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My heart was breaking at finding Jolie in that position with those men, but I couldn’t let her see it. She needed me to be strong now so she could be the one to fall apart. I was pleased the men were dead, but I wanted to go back and kill them all over again. I was at fault, at least in part, too. I’d exposed her to all of this, and she’d been the one who’d paid the price. I wanted to hold her and kiss away her pain, stroke away the marks on her skin and shelter her from the world. But there wasn’t time.
Now, where was her fucking father?
Would he have just left Jolie with those men and run? Or would he want to see the handiwork of what he’d brought about? I remembered how he liked to take care of his victims afterward. He’d clean their bodies, and paint their nails, and apply a little makeup. As much as it sickened me to think it, wouldn’t he want to do the same thing with his daughter? Even though he hadn’t been the one to kill her, wouldn’t she be the ultimate prize to display?
“I don’t think he’ll have left the building,” I said to Jolie.
She glanced up at me. “He’ll have heard the gunshots.”
“He won’t have wanted to leave you.”
Her expression hardened. “What are you talking about? He’ll probably think I’m dead by now.”
I held her gaze. “Exactly.”
Understanding dawned, combined with grief and horror. “Oh.”
Could he have gotten past me? It was certainly possible, but where did the son of a bitch think he was going to go? His friends were dead, and the police were still searching for him and were most likely already on their way here. He wasn’t going to get far, and he’d know it. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if people nearby had heard the gunfire and alerted the police already.
But I didn’t want him to be arrested and sent back to prison. Now, more than ever, I wanted the bastard dead.
“How the hell are we going to find him?” I was only thinking out loud.
Jolie answered, but not by addressing me.
“I’m still alive, you fucking bastard,” she yelled. “Your friends are dead. Your little plan didn’t work.”
I froze. I hadn’t been expecting her to do that. I knew we’d already lost any element of surprise by all the gunfire, but her announcing herself like that had shocked me. Then I remembered who she was—not some meek girl who’d want to hide herself away, even after she’d been handed over to those perverted fucks, but an incredibly strong, brave woman who stood up to the things she feared the most in her life. My heart swelled with pride and love for her, and I squeezed her hand tighter. She glanced up at me, her deep blue eyes shining. I could see how terrified she was, and that she’d not run, despite that fear, made me admire her even more. I wanted to sweep her up and carry her away, but movement at the end of the wide, industrial corridor caught my attention.
From out of one of the rooms stepped the man I’d spent the last ten years planning to kill.
Beside me, Jolie sucked in a breath. She’d been brave, but now she pressed herself closer into my side. The gun she’d taken from the man who’d tried to rape her dangled from her fingers.
This man might be the absolute epitome of everything that was wrong and evil in the world. He’d done so badly by Jolie that he didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air she did.
And yet he was still her father.
I couldn’t help but put myself in her shoes. I hadn’t known who my own father was, and for the first time in my life I was thankful for that. I couldn’t imagine being betrayed in such a way by the person who was supposed to take care of you the most.
I lifted my gun and pointed it at the man standing in front of us. He looked so much like Jolie, it almost made it harder for me to want to kill him, but then I remembered everything he’d done, and my grip tightened around the butt of the gun.
Patrick Dorman wasn’t armed, and even though he’d seen the weapon, he didn’t appear bothered or intimidated by it. This man believed he was somehow above other humans, that he was better than the rest of us. It wasn’t that he thought he was immune to a bullet—he wasn’t delusional—but he didn’t believe that either I or Jolie would actually dare to shoot him.
Dorman narrowed his eyes at me. “So, you did find me after all.”
My shoulders tensed. “Damn right I did. And just in time, too, you sick fuck.”
“Do I get to know the name of the man who thought he could use my own daughter against me?”
Jolie stiffened at his mention of her.
I lifted my chin and locked eyes with Dorman. I should just shoot the bastard, but I’d always wanted for him to know exactly who was sending him to hell. “My name is Hayden Vale. Ten years ago, you murdered my mother, Angela Vale. Prison is too good for you. I wanted to make sure you ended up dead and understood the reason why.”
His gaze was utter cold—like glacial ice. “And you thought you’d use my daughter to do that?”
I glanced down at Jolie. “I blamed her, too, not so long ago. But now I see I was wrong. She was a victim of your sickness, just like she’s been tonight. This world will be a better place without you in it.”
Dorman’s lip curled in disdain. “You’re no better than me. You might pretend you are, but you still kidnapped a woman.” He glanced between us. “And there’s something more between you now, isn’t there? I can see it in your body language.” He gave a small laugh. “You feel something for your kidnapper, Jolie? I thought you knew better than that.”
“I haven’t exactly had the best male influence in my life, have I?” she snapped.
Infuriatingly, he chuckled. Even looking down the barrel of a gun, the man showed no fear or remorse.
He was barely human.
I took a step forward, positioning Jolie behind me, and lifted the gun higher. “Patrick Dorman, I’m sentencing you to death for the murder of my mother, Angela Vale, and all the other women you killed.”
My finger tightened on the trigger.
But Dorman took a step closer, closing the gap further still. “There might be more,” he said, with a snide tone. “Other bodies that no one will ever find if I’m dead.”
Jolie’s voice came from behind me. “Don’t believe him.”
Yet, I hesitated. Missing women. Their families caught in the never-ending hell of wondering what had happened to their loved ones, and wondering if they were ever coming home. Was what he was saying true? If I let him live, would he admit to killing others, and perhaps even tell the police where the bodies were hidden?
“You really want to steal that from others?” Dorman continued. “Other families who are mourning, just like you did for your mother?” His manner was cajoling, persuasive. Even though I knew he was a serial killer, and he’d spent the last ten years behind bars, I could see the smooth, suave man he’d been before prison. I understood how all those women—my mother included—had trusted him enough to allow them into their homes and lives, only for him to betray them in the worst possible way.
“Perhaps it would be kinder for those families to never know,” I said, lifting the gun in line with his head. “Better than the torture of knowing what their final hours entailed, and yet never being able to do anything to change it.”
“You’d do that? You’d take that choice from them?” He took another step closer, and the gun trembled in my hand.
“Yes,” I said.
And I pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked onto an empty barrel.
Fuck.
Patrick Dorman let out a roar of fury and the mask of a civilized, handsome, charming man vanished and was replaced with the contorted features of the monster he truly was. He lunged for me, his arms outstretched, his hands clawed.
And beside me, a bang shattered through my ears.