Fallow looks down at his body, checking himself for wounds. He looks happy, though. Calm. Then he stares at his arms for a minute, where the dumb fuck we just killed was clawing and scrabbling at him.
With absolutely no warning, he leans to the side and pukes. This time I really do take a step toward him, but he holds out a hand to stop me.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” he says, panting. “I just need a minute. I’ll be fine.”
Maybe he caught an elbow to the stomach or something. Or maybe his hatred for being touched really is that bad that he’s having a full-body reaction to it. I guess I should be grateful I don’t freak him out as much as a random stranger.
Fallow stands up after a few seconds, wiping his mouth on his t-shirt and looking at me like he’s waiting for instruction.
“You okay?” I ask again, and he just nods.
“I guess we should get rid of these bodies,” he says. “Time to put those big muscles of yours to work, little rabbit.”
This is going to take so fucking long.
FALLOW
I don’t know how many hours this shitty process takes, but by the time we’re done the sky is starting to lighten a little. The stars are still out, but the world is a steely gray instead of black. Traffic on the road beside us has gradually picked up, but we were alone for long enough to do the initial part of corpse disposal.
I dragged each of the six Aryans out of the facility and then half a fucking mile into the desert, where Colm used the emergency shovel from the car to dig a hole that was actually pretty impressive. They got dumped and then covered with rocks, so hopefully the animals won’t pull them out any time soon, and I found a couple bottles of bleach that I poured over the bloodstains inside.
It’s not exactly the perfect crime. The staff will see the evidence of a fight as soon as they get in, and I’m sure the parking lot security cam caught the sounds of gunfire, even if they didn’t see us. There’s no way I had enough time to clean up all the shell casings and DNA. But it’s close enough.
I’m relying on the powerful levels of disinterest the local police probably have in solving a crime with no bodies that—if you have an iota of common sense—is clearly a beef between bad people and not a threat to the general public.
No one makes a Netflix series about low-level gangsters offing each other. It’s just not newsworthy.
The most annoying part of the whole process was finding the tracker on the car. It wasn’t that well-hidden, but still. What a pain in the ass. Colm hunted for it while I brushed my teeth, and we both managed a whore’s bath and a change of clothes by the side of the car without getting spotted. We can dump the dirty stuff somewhere once we’ve crossed into the next county, I’m sure.
The entire process is exhausting, and whatever buzz of endorphins I had from the murder and orgasms is long gone by the time we’re done. I end up leaning against the car for a second, summoning up the will to leave, more desperate for sleep than I’ve been in a long time.
Colm walks over to me, still pouring bottled water over his hands to wash them. His eyebrows are drawn together in that hangdog look of concern I’ve gotten familiar with, and I already know what he’s going to say.
“I’m fine.”
He passes me the bottle of water when he finishes, and I take a swig. I realize abruptly how thirsty I am and chug the rest without thinking.
“More?” he asks, still staring.
I shake my head.
“We should go. It’s almost dawn, and who knows how early these people have to get here to start portioning out crickets for the lizard breakfasts.”
Colm smiles a bit, but the concern is still there, lurking beneath the surface.
“Look.” I point to my cheek, where all the makeup has rubbed off but the skin is red completely unbroken, obviously healed enough to make it through some very vigorous activity. “Seems like I had quite the surgeon. Even hand to hand combat wasn’t enough to fuck it up again.”
Oh God, I shouldn’t have said that, because now he’s fucking beaming and I might be a little bit in love with the feckless oaf.
Creatures like me aren’t built for love. It’s not how I’m wired. It’s been such a non-issue in my life that I never even considered it, it just seemed like something other people did. But here I am with the kindest, most emotionally mature man in the history of organized crime, thinking about asking him to touch me again like he did before. Breaking all of my rules, just to keep him close to me.
Fuck it. I’ve always loved surprising people. What’s the point in worrying about breaking rules, when I’m the one who made the rules in the first place?
“Kiss me,” I tell him, smiling to myself as his eyes slowly widen.
“What?”
“You heard me.” I make a show of leaning back against the car, stretching out and putting my now semi-clean body on display. “Find some balls, walk over here and kiss me.”
