I f****d the woman my father told me to kill.
I start walking with no destination in mind. I need movement, any kind, any direction, because if I stand still, I’ll have to sit with what just happened, and I am not ready for that. My legs carry me east, toward the river, toward nothing in particular.
My father wants her dead. That’s the job. It’s pretty f*****g black and white. Lukas Lazarev pointed at Jillian Pierce and said, Get rid of her. But instead of putting a bullet in her or a knife across her throat or any of the dozen clean methods I was taught before I could legally drive, I put her on her kitchen floor and f****d her until neither of us could see straight.
What a solution that was.
As I cross Amsterdam, a taxi honks at me when I step into traffic without looking. I don’t fl
