“What are you going to do? Are you going to kill me and make yourself feel better? How pathetic, you weak piece of shit. You can’t blame her for the choices you made in your life. She had no control of her father’s business. Harper was just a child.” I notice to my right on the other side of the parked cars, there are people starting to assemble, and there are plenty of phones out. One of them is a guy that works with Ashton that was given the job of filming, and I also have a tiny hidden wireless microphone planted just inside my pocket that will make sure we have clear dialogue of everything.

“I don’t care about any of that bullshit. You coming to Chicago saved me a trip to London to kill her. Someone’s gotta pay, and it suits me if that’s you, asshole. I can’t wait to watch her weep at your grave. Then I might just kill her too. Yeah, I’ll kill you and wait for her to come to me. This is perfect.” The glint in his eye at all this talk of murder is unnerving for me, but I won’t let him get in my head, telling myself Harper is a long way from here and she’s safe.

“Oh, you’re so tough with that knife in your hand, aren’t you. A real man would fight fair, man to man, fist to fist. If you are standing up for your family, at least do it honorably instead of being pathetic and weak.” And taking the biggest risk of my life, I turn my back on him, showing that he doesn’t scare me, when really my blood pressure is through the roof and I’m sweating profusely. I quickly spin back around and smash my hand into his that is holding the knife, taking him by surprise. When I hear the sound of metal hit the ground, I know I’ve got him. His panic at being disarmed has him landing his first punch into my stomach. It knocks the wind from me a little, but I was ready for it, so I stand my ground.

I put my hands out in front of me and call him to me. “Come on, you gutless wonder, is that the best you’ve got?” I position myself so that he can land a few more punches on me.

“You’re a mouthy cunt, aren’t you. All talk but no fight. Come on, mister tough guy, hit me.” Needing this to look real, I give him his wish and jab him in the side, and if he had any brains, he would see I have left my face wide open for him to hit me properly. Surely after seventeen years in prison he has learned to fight and defend himself.