Page 46 of Commit

I drive on autopilot, my mind flashing to images of Starling spread out on the kitchen counter. I’m so consumed by her that I almost miss the turn. The Astley Estate is a gated community on the upper north side of the city. When I arrive, I keep driving and park a couple blocks away before heading back on foot.

There’s no guardhouse, just a keypad for the residents. I scale the wall and jump over, wondering what good the gate is if it doesn’t keep anyone out. I check the address again before shoving the Post-it back into my pocket.

Keeping to the shadows, I make my way to the large house at the end of the street. At this hour, everyone should be asleep, but I’m not taking any chances. When I reach the house, I head around back and use my lock pick to let myself in through the patio door, marveling at the house’s lack of security. There were no visible alarms or cameras outside, but I thought there might be something set up inside. Apparently not.

The house is quiet, the only light coming in through the windows. I make sure there’s no one downstairs before creeping upstairs to the bedrooms. I check out the rooms with names on them, glad it’s a weekday. The bedrooms are empty, and the beds are made. If it had been the weekend, there might have been a chance the kids would be here, and I would have had to come back another day. Luckily, that’s one thing I don’t have to worry about.

I walk to the master bedroom and open the door as quietly as I can before stepping inside. Closing the door partway, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness in the room before making my way over to the bed where a woman lies fast asleep. A face mask covers her eyes as she breathes softly and evenly. The guy, who I assume is Diamond’s ex, is lying on his back beside her. I tap my chin in thought before glancing at the clock on the bedside table.

It’s going to be light soon, so I need to decide how I want to do this. Normally, I’d put a bullet between his eyes and leave. I try not to stay longer than needed and avoid adding casualties unless absolutely necessary, but in the mood I’m in right now, I just don’t care.

I take my gun, twist on the silencer, and point it at the woman. Then pause. Hmm… Actually, I have a better idea.

I get down on my hands and knees and check under the bed. Finding it clear, I drop to my stomach and maneuver myself beneath it. Once I’m in position, I pull out my cell phone. I double-check that it’s on silent before doing a Google search of the baby daddy. His photo pops up—he’s shaking hands with a client after successfully getting him acquitted of sexual assault charges, according to the accompanying article.

Happy that the guy in the bed is the right target, I settle in for the wait, opening the camera app to check on Starling. I grip the phone when I see her lying beside Abbot, even though I knew that’s where she’d be.

Abbot would ask questions if he woke up and found her sleeping somewhere else, but I don’t care about logic. I don’t want her sleeping next to him when she should be sleeping next to me. It takes me a few moments to work through my anger enough to realize she isn’t asleep. She’s moving around too much.

I had hoped I’d fucked the insomnia out of her, but apparently not. It’s ironic that after everything we shared tonight, we somehow ended up awake and in someone else’s bedroom. It’s kind of poetic in a way. I’m here to end a life, and she’s lying in the ruins of her relationship with my son.

I thought I’d be able to give her time, but I underestimated the hold she has on me. I stayed away from my boys to keep them safe, missing out on all the things that made us a family, with no regrets. Yet in two weeks, Starling has me considering taking my son out of the picture completely. If my willingness to commit murder just to have her doesn’t show the depth of my need, then nothing will.

I’m not sure how long I lie there watching her, but when I hear the beep of an alarm, I slip my phone into my pocket and ready my gun. The alarm shuts off just before a pair of feet swing over the side of the bed. The girlfriend gets up and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind her a moment before the shower turns on.

I roll out from under the bed, staying on the girlfriend’s side. When I don’t hear any movement from baby daddy, I get to my feet and walk around to his side of the bed. He’s still fast asleep, so I don’t waste any time.

I shove the gun in his mouth, and when his eyes snap open, I grab his hand and wrap it around the handle. His terror and shock have him frozen in place, probably knowing that one wrong move and his brains will go everywhere. Unfortunately for him, that was always the plan.

“Your ex says hi.” I smile before pulling the trigger.

The silencer suppresses most of the noise but not all of it, so I’m not surprised when the shower shuts off and I hear the girlfriend call his name. I stalk to the bathroom, open the door, and shoot the woman once in the chest and once in the head. She drops like a rock, her body falling out of the shower and sprawling on the floor as blood pools around her.

I take the gun back to baby daddy and arrange it in his hand after removing the silencer. Thanks to the filed-off serial numbers, it can’t be traced back to me. I always wear gloves on a job, so I’m not worried about my prints being found anywhere either.

I don’t bother staging the place to look like a burglary gone wrong now that I’ve gone down the murder-suicide route. Cops always look for the obvious answers first. If they dig deeper, I’d be surprised. And even if they do, they won’t find any trace of me left behind.

I pull my hood up and slip the silencer into my pocket before walking downstairs and out the backdoor. The door has a latch, which means it automatically locks itself once I close it behind me, making it look as though nobody entered. I leave the way I came, keeping to the shadows and out of sight of potential nosy neighbors as I head back to the car and swap out the plates for new ones.

Turning the radio on for the drive home, I whistle along to a country song that’s almost as old as I am and allow myself to be distracted by thoughts of Starling.

Chapter Fifteen

Hudson

Atlas looks up from his phone when I toss the file on the desk in front of him.

“Kenzo’s contacts are clearly better than mine. He just sent this over. Says he got a call about the police being dispatched to a scene down in Vegas.”

He opens the file and looks at the photo of a pretty redhead with a toothy smile posing in front of the camera.

“She look familiar?”

I scan the photo and shake my head before he flips the page. “I don’t think so. Why?”

This page has another photo with the same face is there—only this shot was taken from above. Her eyes are closed, her lips tinted blue, and in the center of her forehead is the number 1.

“No bullseye this time.” I point out, wondering about its significance.