Chapter 4
ARLAN BARDOT
"Hello?" I almost snarled into my phone when it went off again, ringing so loudly and disrupting my emotions so abruptly.
I tried to keep my gaze on the bus and the waned red haired woman inside it. I hoped the women I had planted in the bus did their jobs well. I had to have the evidence of her suffering.
It had been seven years and in the range of those years, a lot of people would have definitely forgotten about the sensational news of a newly married wife stabbing her husband to death. So, in my own way, I had to make sure she was paid homage as a murderer as soon as she left prison. She was never to forget the horrible crime she committed because as from now, she was going to suffer dearly for it.
"Mr Bardot," the fidgety voice of one of my workers came to life and I frowned.
