Alex. He’s the reason I’m here. A sudden bout of frustration grips me and my jaw tightens. His involvement has prolonged this job longer than necessary. Maybe a few knocks to his head isn’t such a bad thing.

A wracked sob from Lenora cuts into my thoughts. “Who did I marry?” she asks. “Who the hell is he? A freaking psychopath?”

I try not to feel insulted. It’s a common misconception. “He’s a liar,” I say to her. “And a deviant. He manipulated you, Lenora. But you’ll have your revenge soon. I promise.”

Her voice clogs on a muddled reply, and I hang up before more sentiment is required of me. It’s not that I don’t feel badly for her—I do, on some surface level, I understand her hardship.

But, the longer I try to console her, the more tedious and redundant my replies become, and that’s not helpful. To her, or to me. I’m sure she has friends or family who are better suited for that job.

I need to take action. To make things happen. That’s where I’m best utilized to help her.

After nearly fifteen minutes of waiting, my patience is gone. I glance around the parking lot of the warehouse. Everything is too quiet, still. In keeping my word to Lenora, I decide to make something happen. Not soon…but now.

Pocketing my phone, I jog through the parking lot, making sure I’m not noticed. By now, Alex should’ve obtained his directive. He’s had enough time to either convince Ericson of his worthiness, or he’s been pummeled into minced meat and stuffed in a freezer locker.

What we don’t have time for is Ericson to question Alex—to figure out that he’s an imposter.

Rounding the corner of the building, I search the rusted corrugated metal for the sprinkler system. It’s close to midnight, and I use my phone as a flashlight. On old warehouses like this, the piping system is usually visible, the plumbing not updated to code. I walk the perimeter and locate an exposed pipe running along the gutter.

Of course, it has to be completely out of reach. Venting every curse word in my vocabulary as I drag discarded pallets to the corner of the building, I stack them on top of each other until I’m tall enough to grab hold of the pipe.

I yank down hard on the pipe, not budging it an inch. I hoist my whole body up in a pull-up and then hike my boot up to kick the butler. A few wild kicks, groaning my aggravation. More acrobatics than I was prepared for today, but it works, and the rusted pipe finally gives way.

Water bursts from the broken seam, spraying the side of the building.