“Thank God the bitch is alive.” He wasn’t ready for her to be dead. Yet. MERF wasn’t ready.

Monty tossed his cell phone onto the writing desk. It clunked and spun, coming close to the edge but stopping a hair’s width from falling off. He was tempted to flick it with his finger and send it spinning off the desk.

He’d seen the whole thing play out before him from the ridge near his property. When he had watched Celine cling to the top of that Mercedes, he’d alternated between hoping the flood would win to praying she’d be rescued.

Then he could kill her when he had everything he needed. When Monty’s Early Retirement Fund was nice and well padded, enough to keep him comfortable for the rest of his life in Belize. He’d found a perfect location, and he was ready to put a bid on it.

He hated her and her fucking family. She’d never known who had destroyed what had been so important to her.

With narrowed eyes, he picked up Celine’s designer tote that was stuffed with papers and her laptop. Of course, only the best for her, so she’d paid a good chunk of money for the Louis Vuitton bag.

The bitch didn’t know what it was like to work in the trenches and scrabble her way to the top.

Celine might not take any of Mummy and Daddy’s money now, but that didn’t matter. She’d insisted on returning the money for her education to her parents when she made enough from her business to do so.

But he was certain her parents’ connections had opened doors. The kind of doors that he’d had to pry open with a crowbar. Others he’d never be able to even see through.

As far as he was concerned, Celine didn’t deserve a penny of the money coming in.

Soon it would be his.

He took the papers he’d given her out of her tote and flipped through the pages. He came to the signature page and let out a burst of obscenities. Not signed. Just a child-sized footprint there and a partial imprint of an adult sized sneaker on the next.

Monty tossed the stack of papers aside. He’d make sure those were signed even if it meant putting a gun to her head.

Next her laptop.

He withdrew it from the bag, set it on the writing desk, and raised the lid. The laptop woke from sleep mode and a retro screensaver with flying toasters popped up with her name and a place to put in a password.

Seriously? She had the old flying toasters screen saver?

With a snarl, he typed in password. He couldn’t believe people used that as a login.

No such luck with Celine’s laptop. He checked his notepad that had a page he’d prepared with dates significant to her—names, places, people, and that one beast, her dead horse.

He tried them all.

Nothing.

One more try—

It locked him out.

Too many attempts. Try again later.

His muscles ached as he had to restrain himself from throwing the laptop across the room.

No. It wouldn’t do a damn bit of good if he broke the thing. The last bit of information he needed to destroy her, and to take every penny from her, was on this expensive hunk of crap.

He’d have to try later.

A crack of lightning illuminated the sky outside the window, followed by thunder not three seconds later. Coming closer. One hell of a storm carried on outside as it was.

It reminded him of Celine on her ass in the mud puddle and how she had thrown mud into his face. Bitch. He’d wanted to choke her then and there.

The laptop was low on juice, but thankfully, she had put the power cord in the tote. He plugged it in and started charging the battery.

Monty flung himself in the closest chair and chewed on his thumbnail. He’d done that since he was a child and waited for a bottle. Or sat in the corner when he was punished. He’d never been able to stop that damned habit.

Get back on track.

This would all come together. He’d worked too hard for it to fail.

He stared out the open window, remembering that night so many years ago when he’d nearly destroyed a little girl’s hopes and dreams. Her parents hadn’t known what to do with the miserable sniveling brat. That had been one hell of a treat for him to see.

A disgruntled employee. He had nearly laughed his ass off when that theory came out in the local paper. The Northlands still had disgruntled employees coming out their asses.

He was far more than a disgruntled employee. This was all about revenge.

And it would be sweeter than anyone could possibly imagine.