think?” She flicks her tail once, unimpressed.

She looks like a totally different cat, now that her fur has filled out and she has some meat on her bones.

Her black fur is long with a red tint in it under the sun.

There’s a patch of white on her chest, and the hair is thicker around her neck, giving her a lion’s mane.

Her eyes haven’t changed, though. Still a yellow-green, piercing, and soulful. She’s the definition of majestic.

I was apprehensive about bringing Blender on the road, but she’s always been a contradiction. Untamed, yet tethered to me in her own quiet way. She roams freely, capable of surviving anywhere, but never strays far.

I stick my tongue out at her playfully, then turn back to the cracked mirror hanging crooked off the wall.

I wanted to look extra special for my ex-lover for our brief reunion.

Remind him of who he fucked with. I wanted to create an image that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life. Possibly the last image he’ll ever see.

I grin at my reflection. “I’m really digging this look.”

I was going for dramatic, but it morphed into a goth clown glam style.

My skin is porcelain-pale, a contrast to the rest of the makeup.

My eyes are framed by elongated, black lines drawn both above and below like wicked clown tears.

The red, matte color on my lips is sharply defined at the corners of my mouth, giving me that sinister grin.

And to top it all off, the classic red nose tip.

Not humorous in appearance, but provocative and eerie.

I pull the black hood up over my head and blow a kiss at the mirror. “Alright, girlfriend. Time to finish setting the stage. Our leading man will be here soon.”

Double- and triple-checking all my booby traps and trip wires, I make my way up to the top floor for the best seat in the house. Lighting up a cigarette to help calm the nerves, I wait.

The petite mansion is old and forgotten. Places like this always call to me. Abandoned. Ghostly. Full of stories and pain. It feels like home.

The loud chirping tells me that one of my perimeter sensors has been triggered.

I spit out the wad of gum I’ve been chomping on for too long and stretch my body like a feline.

“Alright, Blender.” I turn and look at her with a grin.

“You might want to make yourself scarce.” Another chirping rings out, alerting that the sensors on the other side of the property have gone off, too.

So far, everything is going as planned. “It’s showtime. ”

They breach quietly and methodically, but not cautiously enough.

One by one, my traps spring. Silent darts with paralyzing serum of my own little invention hit their marks.

They go down like a sack of potatoes, one thud after another.

I lurk in the shadows, picking off the stragglers with my dart gun. None of them see me coming.

Blackwell goes down very last. He’s stronger, more stubborn. But eventually, he ends up sprawled out on the dusty floorboards. A couple more twitches as he tries to move his arms, then he’s still. Only his chest heaves.

That’s my cue.

I step out of the dark and into the warm light filtering as the sun is getting low. Hood up and knife in hand. I straddle him slowly, tilting my head. Our eyes lock, and it tries to move something inside of me. But I slam it shut and shut it down.

He tries to lift a hand to stop me or pull me closer. Either way, I don’t care. “Hello, lover,” I say, grinning, revealing the knife. “Miss me?”

I slice and chop at his Kevlar with careful precision. Then I rip his shirt open. I almost salivate when I see the brute muscles bulge under the rich skin. Glistening with a sheen of sweat, his chest heaving.

Okay, focus, you huzzy .

I tease him some, coming at him with the knife with slow movements. But it’d be too easy to kill him like this. Very anti-climactic. Instead, I delicately carve a heart into his chest. Not too deep, but deep enough to bleed and scar.

I drag the blade along my tongue and mewl. “Mmm.” Then I flip the blade over to wipe the rest of the blood across my lips like lipstick.

Lowering my head, I kiss him. Sloppily and possessively. But I force myself to think I’m kissing someone else. Anyone else.

The illusion almost cracks when he kisses me back. It’s sluggish, but his lips move with mine. And I hate myself for letting the kiss linger a second longer than intended.

I pull back and smile down at him, unfazed. “Don’t blink, darling. The grand finale is closer than you think,” I rasp.

At the front door, I sling my backpack over one shoulder, then pick up the red gas can. I whistle a happy tune as I make a trail of gasoline from the stoop and down the path. Blender is already waiting for me there. Twitching her tail and watching with disinterest.

I light up another cigarette and take a few puffs as I pause. What a shame to destroy something so beautifully broken.

I flick the cigarette, and seconds later, it catches flame. The fire races, slithering up the path like a serpent. It doesn’t take long to grow, and it somehow adds more beauty to the withering estate.

“Beautiful,” I whisper.

I hear male voices in the distance. The second team. And they’re coming in hot. Probably because Blackwell isn’t answering them. No one is.

“Time to go.” I slip off the backpack and open it for Blender. She jumps right in, and I swing it across my back, snug to me, and take off into the woods.

Hopping on my bike, the engine roars to life, and I take off without a glance back.