I had him hanging from chains in his own garage by his arms. I think this contraption is meant to skin deer or some shit, but it’s been pretty handy so far. I bent over, snatching his shoe off, then one of his socks and—fuck—they stink. The poor guy should have just handled this like a Viking and took his demise in silence in the good name of Valhalla. I balled it up and shoved it into his mouth.
“Safe journeys, buddy. Been a pleasure.”
My knife buried into his round gut and his muffled groan actually did nothing for me today. I twisted the handle and wasn’t getting much from that noise either. Thinking maybe I just got up on the wrong side of my very comfortable bed this morning, I dragged it through organs and muscle…and blubber…all the way down to his waist, turning the knife clockwise until I felt it give. I ripped it out with some force and his insides strung out with it, cascading impressively over his spare tire and some on the concrete floor of the garage.
That’ll do.
He was gurgling now, and I touched a couple fingers to my forehead, then both my shoulders and lastly, my heart, kissing my fingertips as I pressed them chastely to the tip of his nose. I cleaned my blade on the leg of his dirty pants while his body trembled with its last attempt to fight off death. And then I walked out and left him there.
I wonder who’s gonna find his body?
I wonder how long it’ll take?
How would Little Viper clean this one? I’m so curious about how her wheels turn. Curious what makes her tick…other than my presence. I was halfway to my car when I stopped dead, the answer to all my problems suddenly sparking to life.
That’s how I’ll do it.
Bridget won’t have to worry about being caught up with the O’Dell’s if they don’t fucking exist anymore. I made the comment about her getting bored and having me pick ‘em off for her, but…what if I just pick ‘em off anyway? Before they even have a chance to figure out how little time it takes her to decide she’s unamused? I’ll kill them and ask Seven to clean up for me…in exchange for destroying any evidence that she was ever part of this shit show. She’ll go for it. I know she will. And in the time that she spends trying to fill that quota and get away…I’ll convince her to stick around.
Damn, I just had a smart moment. And nobody was here to witness it except ‘ole Robert back there. I glanced over my shoulder into the garage. Nevermind…he didn’t see it either.
Whatever.
I’m on a high. Fuck checking in at the house. I’ll text Pop that it’s done. I’ve got another date with a hot mortician.
CHAPTER 7
The Mortician
I missed lunch and decided that I’ll probably at least start prepping Mr. Danforth before I leave for the night, but…I just need a breather. I stepped out into the fresh air, happy to see that it was a gorgeous, mild sunny day, since it’s so absolutely opposite of my mood. Desiree doesn’t have chicken salad today, but shedoeshave potato soup. Say less. That’s where I’m headed. I strolled down the front steps of the funeral home and down the driveway, taking the time to admire the roses on my way past and hoping I don’t smell like a jug of formaldehyde. It’s a short walk across the street to the cafe, but I’m dragging it out. I need this to be a grounding moment right now and remind myself that no matter how much I feel like I don’t…I’m the one with the control over my life, and this will work itself out. It has to, right?
I ordered my special coffee milkshake and the soup. Des only makes this for me, and I love her for it. It’s literally nothing but a couple scoops of vanilla bean ice cream, coffee instead of milk, a shit ton of whipped cream and some chocolate curls just because she loves me. I doom scrolled for a few minutes in my little booth tucked into the far corner of the place and was relishing in my quiet until I felt the seat bounce and a warm shoulder press up against mine. I choked on my milkshake.
“Haigh, mo aingeal beag báis.”
Malek’s devilish little grin was about to get backhanded right off his gorgeous face. I raised my hand to do just that, and he caught my wrist. Damn it, why didn’t she give me silverware?
“I’ll fucking scream, I swear it.”
He smiled wider and cocked his head, easing his grip. “Youcould. But that would be kind of awkward.” We both looked around at the busy cafe. Not a single soul was paying any attention to me. Probably because they’re used to seeing me at this table and know I generally keep to myself. Fine time for them to be normal. “If I let go, can you behave? I’m into it, but…I don’t typically do this kinda thing in public. That’s just inappropriate.” He winked the eye that had the clover tattoo under it…and the sexy barbelloverit.
Fuck, why did he have to be hot?
“What do youwant, Malek?” He let go of my wrist and I jerked it to my lap, trying to remember that I need to remain seething and not get caught up in those fiercely green fucking eyes.
“Oh, I’ve gotta list. But for now, I swear, I only came to talk.”
“I don’t have a damn thing to say to you that I haven’t already said. Or texted. If you didn’t come here to slaughter my family or to tell me you’re backing off, then I suggest you leave. Forbothour sakes.”
He nodded at my milkshake. “I had three of those yesterday.”
“Was that before, orafteryou ruined my night?”
He was about to say something, and Desiree appeared next to the table, positively beaming when she saw Malek. He smiled right back, that stupid dimple making its debut, and I honestly felt like I didn’t exist as I gawked at them.
“You’re back! Should I come back with another strawberry shake?”
“That’d be lovely. Thank you.” Des wagged her eyebrows at me, sliding my bowl of soup over my way, and practicallybounced back over to the counter to make his stupid milkshake. “Potato? Yousureyou weren’t thinkin’ about me, lass?”
