See No Evil

Allison Brennan See No Evil

PROLOGUE

The teenaged girl had the gun in her hand. Paul Judson was supposed to be her first kill.

Robbie was the driver. He was parked two houses up where it was dark. He’d removed the plates from his new black truck. Cami was the lookout. If anyone approached, she’d take care of it. What that meant, Faye didn’t know. She trusted Cami knew what she was doing. Supposedly it had all been Cami’s idea in the first place.

But Faye suspected Cami wasn’t the brains behind the plan. She felt as if they were all puppets, just pieces in someone else’s game. If they managed to get away with this, Faye would find out exactly who was pulling their strings.

“It’ll be easy,” Cami had told her earlier. “Shoot him between the eyes.”

Faye hated guns.

Now Skip walked Faye to the door, stood right there next to her on the porch when she knocked.

“I can’t,” she said.

“What?”

Skip had a panicked look on his face. He nervously shifted his weight, looking about the neighborhood. Worried. He’d been the most confident of the plan, arrogant, sure of himself, like so many guys in her school. “You can’t back out now, Faye.”

“I don’t like guns.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

She handed the gun to Skip and pulled her knife from her pocket. Its shiny stainless-steel blade winked under the porch light as she turned it over and over in her palm. “I’ll use this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Skip.

The door opened.

Faye tightened her grip around the handle and stared into the eyes of the man they had been sent to kill.

“Who are you?” Judson squinted. “I don’t recognize you. You’re not from the school.”

He didn’t move.

Faye raised the knife.

They knew from their research that Judson was severely nearsighted. He didn’t see the knife right away, but followed the movement of her arm.

Realization hit his eyes just before Skip pumped two bullets, one after another, into his brain.

“Move it, Faye!” Skip pocketed the gun. “Now.”

She pocketed her knife as she ran back to the car, into the backseat, to safety. But her heart didn’t stop racing as Robbie drove away. Casually, so as not to attract attention.

The kill had been too fast, too easy. Bang, bang, a man was dead. A bullet in each eye, his brains splattered into the room behind.

She had wanted to feel his blood. Touch it. Taste it.

She hated guns.

Someday Faye would use her knife on someone other than herself.

ONE

H ow would you kill him?

I don’t know.

Think about it. He hurt you. He made you touch him. He humiliated you. You must want him to pay.

Yeah, but…

You would never really kill him. I know that. But you need to get over your anger, release the rage. The only way to be free of him is to picture him without any power over you. Visualize the one person you hate the most in the world dead. Can you?

Yes.

What does he look like?

He’s sitting at his desk.

And you walk in…what does he say to you?

“Come here. Kneel. Now.”

What do you do?

I go. I have no choice. They’ll send me away…I’ve lived on the streets. I’ve been to juvie. It’s worse than sucking his dick.

Picture yourself walking toward the desk. This time, you’re going to say no. This time, you’re going to pay him back for touching you. For making you touch him. How?

I want him to know exactly what it feels like.

And?

I want to cut his dick off and shove it down his throat. Let him suck on it.

Good. Very good. Picture him choking on his penis whenever you get angry or upset. That’s the first step to getting rid of the rage, the anger. To heal and become normal.

I’ll never be normal.

Emily Chandler Montgomery would never be normal.

She sat in her idling Volkswagen Bug and stared at the looming house in front of her. She didn’t even want to pull into the garage, as if it would swallow her and she’d never escape. She hated coming home.

Home. What a joke. She had no home. It had disappeared when her father died. All she had was a house of many rooms, none of which welcomed her, except for her tiny sanctuary upstairs.

But where else could she go? She’d run away, and that hadn’t worked. Living on the streets was impossible, especially for a pampered, spoiled rich kid like her.

At least that’s what her shrink had told her.

And in many ways-most ways-it was true. She didn’t want to live on the street and sell her body. Because out there these were her choices: whore or gutter rat. Emily liked her bedroom, her spa, the Olympic-size swimming pool where she could swim laps until her arms ached and her lungs gasped for air. The clothes, the food, the roof.

If only Victor was gone, she could live in the castle without fear. Why had her mother married Judge Victor Montgomery? He was a creep back when they were dating, and he was worse now. A fake. A hypocrite.

I hate you I hate you I hate you!

She pounded her fists on the steering wheel until her hands ached. The rage circulating in her blood made her ears hot, her sight dim. She wanted to break something, but the words of her shrink battled against the anger.

Take a deep breath. Again. Let it out slowly. Focus on your calm place. Picture a blank canvas. Now paint your oasis, the place you feel safe. Paint that in the canvas of your mind. Put yourself there, in the picture.

Emily released the car’s clutch and slowly drove into the garage. She pretended she floated in the middle of the sea, nothing around her. The ocean was calm, peaceful, the water a brilliant blue, the sky orange, red, violet in the setting sun.