Sick pieces of shit.
His vacant eyes glare back at me. Petrified in a state of bewilderment.
Sometimes, plans bite you in the ass, motherfucker. Or the neck.
“Oh, I’m gonna need that back.” I pluck my knife out of hisneck, wipe the blade on his cheeks, fold it closed, and stash it back in my pocket.
Then, I grab his friend and lug him over. Ripping off his mask, I study the racoon bruising. Purple rings fringing his swollen nose. His eyelids aren’t as open as the other guy’s, but either way, all I see are beady coal irises taunting me.
Like the ones from my nightmares …his.
My fingers itch to reach for my blade, to sink it into his flesh, again and again and again, lifeless or not. Scorching heat swarms my chest and spine and limbs. The stammering and stuttering of my heart are goading me to do it—to desecrate his body until he’s nothing but an unrecognizable heap of vanquished evil.
A chant whirs around me like a typhoon of regret.Too late. You should’ve, but you didn’t. You failed them. You were too late.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One wrong choice.
As if I’ve been slapped, Rena’s angelic face suddenly flashes before me, interrupting the berating mantra. But that stunning porcelain skin is stained purple by this motherfucker who planned to defile her. That’s the precise second that I release the sanity noose holding me back, grab my knife, and stab the repulsive rapist with every ounce of pent-up rage blasting through my muscles. His body jumps from the force of each gash. Dozens of holes mar his chest and stomach. And eyes. I move to the other cocksucker and carry out the same vengeance.
Fuck.It’s still not enough. At least dead bodies don’t bleed, so I’m relatively clean. I mean, fresh kills like these still seep, but they don’t gush. The longer they’re dead, the less gore there is. Not that I stab a lot of corpses. The point is, I’m not splattered in blood because their hearts aren’t pumping it.
Wiping off the blade once more, I stow it in my pocket, modulate my breathing, and rinse my hands, face, and arms with a bottle of water from their trunk. I need to hurry to get back before Rena’s done playing.
Snatching both their wallets, I sift through for identification.Enzo Sanford and Sebastian Forner. I snap a quick photo of both of their addresses. Enzo said he’d take Rena back to “the house,” so I’ll dig into that later.
After shutting the trunk, I toss the keys onto the driver’s seat and pull out my burner phone to dial York. He’s the cleaner we keep on retainer. Well worth the money. Not only is he the best there is, but he also has guys all over the world. While he works solely for us, he has no idea who we are. It benefits both parties. That’s one of the advantages to the government wiping us from existence. Complete anonymity. No fingerprints to run, no facial recognition, no DNA. Even our former identity criteria have been altered. They wouldn’t risk a situation where adeadguy was caught for something.
It all adds up to us being able to hide in plain sight. To do their bidding. And plenty of our own. Not to mention KORT—our primary focus. What that means for York is that he rakes in the money while having little chance of going down for the abundance of crimes he revels in expunging.
Win-win.
He answers our private line on the first ring. “Go.”
“Eternal Night. Vegas.” I glance at the street sign. “Webster Street alleyway.”
“How many?” He always gets right to it. Time is a commodity that is rarely plentiful in these situations. The number of bodies is what he’s looking for.
“Two.”
“Requirements?” That’s regarding the type of cleanup he’ll need tools for—fire, flood, bloodbath, et cetera.
“Car crushing.”
“Nice.” He chuckles, moving on to the coverup. “Plotting?”
I don’t give a shit if anyone misses these fuckers. Nothing ties them to me. But I guess I’m not sure that’s the case for Rena. “For now, nothing. But I’ll text later this evening.”
“Fine. Send the plate number. Eleven minutes till arrival. Sounds like no diversion is necessary.”
“No,” I agree. “I want a pic of the empty spot so I know it’s cleared.”
“Will do,” he says before hanging up.
I stroll back through the alley and mosey all the way around the building, squeezing past the gate and reentering through the front entrance. After flashing my ID to security again, I duck inside the restroom to clean myself up and switch out my mask. At a minimum, those ladies saw me with the guys. I didn’t change the mask outside because it’s possible the bouncer would have noted the difference from earlier and questioned it.
I’ve probably been gone for close to a half hour, so I’m relieved to see Rena is still playing. But my patience is utterly extinguished. I’m nearly ready to storm the stage and drag her out of here. Instead, I resolve to find a way back there, ambling casually through the Rock Through the Ages club toward the gothic room, hoping there is another entrance on that side, when a cocktail waitress scurries by, wearing a key card on her hip.
I bump into her, catching her before she trips and fumbles her tray. “Sorry about that. It’s packed in here.”
