Page 5 of Reckless

Josephine stood there in her matching bra and panties while still wearing her heels with a self-satisfied smile spread across her face. This was it. I had her right where I wanted her.

“Come here,” I demanded, crooking a finger at her.

She nearly fell over herself to obey, coming to straddle my lap while her hands pawed at my chest. Her wet lips found my neck and she left small kisses along my throat, licking my Adam’s apple and then over my pulsating jugular while her pelvis ground down against me.

With her so distracted and focused on her own pleasure, I was able to make my move.

One second, she was grinding on me, the next I had her flipped on her back with a couch pillow pressed into her face. She clawed at my back and beat against my chest, thrashing her legs. But the drink she’d poured had been laced with an untraceable drug. One I made sure wound up in the very bottle she bought for tonight.

Josephine knew what she liked, and because of that, I was able to find her exact weaknesses. It didn’t take long for her body to succumb to the drugs and lack of oxygen. Any fight she’d shown had stopped. Just like her breathing. Carefully, I removed the pillow and stared down at her.

Her wide eyes were fixed somewhere beyond looking terrified and bloodshot while her mouth hung slightly open. My fingers went to her neck as I waited for confirmation that she was truly gone. As I waited, I watched her chest for any hint of movement. But it had stilled and her pulse was nonexistent.

Josephine Angola was officially dead, making her my eighty-first kill.

Quickly, I grabbed my kit that I’d tucked away in my jacket. It was hung in the hallway on a coat rack inside the entryway. First, I tugged on a pair of gloves and cleaned under her fingernails, erasing any DNA she might have gathered during our brief struggle. Next was the wine glasses. I removed mine, wiping the fingerprints, cleaning out the glass and returning it straight to the liquor cabinet she’d gotten it from. It would look like she’d died having a drink alone.

I went into her bathroom and found her makeup remover, grabbing a wad of the stuff to clear any of my DNA off her. By the time I was finished prepping her, she appeared to have passed away alone and due to natural causes. At least that’s what the autopsy report would read. The drug I’d slipped her mimicked a heart attack. It would spike her levels perfectly and the heart muscle would show the damage of it as if it had endured a true medical event.

Once everything had been thoroughly wiped down and staged to my liking, I exited through the back door that was only accessible if you had the code to get in. Head tucked down and shoulders tight, I escaped without so much as a concern raised.

In the cool night air, I walked over a few blocks on the nearly empty streets to where a local tattoo shop called Needles, still had an open sign buzzing against the grimy window.

“You take walk ins?” I asked the woman with short neon green hair, a nose ring, and more tattoos displayed on her brown toned arms than I could count. Fluorescent lights flickered and the sound of low buzzing filtered through the stale air.

The woman flicked her dark brown eyes up and down my body, chewing a wad of gum a few times before answering. “Yeah, I guess I got some time. What is it you’re wanting?”

It would be easier if I showed her, so I shrugged my jacket off and pulled up the back of my shirt, turning so she could see. “I need another one of these marks.”

When I turned back around, her eyes had gone wide, but she nodded her head. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Why don’t you follow me to the back?”

I did as asked—holding onto my jacket as we walked past an array of pictures plastered on the walls of all the types of tattoos they offered. Roses, butterflies, snakes. But that wasn’t on the docket for me today. No. I needed to feel the scrape of the needle against my skin marking me for what I’d done tonight. Reminding me that I would carry the weight of my actions wherever I went.

The tattoo didn’t take long, but I relished the feel of the buzzing gun puncturing my skin like a penance. I wasn’t a religious man, but in a way, keeping a tally of my sins on my skin felt like the only way I could honor the memory of those I’d killed. My back had become a tapestry of small x’s marking those kills I’d carried out in service to the crime family that held any semblance of a future I could have had, hostage. It was one of the main reasons I hadn’t gotten serious with anyone. With the life I lived, the most I could offer someone was a few good orgasms. Anything more would result in being used against me as a bargaining chip. I’d seen it happen more times than I cared to remember. Partners, parents, siblings. Anyone that was valuable enough to become useful if you even stepped a toe out of line, were immediately put at risk for just being associated.

I couldn’t do that to someone.

And I sure as fuck didn’t want to cause more damage than I was already tasked to do.

As I left the tattoo shop, the fresh ink itched, but I welcomed the annoyance. Craved it, actually. It had me feeling something other than this void of despair that had become so fucking prevalent in my every waking moment. It might as well been a permanent ache sitting on my chest like a monster intent on smothering me bit by bit.

Just like I’d smothered Josephine, I’d realized with a sick twist of irony.

The tattoo was a temporary fix for the chasm of uncertainty I felt, knowing that the chance of escape was minimal. But fuck, if I were being honest, I wanted that escape more than anything. And if there were a way to get it? I’d do anything to make that happen.

Chapter Three

STELLA

Gemini

Now is the time to rest. You’ve been handling too much on your own and it’s catching up with you. Slow down before your body makes you do it anyway.

Opening the door to Sal’s was like being met with a warm hug, which I was in desperate need of right now after the night I had. Sal’s was familiar and easily my favorite restaurant in the city. Our parents used to take us to brunch here every Sunday and order enough pancakes for the four of us to split when Andi and I were so small that our feet couldn’t even touch the floor when sitting in a booth. The scent of bacon, eggs, and coffee wafted in the air while servers moved throughout the bustling diner with plates of food weaving expertly like a choreographed dance around the full tables that were fully decked out like they’d been transported from the 1950’s. The jukebox played Elvis on repeat, and only Elvis. Even mentioning another musician would send Sal into a fit of rage. His place, his rules, his music, was his motto.

“Over there,” Helena said, holding onto my elbow while pointing to two empty stools that just opened up. The couple vacating them were mid argument and as we squeezed past, I caught the tail end of their conversation.

“You wouldn’t know how it feels to have your cooter inspected by a team of random doctors because your boyfriend went and got himself a fucking STD!” The petite woman exclaimed, her long curly blonde hair bouncing with her expressive hand gestures.