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Kill them

            The day Jarod took over the Triumvirate was the day Raines died. (Not Mr. Raines anymore. Oh, no. Now Raines called him Mr. Jarod. Until he died, that is.)

            They found him in his bed, not sleeping peacefully as many wanted to go, but with his eyes wide open, his face a mask of abject terror. It was ruled massive heart failure. Maybe it was. No one at the Centre had to wonder at who could possibly put such a look on Raines’ face or make him die of sheer terror. Or had the intelligence to create a drug the coroner didn’t know how to look for. Jarod had been a busy man, becoming the Centre, moving into the Triumvirate, becoming the Triumvirate, murdering Raines. Everyone at the Centre had always lived with uneasiness. Now they lived with fear. Anyone could be Jarod’s next target. Anyone.

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