Jameson Hotel - the Dark Suite Series: Parts One, Two & Three Read Online Free PDF Page B

virgin.
    “Uh,” he huffs with
wide eyes and an open mouth.
    I bring him closer
and sing despondently while he takes his final breaths.
    “I’ll eat...” My knife jerks upward and twists.
    “You up...” Pulling out, he falls to the ground.
    “For supper.”
    Rot in Hell, you dumb fuck.

MORNING
    T hat was a
masterful morning. It’s been years since I’ve had good reason to take a man
down, and from start to finish, it played out without a hitch. I truly believe
ridding the world of scum is a good deed. It’s not wrong to kill a man who’s
hurt others or who has the potential to harm again. I’m a vigilante for those I
hold dear and it was the right thing to do. My greatest strength is to defend
and protect, and Julia’s one lucky woman to have me around.
    The guy’s name was
Roland Lorne, manager of Mountain Bread, avid fisherman, skier (both water and
snow), only child to William and Stacy of Carson City; a Republican in his
early thirties, with a love for ‘Star Trek, Big Titties ,
and Beer.’ That’s what I found on Facebook after scoring his name from the
Mountain Bread website. The moron also posted his daily run, including a map,
distance, and the time of the day he jogged, open for the entire world to view.
I’ve tracked a few people this way and it’s usually the ones with low IQ’s or
inflated egos who leave their profile settings public. I knew I had the right
guy, plus, he never deleted the selfie of Julia and
him from their first date over a year ago, along with the twenty other women
since then.
    After he was dead I
found a slim wallet zipped in his back pocket, put blood on it, and jogged the
two miles back to town where my Tacoma was parked. The jog was the most
difficult part. The sneakers I wore were a pair left behind by one of our
guests and they were a size too small. I set them, the wallet, and the bloody
blade on a bench in the small downtown park, close to a homeless guy who was
sleeping under a blanket by a tree. I waited in my truck until he got up,
watching with a grin as he found the items.
    It was like he read
my mind. He opened the wallet first and got blood on his hand, wiped it clean
on his shirt then placed it in his back pocket. Then he opened the blade, wiped
the blood from that onto his sleeve and pocketed it as well. The sneakers were
too small but he wore them anyway then packed up his blanket, put his old shoes
in his backpack, and walked off.
    Fucking brilliant.
    The homeless are
usually the first to be questioned in this town and if he gets charged and sent
to prison, he’ll have free meals and a warm bed for twenty-five years. That has
to be better than eating rotting table scraps from dumpsters or ending up
frozen to the sidewalk on a minus twenty-degree winter night. Others may
disagree, but this slaughter seems like a win-win for all. A dickhead’s never
going to hurt another woman, a homeless guy is finally going to get taxpayers
to take care of him, and I get the girl.
    Goddamn, I feel
amazing.
    Even without the
bum, South Lake Tahoe’s traffic count is fifteen thousand cars a day with
people on their way to California or headed in the opposite direction to the
casinos, not to mention the daily influx of tourists who stay the night and
then disappear come morning. I bet at least two killers drive through these
parts on any given day.
    I mean, other than Dayne Rosen and me.
    When I got back to
my suite, I burned my black leather gloves, then turned on the driveway
security cameras before relaxing on the sofa for a moment with a glass of juice
and a piece of dry toast.
    And now, I’ve been
unable to wipe the grin from my face for hours and I’m too fucking wired to
sleep. All I can do to waste some time is take a hot shower to loosen my tight
muscles then try and get my ass moving for the day.
    I stand with my
hands pressed against the marble tiled wall with my eyes closed and the water
streaming down my face. “I’m a badass, Dad,” I whisper. “A