Page 98 of Trigger Happy Ending

And I’m not accepting that.

First, I took his voice. Now, I’ll take his sight.

I jam my thumbs into his eyes.

His crushed windpipe prevents a high-pitched scream, and whatever sound he does manage to squeak out, the ocean drowns it.

I push deeper until the wet pop comes, rupturing his sockets as warmth spills over my hands. It’s grotesque, but so were the things he said about Raine.

His body jerks, then stills. Lifeless and eyeless.

I stand, breathing hard. The deck smells of blood and salt. It’s a gruesome sight, but one that brings me satisfaction. I grab Alex by the collar and drag his body to the edge of the stern. I do a quick scan to make sure no one is watching before I kick his sorry ass into the black water. The splash is nothing against the sound of the sea.

I watch until the ripples vanish, steadying my breath and willing the adrenaline to take a break now. It’s not the first time I’ve dumped a body in water, but it is the first time it’s been off a superyacht into the ocean off the coast of Florida.

I pull the cloth from my jacket and wipe my hands as best I can. I toss the blood and fluid-covered fabric overboard. A rinse hose sits coiled in the corner. It's probably for cleaning jet skis, but tonight it’s for washing away evidence. When I’m done rinsing Alex’s blood off the stern, I grab what I need, hang the hose back, and take the stairs up to the light and noise of the yacht.

Chapter 42

Raine

Fresh out of the shower and I'm running my hairbrush through my dripping hair, when slow and heavy footsteps outside my cabin give me pause. I’m screwed if this is Alex on the other side of this door. I don’t have the energy or mental bandwidth to be dealing with this bullshit at this late hour.

A soft knock at the door has me tightening the towel around my body.

Two more knocks follow and my hand slides to my hairpin on the vanity. Anything can be a weapon.

I cross to the peephole and when I see who it is, I release a breath and toss the hairpin aside, although my heart races.

Soren.

I unlock the door and step aside, letting him in. "Hey."

He doesn’t speak, just closes it behind him and stays near the threshold for a moment, watching me.

I turn back to my vanity, sit down, and continue to run the brush through the wet strands of my hair. Finally, he follows, standing close enough that I can see his reflection beside mine in the mirror.

“Why are you standing there like some scary, mute statue?”

His eyes.

They are different. Pupils dilated, like he’s high. Except Soren doesn’t do drugs, and wouldn’t, even for this assignment. This is a high from something else. A high I recognize.

I know this look.

It’s the look of death.

“What’s happened?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he sets a small black lacquer box on my vanity and brushes his thumb along my jaw.

“What’s this?”

Still nothing from him. His silence makes my skin tingle. My eyes drop to his hands, which look scrubbed raw. Like he’s been in a fight and cleaned himself up after. There’s a faint scent clinging to him, and it’s not cologne. It’s salt. Salt and … copper.

Blood.

Oh god, what has he done?