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She pops the pill in her mouth, and I hand her a bottle of water from the end table. Making sure she swallows, I take a seat beside her. Grasping the crucifix from my pocket, I quietly say, “Per i santi misteri della nostra redenzione, possa Dio onnipotente liberarti da tutte le punizioni in questa vita e nella vita a venire. Possa Egli aprirti le porte del paradiso e accoglierti nella vita eterna.” Whether the Apostolic Pardon works if given by a damned soul such as myself, I don’t know, but it’s as good as I can do for the woman.
She looks at me, confusion coloring her cloudy brown eyes as her breathing becomes labored. I force myself to watch her struggle until she gives up the ghost.
Picking up her lifeless body, I toss it on the floor; the snapping sound of the old woman’s bones breaking fills the room. The medical examiner will take one look at this and conclude a fall caused the death. If toxicology reports are involved, I’ve made sure to cover my tracks with a drug that will quickly exit her system.
Slipping out of her room, I keep my pace leisurely to not draw attention to myself. I reach the parking lot, bile burning my throat. I’ve done my fair share of shitty things in my life, but this one tops the list. I’m sure my boss had his reasons for ordering a hit on his fiancée’s mom—reasons I’ll never know, nor do I want to know—but it still feels dirty.
I slide behind the wheel and get the hell out of here, ripping my face mask off and tossing it on the floorboard. My pager vibrates, and I grab it and glance at the message: I’m needed in AC.
Thank fuck. Maybe getting new blood on my hands will take my mind off the old blood currently staining them.
Kat
We’re seated in the corner, munching on pretzel bites that do taste better since they’re free. “I don’t like the way the other bartender is a little too handsy with my girlfriend,” Taylor says, eyeing the duo working behind the bar.
“He handed her a bottle opener; I’d hardly call it handsy,” I comment, taking off my bow tie and sticking it in my purse.
“Whose side are you on?” Taylor demands.
“The hands-free side,” I say, holding up my hands. “Look, if your girlfriend wanted to be with guys, she’d certainly have her pick.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Taylor huffs.
“What I mean is she’s hot, and she picked you. Freaking relax.”
“You’re right.” She sighs. “I know you’re right. It’s just I’ve always known I was into both teams, but with Mia, I’m the first female she’s been with. What if it’s a fluke, and she figures it out and goes back to playing with the men’s team?” Taylor whispers.
“Girl, you’ve got to stop, or you’re going to sabotage this thing yourself,” I warn her.
Taylor snorts. “When did you suddenly become the relationship expert?”
“Do as I say, not as I do. Obvs.”
“I need to go to the bathroom. Keep an eye on them,” she tells me.
I do as instructed, watching two bartenders…tend bar. Taking a look around, I’m just now noticing a guy around my age seated solo at the other end of the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey.
His hard eyes meet mine in warning. Hate to break it to him, but I’ve never lost a game of chicken. Continuing my perusal, the man’s good-looking, with a nice square jaw, dark hair cut tight, and pretty olive skin. He’s wearing a suit that screams lawyer or accountant. A shame; he almost had me.
Taking a leisurely sip of my cocktail, I people-watch for a bit longer before playing on my phone. Time passes, and I’m starting to worry. Either Taylor’s fallen in, or she’s in the back with her girlfriend doing that whole sabotage thing I warned her about.
Glancing over to the good-looking guy again, that whole “do as I say, not as I do” thing applies as I make my way across the bar. Here’s to hoping a white-collar guy pleasantly surprises me. I take a seat on the stool next to him. “Rough day?” I ask.
“You could say that.” He knocks back his whiskey, the movement causing the collar of his dress shirt to shift ever so slightly, hinting at the edge of a neck tattoo. Well. Well. Well. Color me pleasantly surprised.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask.
His dark eyes meet mine. “No.”
“Good, because I’m a shit listener,” I tell him, and he cracks a smile. Oh my, the man even has dimples.
“What’s your name?” he asks, looking me up and down; he must like what he sees, because his pupils dilate.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I lean in and whisper, my lips gently brushing the shell of his ear. Mmm, he smells good: spicy and masculine. Check and check. I’ve had a dry spell here lately, and a good lay is just what I need.
“Deal,” he tells me in a husky tone when I pull back. “I’ve got a room upstairs.”
I throw him a little sultry smile. “Then what are we waiting on? Lead the way.”
