Page 18 of His Last Will

And, okay, sometimes I get carried away. Blah, blah, blah. I’m a work in progress.

I keep everything nice and tidy in the morgue; otherwise, Ashton is on my dick about contamination and how it may impact his results. If I have to sit through another one of his lectures, I might just use the meat cleaver on myself.

Several drawers are filled at one time to give me a plethora of patients to choose from when I walk in. Metal drawer storage lines the walls, while the center of the room holds a cadaver table and some specially designed seating. White tile and several well thought out drains line the floor to assist with cleanup. If this place had ever been photographed, it would be the top hit under an internet search for the creepiest places to die.

I tie my patients up, gag them, and place them in their holding cabinet until I am ready for them. Between the starvation, dehydration, and the endless dark, it’s the perfect setting to get inside their heads. Sensory deprivation and never knowing when their drawer will be pulled, and torture will be dealt out is a beautiful combo.

Then there are the injections. Pumping someone full of an unmarked liquid instills the most beautiful screams. Even when they are being muffled by a gag.

Basically, Ashton trials his new formulas on our victims. Studying how their body reacts while I tear them apart.

Christ, I’m getting hard, and I haven’t even started for the day. Doesn’t help that I walked in hard from the sight of Ari’s tear-stained cheeks…

Opening the drawer of the day, I am greeted by a black body bag. Oh yes, Patient 169. When I zipped up the bag, he pissed himself. Had to have my cleanup crew work extra on Sunday night, but he will pay for that today.

I love it when they cause problems.

I fuck with him a little more before I really get started by running a light touch up the body bag. The man inside pitches a horrific scream even with the gag, begging to be let out. It helps that he is pleading with a man who speaks fluent ball gag. Little does he know that he’s going to have his wish granted momentarily.

I take a moment to spread the plastic wrap over my worktable to make it slightly easier for the crew to clean later. If I prep extra well, they will smile at me and hand me a tin of cookies on the way out. And not the store-bought bullshit either. These are Grandma cookies. The soft, melt-in-your-mouth kind. They’re like a reward for all my torture.

Joyce and Beverly are two sisters pushing seventy at this point. They've worked with us for decades, and if I could claim them as grandmothers, I would in an instant. Ashton even lets them clean his area when needed, which is saying something because he killed the last five people who were hired. I did warn Ashton that if he hurt Beverly or Joyce, I would gut him like a fish. So, there’s a little protection in place for my ladies.

Plus, they never scoff at the shit they see or clean.

You would not believe how many calories one burns during a session. The amount of force needed for the bone saw alone is ridiculous, given it’s a goddamn electric saw.

So I deserve a damn cookie.

I throw the body bag over my shoulder as the man tries to squirm out of my hold. What is he hoping to do here? To land on the floor and hump his way to safety while trapped in a body bag?

These fucking idiots.

I’ll hose him down real quick. Maybe light a candle and mist some Febreze. Fresh home, fresh fucking mood, or some shit like that. But they aren’t wrong.

I unzip the bag, then grab the hose to spray down the bound man while he continues to whine, drool pooling around the gag. Sure, the man who captured you and threatened to saw off your dick last week before storing you in his morgue is suddenly going to help you escape.

Seriously, where did we even find these guys to begin with? If I remember correctly, this guy ran drugs for us but started skimming funds off the top to pay for his own habit. I’m going to need to talk to Jenn about recruitment. The hiring process for a crime syndicate ought to be better.

But that might take away from the pool of victims…hmm… I’ll think on it.

Tossing the hose away, I walk over to the man—still screaming—and stand over him. He quiets down and looks up at me with his tear-filled eyes, snot dripping from his nose.

“What do you hope to accomplish by screaming like that?”

His eyes widen, shocked at finally being addressed properly. He doesn’t say anything, like he might get a reward for suddenly being quiet.

Sure, if he considers a reward a giant syringe up his dick.

I watch as Bosco crawls down my arm and moves right over the man’s face. More piercing screams start up and fill the air. I know Bosco is internally rolling his many eyes. At least that’s what I would do. Bosco stops when he is right over the man’s eye and turns back to me just to hump the guy’s eyeball.

“Bos, have some class.” I chide. He can do better than a traitor, but he’s a pretty indiscriminate lover.

Grabbing some duct tape, I place it over the man’s mouth just to quiet him down further. The muffled screams are enough for me most of the time. Today is a pretty good day, though Ash would argue with me.

Speaking of the good doctor, Ashton waltzes into the autopsy room—white coat and all— like he owns the damn place. Which he doesn’t. I checked. It’s technically Anthony’s, but really mine since I am now the heir, and Anthony wouldn’t be caught dead here, but I am for damn sure not going to be the one who tells Ashton.

Ashton is as crazy as I am.