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“Sorry to break it to you, but sex and running errands for murderers don’t mix.”
“You’d be surprised.” He leans closer. “Adrenaline and orgasm are a wonderful pair. Why do you think it feels so good when I spank your pretty little ass?”
“Okay, that’s a good point.” I chew my lip. “But you’re still not convincing me.”
Though my nipples are a little hard. Thankfully, I’m wearing a bra, and my sweatshirt’s thick enough to hide them anyway.
“Just stating facts, that’s all. You can make up your own mind.”
“Thankfully, we’re almost there.” I nudge him with my elbow harder than is strictly necessary. “Get down now.”
He salutes, squeezes my thigh, then climbs onto the floor in the back. My hands are sweating and my knee’s jostling as I slow down in front of a nice house with a BMW parked outside of the garage. There are lights on inside, and I picture a quiet little family, two sleepy little boys, a couple of parents watching TV during their only downtime.
“Go drop it on their porch,” Lanzo whispers, handing the box over. “Get it over with.”
I curse but take it and push open the door. “I hate you.”
“Get moving.”
I hurry away, hood pulled up. I feel sick. This is wrong on so many levels. Running an errand for a killer like this—what if I’m dropping off a bomb? What if this box explodes, killing this entire nice family that I’ve built up in my head? I reach the door, lingering for only a second, before I toss it down, ring the doorbell, then run back to the car.
I get in behind the wheel. “It’s done.”
“Great. Pull up a little bit then let’s watch.”
I do as instructed, park a couple houses up, and we both crane our necks back through the rear windshield as a man lifts the box up into the air, looking around with a deep frown.
“What’s he doing?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” He cocks his head. “I think he’s opening it.”
“Right there? Outside?”
“It does have a really creepy label. Maybe he’s paranoid.”
I frown in response. The man rips the box apart by the seam, dumping the contents down onto the ground in front of him. He stands there, his face going ashen—
Then releases a scream.
“What the hell?” Lanzo asks softly.
Fear lances into my belly. That scream was pure, unbridled terror.
The man turns and runs back inside.
“I’m going back,” I say, turning the car around.
“Wait.” Lanzo’s shaking his head. “Hold on. It’s too dangerous. If he spots us—”
But I don’t care. I have to know. I have to see. I slow as the car comes level with the front door, staring out at what’s scattered on the sidewalk.
They’re small, light tan, some of them stained with a dark brownish color at the end. I can’t understand what I’m seeing.
Until Lanzo speaks.
“Fingers,” he says, whispering. I’ve never heard him sound shaken before, but there’s an edge to his voice now. “We delivered fingers.”
I swallow against vomit as I put the car in drive and speed away.
