It had the same shape I’d seen burned into Randall’s mommy’s skin, just like the sick fuck who did it intended. They had signed their work and expected applause.
Randall’s mom…
Damn, I wish I hadn’t seen him find her. It made me feel bad for my game of ‘Pop Goes The Weasel,’ but I had too much to do,and I couldn’t let my dick and the dead thing in my chest do my thinking for me right now!
She was so very dead on a tarp, and when I had seen her all I could think at the time was that whoever did it had neat handwriting.
Dammit.
Why didn’t I make the connection sooner that it was his mother?
You’re fucked, Judas.
“I’m not normal,” I told myself.
“Never said I was,” I answered back.
Right. Good talk, Demons.
I wandered further in, my hands firmly squashed in my pockets, like I wasn’t actively trespassing into something that would probably kill me if people got too bored and actually looked into my stalking.
The staff wasn’t drunk or high. They were on high alert, unlike the zombies milling about with vials in their hands. It looked like a pleasurable, toxic vat of fun in everyone’s grip. A sparkly purple liquid that, any other time, I’d chance the high, but even I apparently had a limit to shutting the demons up.
So damn alert. Every single worker.
That was the weirdest part so far about this place—no sloppy movement, no stupid laughter or corralling with coworkers. Everything was too…intentional.
I hated ‘intentional.’ Sporadic dumbassery was more fun.
“Hey,” a female’s voice drifted my way.
I turned like my ass was on fire and cursed myself for being a jumpy fucking idiot. A woman looked right through me with sharp eyes. It was ‘the creepy doll state’ that didn’t blink enough.
“You the new rigger? I need a ride, baby.”
I considered lying, but then I remembered I am already lying.
“Yeah,” I said. “Big fan of ropes. I can be very ‘knotty.’ Love all the twisted clientele. Ya know the works. Where’s my office?”
She didn’t react to my impeccable puns. Tough crowd, bitch. “Name.”
I shrugged and gave her my notorious Judy panty-dropping smile. “Depends, doll. You asking legally or what you’ll be screaming out later?”
Her expression flattened. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
Damn lesbian.
She studied me, and I let her, watching her eyes roam over all my seven-foot-two-inch frame.
Why did my brothers get the extra inches? Meh, I got the best dick.
Identical triplets and all that, but I decorated my package to sparkle. Gee and Roe needed more piercings than the little fishing bobbers on their heads.
Girly kept staring, and I smiled wider. People liked thinking they could figure things out if they stared long enough.
But, ahem. Les-be-honest. They couldn’t.“Back room,” she said finally, jerking her head toward a hallway. “Shouldn’t you know that? And stop looking like that.”
