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1Sabrina
If I had to rank all the things I hate about my job, turning someone into human soup using lye would be at the top of that list.
The smell.
The second thing I hate would be an overly verbose villain speech. At least let a lady use the restroom before stepping on that soapbox. Third is being forced to fly coach, because I can’t accumulate status with my fake IDs, but all the travel does have some perks. It doesn’t get much better than sitting on a sun-drenched balcony in Malibu sipping my THC-infused hard seltzer.
And by sipping, I mean dumping it into the nearest potted orange tree. The last thing I need is to be tipsy while pouring lye into this tech bro’s hot tub.
“So, Charlotte, you just moved to Malibu, right?” Bryce slides his wayfarers up his floppy hair. It takes a second to remember that’s the fake name I gave him. “How’ve the apps been treating you?”
I almost snort. It’s hard to date when I have to create a fake Hinge profile just to go to dinner, but I’m not about to tell a criminal who refers to his jacuzzi as “The Tub” about my dating woes.
I cross my legs on his lounger and breathe in the salty breeze, ignoring the hint of smog. “The last guy I went out with clipped his toenails in front of me and then put them in a ziplock bag labeled For Later, so you tell me.”
I stole that anecdote off a subreddit called “DatingHell,” since I can’t exactly tell him about the guy who thought the pistol in my nightstand was a dildo.
“So, not great, then?” he says.
“That’s an understatement.” I side-eye his half smile. Some smirks are hot, but his is slimy.
Bryce winks. “So what you’re saying is that life’s better now that you’ve met me?”
The bar’s on the floor, but okay. “Sure. You’re better than the ‘for later’ guy.”
He moves to my side of the lounger. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
Really? That’s all? I squint at the gigantic blow-up flamingo floating in his pool that he introduced as Popeye.
This is why I gave up on dating. Not that this is a real one, but I don’t want to concoct an entire fake identity just to laugh at jokes that aren’t funny, over oysters I pretend to enjoy. I want to look a man in the eye and say, I get paid to remove people from this planet, and not have to worry about them running away, or worse—leaving me with the check.
I’d even settle for someone who knows my real name.
Bryce takes another sip of his craft IPA while I calculate how much longer he has left to enjoy it. Ten minutes tops? The cyanide should hit his bloodstream soon if his height and weight are accurate, but considering his profile claimed he was six three and we’re the same height at five seven, I’m guessing he lied online, which is irritating. That means my measurements might be off, and I’m rarely off.
At least faking a match with Bryce was easy.
Just one phishing email to hack his profile, and then all I had to do was pretend to be into microdosing. I’m still having a hard time comprehending how a man who uses bedsheets for curtains can afford an oceanfront three-story glass condo with an infinity pool, but he must be raking in the cash from his crypto scams.
I’m curious what he did to get on someone’s naughty list, but I’m not in the business of asking questions. After sifting through his bank accounts, I have a feeling it has something to do with the money he’s been embezzling and funneling into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
At least it wasn’t Switzerland.
Switzerland is so overdone when it comes to money laundering.
Bryce skims my black hair, which is as fake as the name I gave him, and places a clammy hand on my waist. “So, you wanna go upstairs?”
Not even if you shaved that neckbeard. “And do what?”
He licks his chapped lips.
Seriously? It’s only been thirty minutes. At a minimum, he would need a new personality. “I think I’ll pass.”
Bryce tosses an arm out at his infinity pool. “C’mon. You’re saying my humble abode doesn’t impress you?”
Who uses the phrase humble abode to describe an infinity pool?
“Oh, it does,” I admit. I was very impressed when I broke into his condo to disable his home security system. “I mean, three life-size Chewbacca statues?”
