| if he could present it to the world they might actually listen and for once see that you’re not who you say you are.” “I didn’t kill April,” Vince choked on his words. “No, you didn’t. I did.” Vince’s breath hitched when he remembered how Mitch had accused him of murdering April. That was why people loved what he did at GamersCon. It had all been Mitch’s idea to get people to react. His eyes welled with tears. “Mitch,” he said, “please tell me you’re lying. I had this under control. April didn’t have to die. She gave up the video. It was over.” “You’re wrong. April still knew what happened. She was the only witness. I was protecting you. Protecting us.” Mitch pointed at his chest. “That’s what this was about. What it’s always been about. Us.” “No,” Vince said. “I had nothing to do with this.” “You had everything to do with this,” Mitch argued. “If not for you assaulting Garrett on that movie set, none of this would have happened.” “That’s not true.” “I’m sorry,” Mitch said. “But it is. And you know it, too.” “People think I did this. You understand that? They think I murdered these people.” “I always knew you were safe. As soon as people knew what happened, the evidence would have exonerated you. Besides, you always managed to escape when backed into a corner. There was no reason for me to think this time would be any different.” “How could you do |
The woman’s voice caught in her throat as she smiled. Russ watched her open her purse, itching to get his fingers on the cash. Instead of reaching for the envelope of money, the woman pulled a gun on him. “Wait? I can explain,” Russ pleaded, tossing his hands into the air the same second the woman pointed the muzzle at his head and fired a single shot that tore a gaping hole through his neck. A searing pain shot down his spine. His eyes bulged as the instinct to survive kicked in. Russ gripped his neck with both hands and tilted forward, falling face-first to the floor. His shoulder slammed into the corner of the coffee table, knocking it off its mark and turning him over. Lying on his back, the smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils with the heady scent of gunpowder and hot lead. Russ kept squeezing his neck, feeling his pulse explode against the tips of his fingers, while he stared at the couch cushion hiding his own weapon. If only he could get to it, then maybe he had a chance to defend himself and call for help. But each time his fingers eased their grip on his artery, geysers of hot liquid shot between his knuckles. Russ squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, fighting through the unforgiving pain. Fatigue was settling into his body despite his urge to fight and hang on. He opened his eyes when he felt the killer step |
