Page 8 of The Queen's Joker

My free hand rubs the sleep out of my eyes. “Fuck, what do you want? Can’t you knock or something next time?” I don’t want to be stern with her, but she can’t know the power she has over me.

She throws a file down beside me before tapping the top of it. Seriously, she is waking me up for this shit. I hate reading the files because they wouldn’t send me if things weren’t in order. Being the Joker card has its perks, and not doing paperwork is part of that. I get all the messy jobs that nobody else has the stomach for. Those jobs are where I get to shine, and they always say the job you’re good at will find you. I always make sure there is some proof before going in. Others need to read that shit to get the anger and upset, somehow getting revenge for the victims. Not me. My rage is always right under the surface. All I had to do was picture Queen’s face when I carried her out of that building.

“Have you read it?” She taps the top of the folder, and I give her a look that should answer that question because she knows better. “Read the file.”

“Does he deserve to die painfully?” I ask her. Something about this case has lit a fire under her. It has gotten under her skin, and she is making it personal. She probably doesn’t know that, but I know her well. My Queen does that, but there is no point in letting her know that. I haven’t had coffee yet, and it’s too early to get yelled at.

Her face hardens, and she grits her teeth together. Those dark blue eyes narrow, and I love seeing the fire behind them. “I need you to read the fucking files!” She storms out, flipping the lights on before slamming the door. Why does that make me so hard?

I lean over to the nightstand and flip open my cigarette pack, pulling one out before remembering her damn rule. I open the window that I knocked the screen out of. That first hit of nicotine in the morning hits the best, and my body relaxes as I stick my hand out the window to keep most of the smoke out. I glare at the file like it offended me, but of course, I pick the damn thing up and read through it. Why? Because my Queen asked me to.

With my cigarette between my lips, I pull the file and page through the file. My finger reads over the bits she highlighted for me and the pictures. She gets me. I am a visual learner. The fucking creep has files of all the little girls he has been grooming. Facts about them, along with what each of their fears is. He knows exactly what to say so they don’t tell their parents. These are not the first girls he has done this to. He has perfected it and uses love against them and empty threats.

Along with pictures and videos of 12 to 16-year-olds with him. One father found out and reached out. Not wanting the blood on his hands, but needing this man to be taken out of this world and not wanting to put his 14-year-old through trials. I flick my cigarette butt out the window and throw on my clothes.

She is standing outside my door with her arms crossed. “Well?”

I roll my eyes at her, “Let me have some damn coffee, then let’s go kill the son-of-a-bitch.” She gives me a huge smile that makes me feel like I am a hero for committing murder. Queen hands me a cup of coffee, and I groan. I need this. “Thank you.”

“That’s good because I had him grabbed, and he is now in the basement,” she tells me as she flutters her eyelashes and acts like this is how we do missions. It’s not. I should have known her buttering me up with coffee that she did something that would anger me.

It’s official. I am officially pissed off. “Queen, what the fuck! The Queen of Hearts isn’t in play! The Joker is in play, not you! If I pulled this shit on you...” I can’t finish that sentence because she would be on a rampage. She always makes me walk on eggshells and tip-toe around her feelings. Maybe I let her get by with too much shit? “Stay out of my way.”

I walk around her, not giving her a second to talk her way out of this one. The stairs creek under my steps and I see the creep tied to the chair. He has a gag in his mouth, and his blue eyes widen when he sees me. I haven’t bothered to learn his name. I don’t know it, and I don’t need it. Walking over to where all my tools line the wall, I grab a small knife the size of an oyster shucker. “Do you know why you’re here?” I sit my coffee down, not wanting to spill a drop.

He shakes his head, and you can hear him muffle behind the gag. I shake my head and walk over to him. “Forgot about the gag.” I take my knife and run the flat area over his cheeks before giving him a Glasgow Smile to brighten my day. Something about a fucked up smile on the face of someone about to die makes me happy. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

After I undo the gag, the man cries, tears running down his face. “I did nothing.” His head shakes, and the man looks like he would be a middle school principal, from his thinning hair to the glasses on his face. “Whatever she said, it’s a lie. I have money. Let me go and it’s yours.”

I walk over to him and pat my hand on his shoulder like we were about to become friends. “It’s never about the money for me, man. What else could you give me?” I pause because he looks like he is thinking. “What could you possibly give me that can make me forget about what you did to those little girls?”

“Please, I can change. I know I can. This is the motivation I need to change. Consider the message delivered.” Sweat runs down his nose and glistens on his brow.

