Keeper of Death
So, can I dedicate this book to cookie dough flavored coffee creamer, dramatic potato shaped dogs with boundary issues, and bipolar disorder?
Well, why the hell not?
How was I to know a severed dick was going to change my life?
Seriously, I’d been staying at this hostel in Amsterdam for about two weeks. I had a pretty great job in a café. My intention was to just save up enough to move on to the next country on my backpacking trip, but I really liked it here.
Then, the dick happened.
You had to sleep a certain way in a hostel as a woman. It was an art to getting the right amount of sleep, but not sleeping deep enough that you didn’t notice someone trying to break into yourroom. I’d mastered that by now, so how the fuck did someone sneak into my room and leave a cock on my pillow like some deranged tooth fairy?
I jumped out of bed and just stared at it. What was the best course of action here? Did the owner of the dick want it back? Couldn’t they reattach it? Were they looking for it? I got mad when I misplaced my keys. This guy lost his entire cock.
Maybe he had it coming. I wouldn’t imagine anyone would cut a dude’s dick off unless he did something awful. But why the fuck would they thinkIwanted it? I didn’t have a problem with anyone here.
That was when I noticed it. Someone had tied a ribbon around it like this was a present. I would have preferred a gift card, not incriminating evidence. I couldn’t leave it here, but I didn’t want to touch it and only part of that was me worrying about getting my DNA or fingerprints on it.
Shit, did everyone know there was a severed dick in my bed?
Before I could even figure out what to do next, people wearing all black with their faces covered in gaiters started spilling through the door and windows that I definitely made sure were locked before I went to bed.
Fuck me. No matter what I did, they’d just found me with a severed dick on my pillow. I wasn’t one to kink shame, but I’d probably have some thoughts about that if it wasn’t me in this situation.
They were blocking the doors and windows and most of them were massive. The chances of me getting away if I tried to run were pretty slim. I’d probably get body slammed and if I had any chance of convincing these folks that I had nothing to do with the severed dick, I needed to play it cool.
I raised my hands in surrender.
“I didn’t do it,” I immediately said.
One of them grabbed me and started manhandling my head.
“She doesn’t have it.”
“We’ve got our order. Bring her anyway.”
I felt a prick as they slid a needle into my neck. I only had one thing on my mind as darkness overtook me.
Whose dick was it that it warranted this kind of reaction?
Disposing of a body in the heart of Amsterdam was hard. Disposing of a body in the heart of Amsterdam when your means of transportation was a Vespa was even harder…if you weren’t me. I could get rid of a dead body in any circumstance.
Because my family were criminals and instead of teaching me to kick a football like any normal six-year-old, they were grooming me to run the family empire when my Da retired. I didn’t particularly give a shit about cracking heads or stealing, but I had a problem with the drugs.
I didn’t have a problem withalldrugs, just the ones we sold. We sold the highly addictive poisons that ruined people’s livesand killed them. I wasn’t cool with that. I was totally fine with marijuana and mushrooms. That was a gift from nature.
Which was how I ended up working in a bakery that sold edibles in Amsterdam. Ilovedbaking. I was good at it. I used everything my Da taught me, embezzled enough money from the families to set me up for the rest of my life, and got the fuck out of Ireland.
I lived a simple life. I could have set myself up nice in a penthouse and drove a flashy car, but I wasn’t trying to draw attention to myself because I pissed off the Irish mafia stealing from them. I lived in a hostel and got around on a vespa. I loved every minute of it.
So, when I got back to my room in the early hours of the morning and men in black were breaking in, I just figured one of the families had finally found me. I wasn’t going down without a fight. My Da might not even be able to save me if the wrong family got their hands on me.
I went to tackle the man by the door. I was a scrappy lad who enjoyed boxing, and I could take this wanker down. Except he just held me in place as I felt the dart hit my neck. Darts with sedatives weren’t fair play. That was cheating.
Shit, I was actually getting hauled back to Ireland blitzed off my arse by whatever was on that dart. I only had one thought as I started to lose consciousness.
Did the stunning red head with legs for days like the dick of her enemy I’d left before I got rid of his body?
