I toss the ball high in the air while I watch the figures move about on screen. The ball spins and comes down hard into my awaiting palm. Some would call it a nervous habit, but I find it soothing; it helps me focus on the task at hand.
“There we go,” Mikey grins, leaning in. His head hovers just above my shoulder, his eyes fixed on the screen as Katie pops up in her heels and disgustingly expensive dress. We needed to dress her as far away from her usual attire as possible. She walks differently in heels, especially the ones she’s wearing on screen.
I lost count of the number of times her ankles rolled on her while she was practising in them, only for Aiden’s lurking, she would have gone out on her ear many, many times. The body padding was an added bonus, helping to change her figure, posture, and overall presence on screen. It was a drastic transformation, but one that was necessary for the character she was portraying.
I watch the van pull up outside of the bank. I parked itperfectly. The driver (me) is completely out of shot.
A minute later, the van’s back door opens, and a pair of gloved hands emerge, dragging the guy Katie’s with into the van before speeding off. I wait a little longer to be sure Jay is in the clear; luckily, he is. He pulled up right where I did; the front of the car is out of range of the cameras.
“Well, that’s that.” I toss the ball into the air again. I don’t need to check my bank accounts. I’ve already seen the money deposited. Two hundred and fifty thousand, split between five accounts.
Not bad for a four hour job.
Turning off the monitors, I grab my bag and head out the door.
Duty calls.
The house is in absolute shambles when I get there. Furniture is broken, glass litters the floor like confetti, and there is more blood here than on that elevator in the shining. My shoe squelches above something wet and sticky. Glancing down, I’m greeted with the best part of someone’s intestine poking out from under an overturned table.
“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath, approaching the stairs. There is a body hanging from the remainder of the intestine I just stepped in, swinging gently back and forth like some warped chandelier. A pool of blood that is seeping into the floorboard cracks surrounds another body which lies crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. I step over him, trying to avoid the dripping coming from the human pinata above me, and make my way up the stairs, praying I don’t slip on the viscera-soaked steps. “Hola?” I call out. “Housekeeping!”
No response. Aiden has to be in here somewhere.
“Yoo-hoo, big summer blowout.” Tapping the bathroom door open with my foot, I spot a flayed body in the bath and quickly move on.
As I edge into the big bedroom, I see him on his knees, breathing heavily and covered in blood. “Ciao, bello,” sweet Jesus, it looks like he’s clawed his way up through hell. Blood droplets gather and fall from every single inch of him—eyelashes included.
Christ, I knew he was the best in the business, but fuck me if this isn’t a whole new level of gore.
“I’ve heard of blood facials, but this is taking the cake.”
His grey eyes rise from the floor to meet mine, a sinister smile playing on his lips. I’m comfortable enough with my masculinity to admit that Aiden is a remarkably handsome man, but right now, that smirk is hideous in its beauty.
“It only took me 45 minutes to finish this masterpiece,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
“And it’s going to take me a lot longer to clean up the mess.” And burn my shoes. These are only fucking new and all. Typical. I can’t have anything nice.
As if reading my mind, Aiden grunts, “I’ll buy you a new pair on the way home,” and pushes himself from the ground. I’m sure I hear a distinct suction sound as he stands up, I resist the urge to laugh.
“You can buy me a new bike for this shit,” I murmur.
“Of course,” he reaches into my pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, leaving a delightful smear of blood on my jeans. “What bike does Matteo want?”
He rarely uses my name, opting for Raven instead. Aiden only ever uses it when we’re alone.
“I thought you quit?”
“I did, but this seems like a special occasion,” he chuckles, exhaling smoke. “A Ducati again?”
“Shove the Ducati; I want a Suzuki Hayabusa.”
“Not brave enough for the Kawasaki Ninja?” He teases. I tried the bike once; it was too much for me to handle.
“I don’t have a death wish, unlike some people.” I shrug off my bag, grabbing the roll of plastic bags and waiting for Aiden to finish his smoke and strip so I can get to work on the rest of the house.
He peers into the bag and grins. “Bleach doesn’t get rid of DNA.”
“No but mixing it with sodium hypochlorite does.” I gift him a smarmy grin in return.
