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I barely register the door opening, but the heavy footfalls draw my attention. No knock, either, so it has to be Saint and Angelo.
“Hey, Victor, were you expecting a delivery?” Angelo asks. “Somebody dropped this off earlier.”
“Drove up to the gate in a nondescript car, dumped the box, and drove off again,” Saint adds. He stops behind me and runs his hand through my hair. “And hi, kitten. How are you holding up?”
I glance up at Saint, glowering, but I can’t actually answer him while my mouth is full of Victor’s cock.
“She’s fine,” Victor answers for me. He drops a hand to my head too, and tugs on my hair to drag me off his cock. I’d be more relieved, except he wipes his cock along my face before letting go of me. He neatly tucks his cock back into his slacks.
I pull away, wiping my own mouth free of drool and pre-cum, and wiping my cheek off to boot. Just because I’m feeling contrary, I wipe my hand off on Victor’s perfect slacks. If it bothers him, he doesn’t let it show.
One of these days, Iwillfigure out a way to get under his skin.
Angelo places a medium-sized, white plastic container on the coffee table in front of us. It looks innocuous, but I know enough about this business to be suspicious. Unmarked boxes dropped off by shady strangers can’t lead to anything good.
It doesn’t help that there’s a strange stench wafting from the box. I can’t place it, but I grimace just the same.
“What do you think’s in it?” Angelo asks. He gives the box a small kick, and it travels a few inches on the coffee table. There’s no audible rattle or anything to give away the contents.
“A hundred bucks says it’s a dead rat,” Saint says.
“Why would it be a dead rat?” I ask, eyeing the box.
“We’ve pissed off just a few people lately. And it kind of smells like a dead rat.” Saint glances in Angelo’s direction. “What do you think?”
“Dead dog. Maybe one of our guard dogs.” Angelo sits down next to Victor on the couch and lets one of his legs rub against my arm. “Not the whole dog. I think the box is too small for that.”
I stare at the box. Someone eventually has to open it, but I don’t make the offer. I don’t want to see what’s inside.
Victor nudges me with his knee. “I bet two hundred dollars, Santino, that the box contains artwork.”
We all stare at him. The box very clearly does not contain art.
Victor catches my eye and gives me a small smile. “You don’t believe me, Lucia? Go on, open it, then. Tell us who wins.”
“Why do I have to open it?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. I edge even farther away from it. “Pass.”
“You can either open it, or I’ll make you empty and clean it,” Victor says. “We all pull our weight around here.”
“You just want to see me open a box full of something dead,” I accuse him, staring at the plastic box. It’s probably a rat, though a big one. It couldn’t hold much else. But I sigh, reaching out to grab it. I keep it at the maximum distance from me as I finally open it, and I’m hit by that stench all over again.
Bile rises in my throat, and it’s all I can do to keep from throwing up. It’s worse when my mind finally registers what it is.
A piece of an arm.
I close the box as quickly as I’d opened it. “That isnotartwork,” I tell Victor, gagging as I push it away from me.
“No? So what was it?” He sounds completely unbothered by all of it, his face barely even twitching, even though Angelo and Saint are both wrinkling their noses against the smell.
“An arm,” I say, trying not to gag as I stand up and put distance between myself and the box. “Even for you, Victor, that’s not art. Jesus Christ, it smells like it’s been in there a while.”
“Oh, don’t tell me.” Angelo goes to open the box again, releasing the stench into the air once more. “Fucking hell. How did you know?”
“Know? He didn’t know anything!” I protest, glowering at Angelo. “Don’t stroke his ego.”
Angelo reaches into the box, not even bothering to put on gloves or use a plastic bag, and pulls the arm out by the wrist. The blood and flesh on the severed end is congealed, but something drips down anyway.
Saint groans loudly. “Victor! Seriously, are you fucking psychic?” He covers his nose with his hand. “Angel, put that down. Jesus, that’s nasty.”
