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“You. All clean. Did you take a fucking shower?” I mentally make a note to tell the clean-up crew to torch the fucking place. Between the cooler, the extinguisher and goddamn shower, Ace has contaminated just about every damn room.
“How are you…” He waves his hands around, searching for the word. “So damn cisto. Clean?”
“I’m a pro.” I smirk. “And you stopped me having any real fun.”
“This wasn’t fun?”
“Not the best date I’ve ever had, princess.” I wink at him and he chuckles.
“Let’s get out of here. The music’s shit.”
Ace nods to me and turns, releasing the useless sack of shit from his confines. He rolls him over with one hand so that he’s prone on his front, and slowly starts to count in Slovenian.
“Eno… Dva… Tri…”
It takes me a moment to realise he’s searching for something. When he finds it, he smoothly slides his blade into the cunt’s back before pulling free.
“What the fuck was that?” I demand. Turning to me, he shrugs and grins.
“Walking him no more.”
“What did you do?”
“Passion crime.”
“I thought we weren’t allowed to do that,” I reply dryly and this time the grin he gives me reaches shit-eating proportions.
“No. Just you.”
Appeal for Witnesses
Today the hashtag #TrackDownTilly has hit record highs across several social media platforms after concerned friends raised the alarm that model, socialite, and wife to stockbroker Archibald Harris, Tilly Harris, hadn’t been seen or heard from in days.
Officials have been notified, and an investigation is being launched. At present, Mr Harris hasn’t given a statement on the matter.