I tap the flat end of the knife on his forehead. “You see, there is a problem with that plan of yours. They don’t play my card when they want negotiations. We have all the proof we need. You see, they play my card when they want you to die painfully.” He cries and sobs. “Hey, no, no, none of that. You didn’t care when they cried, and now it’s your turn.” I didn’t memorize his name. However, I memorized all the girls’ names. His name doesn’t matter, but when we send proof, I want the father to know I added a personal touch.

I cut his shirt off and started above his left pectoral muscle. The name Lexi, I add first. He cries like a bitch, so I replace his gag in his mouth. “Shut up, you baby.” I look up and see that there are cuffs above his head, too, which are handy. With some adjustments, I have his arms above his head. I want the blood to circulate down out of his arms, so while I wait, I cut Hannah into his right peck. Music will help this process, so I grab my coffee and finish it because the next part is about to get bloody. I walk over to my portable Bluetooth speaker and play my upbeat playlist. I like mostly 2000s hip-hop along with 80s hair bands because I like to groove when I flay. The music confuses them and gives me a catchy beat for slicing.

The first song is Pretty Ricky, and I snap my fingers while swaying over to him. His eyes widened, and I could see the understanding of who he was dealing with dawning on him. I like them to know they aren’t dealing with someone who is mentally stable. The filet knife is calling my name. I light a cigarette and start cutting the skin from his left arm, my ashes falling on his face. Starting at the wrist and pausing when I reach his elbow, I put my cigarette on his forehead. “Damn, you make a damn good ashtray.” He is barely moaning right now, so I cut the next name under Lexi’s, which is Blaire. Usher’s Yeah plays, and I can’t resist a small dance-off. Nobody’s watching other than this asshole, so that makes it slightly less fun. “Come on, loosen up, man. Nobody is here but you and me right now. I would appreciate a little head nod.”

He gives me nothing, so I go to his other arm and elbow. He passes out, and it’s a disappointment. Queen walks downstairs, “did you already kill him?”

“Nah, I will give him a second before smelling salts.” I raise my eyebrow at her. “Did you need something?”

She bites her bottom lip, and I can’t help but lick my lips because, damn, that is something I want to do. “Well, I wanted to tell you that reading that file struck something inside of me. I let my anger get the better of me.” My Queen doesn’t apologize to anyone, nor should she. Never would I want to change that about her. This is her version of apologizing.

So I only nod to her, “Could you get me a to-go cup of coffee lid? You know, because of blood.” I motion to the masterpiece that I am working on. “I’m thinking about tea-bagging him with his balls after I cut them off. Is it too much?”

“You are a fucking artist.” Her blue eyes are friendly, and she smiles at me as if she means it. I love the fact that I have blood on my gloves that runs down my arms, and there is no fear in her gaze—only appreciation. “One coffee coming up.”

Chapter twelve

I’ve stepped into it this time. There is no tip-toeing around this issue, and I am knee-deep in the shit. I’m not sure where this anger originated, but this has been brewing for a long time. Queen will not make this easy on me, because it seriously can’t be all because some bitch marked me. She walks away so quickly, and I try to keep up. Queen seems to want this out in private rather than here. Nope, out here is safer. Being alone with her isn’t a good idea when she is this angry. Why do I find it so sexy when she is angry? My tongue wets my dry lips and my brain goes into overdrive as I try to improve this situation. What can I do to get her to squash this between us? I almost lost her all those years ago, and I cannot do that again.

Queen walks with a sway to her movements, and my eyes dart to her ass as I watch her walk. My fist goes to my mouth and I have to bite it because her backside is a work of art. Her ass looks amazing in those pants. Whoever invented yoga pants is in my good graces. The blood that stains them makes it that much hotter. She is like a walking wet dream for me right now and I am having a hard time focusing. Queen just used my knife to kill her childhood abuser, and now she seems even more furious. Shouldn’t his death calm her down? I know I feel better after taking a creep out of this world.

I call after her, trying to get her to slow down so I can reason with her. A voice in my head is screaming at me. There is no reasoning with her! This is part of the reason you’re so obsessed with her! Queens don’t have to play by the rules of peasants. That doesn’t mean I can’t try. I pull her shoulder back, trying to get her to stop and look at me. “Queen, can we just put this to bed?”

My beautiful Queen jerks her shoulder back before she turns around, glaring at me. Her look is vicious, almost like she says, how dare I touch her. Her lips pull back over her teeth as she snarls before raising her pointer finger at me. I honestly think she might stab me if she had a knife. Instead of stabbing me, she jabs her pointer finger at my chest, poking me close to my sternum. She is like a sexy, vengeful goddess, her face splattered with blood. My warrior Queen. “No, we can’t just put it to bed. This conversation is overdue. For fuck’s sake, take a shower first.” She turns around and smashes the elevator button. When the doors to the elevator open, she storms inside.

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