The Game by L.P. Lovell
TOBIAS
Rapists aren’t viewed in the savoriest of light, and it only takes a few hundred bucks to get a group of junkies to beat him to death. Plenty of people manage to skirt by the reach of justice, slipping through the cracks and crevices, but rest assured karma always finds them.
I take one last look at the man crumpled on the ground and bleeding. “Really, death is a kindness,” I say, straightening my suit jacket as I exit the alleyway. My phone rings in my pocket as I head toward the car parked at the side of the road with its headlights running. I pull it out and press it to my ear just as the driver opens my door. “Yes?”
“How did she do?” Mine and Preston’s partner, Three, ask.
“Very well. She is perfect and I think…” A chuckle works up my throat as I sink into the back seat. “I think this will go over quite well.”
There’s a long moment of silence. “Good,” he says, but I don’t miss the disdain lacing his voice.
Maybe he’s attached to this one. . . “You wouldn’t be rethinking our agreement, would you?”
“We’ve done this four times already. There’s never been a problem with me letting go before.” Because we haven’t had to let go necessarily. The players take care of that for us, meeting their untimely demise by their own choice. But even so, the hesitation in his voice, the touch of anxiety lying beneath. Three likes this one. A lot.
“She’s different, Three. She’s very different.” Innocent and obedient, beautiful and very, very good with her mouth.
He huffs over the line. “She’s a woman. They’re all the same, Tobias.”
“Such a shame you believe that,” I say, then hang up the phone just as the car pulls away from the curb.
Ella Taylor, my sweet little sacrificial lamb, is different from the rest. . .