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“Who the fuck are you?” He shakes his head, his eyes checking over me like I’m some kinda freak.
“I’m just a kid who needs some cash.” I give him the simple version, this guy doesn’t need to know my life story.
He points his head toward the door, gesturing for me to follow him and we make our way over to room eleven.
I pull a pair of gloves from the trolley and stretch them onto my hands before opening the door. At face value, the room looks normal, but the scent in the air is unmistakable.
“Through there,” he tips his head toward the bathroom door and when I open it, I see the man slumped in the bath with a bullet wedged between his eyes. Blood and brain matter splattered over the tiles that just 48 hours ago, I’d taken the time to scrub to perfection.
I move closer to the body and drag my finger over one of blood smeared tiles, checking its texture between my thumb and finger. “Relatively thin,” I think out loud, taking another look around the room and assessing what I’ll need.
“I can get the job done in about five hours, with help and the right supplies,” I tell him confidently.
“Make a list,” he tells me before turning to the mouthy one. “Squeal, you stay behind and do as he says.”
“That's just great. This kid ain’t even a fuckin’ member and he gets to bitch me,” Squeal protests, but after a look of warning from his boss, he drops his head. “You got it, Prez.” His tone changes, making him sound like a scalded schoolboy.
“You’ll get your 500, kid, once you’ve made this place exactly how it was before we came.”
“What you want me to do with him?” I look toward the stiff.
“We can take care of him, unless you got any suggestions?”
“I know a place remote enough for a fire, ground’s easy enough to dig. There are three-ton machines under the water, I’ll bet he wouldn’t be alone down there. Or with more time, I could dismember him, chop him up real small and turn him to pulp.”
“Jeez, kid, you’re real fucking grim,” the tattooed guy tells me, his face turning a few shades lighter.
“Get to work, kid.” The older guy scratches his beard thoughtfully, and something tells me that this won’t be the last mess I clear up for him. And as long as his cash keeps coming, that suits me just fine.
“Pack a bag,” Grimm orders, storming through the door and heading straight for the bedroom. I follow him through, watching as he pulls my duffel bag down from the top of the wardrobe and throws it on the bed.
“Where we goin’?”
“Not we. You,” he tells me coldly, and instantly my stomach flips. I’ve finally pushed him too far.
“I’m sorry.” Unfamiliar words spill from my mouth. I never apologize, and you’d think Grimm would be more grateful for it.
Still, his face doesn’t change and I feel my heart beat faster with panic when I think about having to leave.
“You can’t make me leave. Skid said…”
“There’s a storm coming in, Prez wants everyone to stay down at the club tonight,” he cuts me off.
“And what about you?” I put my hand on my hip and stare at him, already knowing exactly what he’s gonna say next.
“I ain’t being trapped inside a room full of people. I’ll be fine up here.”
“Then so will I.” Taking the duffel bag, I attempt to put it back on top of the wardrobe. Grimm snatches my arm then stares at where his fingers indent my skin. I watch his jaw tense, the same way it always does when he puts his hands on me. It gets me wet every fucking time.
“Don’t argue with me, Rogue, for once, just don’t fucking argue.”
“I’ll only go if you go. I ain’t leaving you up here.” I stand my ground.
Grimm blows out a frustrated breath and barges past me, and I follow him out onto the decking, where the rain has already started falling heavily onto the lake’s surface. The temperature in the air has plummeted and the wind is picking up. Grimm keeps his back to me, staring out at the disrupted lake, and he flinches when I place my hand on his shoulder.
“Why can’t you just understand?” His voice sounds weak and when he turns around, I can see how distraught he is. “People are trying to protect you, and keep you safe.” I can sense the frustration in his tone, he can’t even look at me right now, and it seems like I’m causing him physical pain.
A twisted-up part of me likes that.
