Parking down the street, I pull out my phone, digging for where I am, for what bullshit the lying whore has gotten into. At least I don’t see the other guy with a camera around.
More little bees want her honey, and she’s more than willing to let them have a go.
But when I pull up the public property records, rage blossoms from a bud to a full-blown flower.
Westerhouse.
A bully who belongs in jail. One of my two targets. My body still aches when the weather shifts, like tonight, and that was all him. Only his wealth and privilege got him out with nothing but a warning. That and my whore of an ex-girlfriendmanipulating the damn justice system to take away everything I’d worked so damn hard for.
I’ve been aiming for her. My first target. But maybe it’s time to expand my net. Catch him, break him, destroy him so thoroughly he won’t be able to get it up.
It’s only fair after what he did.
What they did.
He hurts. She hurts.
Tit for tat.
I dig around the internet, not wanting to leave yet, the proximity giving my rage a focus I lack in my silent apartment. Alone. With nothing to my name, not even my pride.
Because she took that too.
My pride, my reputation, my damn left hand—all gone.
Photos and articles fill my screen, his brother some hotshot politician with one of those faces that makes me feel like I’ve seen him before, his father a respected lawyer, his stepmother a fine-looking MILF.
And his little sister, long-limbed with coppery hair, a championship fencer.
How many birds can I hit with a single stone?
I’ve always been an overachiever.
Why change now?
