Page 36 of SKIN

It was no happy accident.

I sprawled out across the metal bedframe I’d found tucked away in some corner, equipped with a brand-new mattress because some shit was not meant to be handed down, and stared up at the rafters. The wood creaked and cracked every time the wind blew outside and I didn’t have much confidence in the foundation. But my options kinda flew off the bike and skid across the road along with all my potential job offers—something Adrian liked to remind me over and over again.

So here I was. Home sweet fucking home. In the basement beneath a former crazy house.

Shit was no Four Seasons but it sure beat bunking it with Ghostface for another day. Besides, I liked my privacy. It would come in handy when I figured out what I was doing with Emily long-term. That didn’t seem to stop the fucker from following me down here whenever he got the chance though.

Like right now.

I glanced over to Casper, who was tossing one of those little rubber balls you get outta of a gumball machine against the far wall, watching it bounce before repeating the process over and over again. Until the sound was slowly driving me mad. Which I was pretty sure was his intention all along. The stupid son of a bitch was the annoying little brother I never wanted and would have drowned in the bathtub given the chance.

Only children didn’t know how good they had it.

Bounce. Bounce. “How long before it catches on?” Bounce. Bounce. “Oh, and what about business cards? With invisible ink. Shit only comes through when you dip it in blood.” Bounce. Bounce. “Yeah, The Renegades. Just you wait. It’s gonna be a thing, Franks.” Bounce. Bounce.

“It’s a stupid name. So’s the whole mask thing by the way.” I reached up an arm when the ball finally hit a crack in the concrete and veered off in my direction. Swiping up the damn thing before throwing it down a darkened hallway. Never to see the light of day again. Or so I could only hope.

Casper appeared unfazed as he plopped down next to me, kicking his feet back and forth like one of those kids bobbing up and down on rusty playground equipment. Too fucking dumb to realize how close to danger they were teetering.

“Really? And here I thought you’d jump at the chance to cover that ugly mug.” He smirked.

“Yeah? And why are you so quick to wanna cover yours, pretty boy?” I grunted in reply. Guy was acting like playing dress-up was something to get your nuts off about. Truth was I couldn’t care less what the fuck we called ourselves as long as it came with a payday. “What’s the cash flow situation like? I’m guessing this ain’t no biweekly kinda deal.”

Casper was a talker, which meant he was the easiest one to pry information out of. At the same time, he was ADD as fuck, which meant it was also hard to keep him on topic.

He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug before flipping onto his back. Kid didn’t know what it was to stay still. “It comes and it goes.”

I pushed off the mattress and onto my feet. This whole conversation was fucking pointless. I wasn’t gonna get much of anything except maybe the occasional riddle.

“Why? Having money problems?” he asked, stepping up next to me as soon as I left the room. I turned down the first passageway before quickly realizing I was lost. And turned right back around.

I didn’t bother answering him. But that didn’t stop the barrage of questions that continued to be slung my way.

“What about your parents? Can’t they help?”

“They died.”

“From embarrassment? 'Cause you look like that?”

“No. I killed 'em. 'Cause they wouldn’t stop asking dumb questions.” It wasn’t all that far from the truth. My mother kicked it not all that long after my accident. Pretty sure the stress did it to her. While my father might as well be dead to me. The fucker was off on some tropical island, pretending his less-than-perfect son didn’t exist.

I was two steps down the next hallway when an eerie sound had me frozen to the spot.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

I cursed under my breath before pivoting on my boot. Either that crazy fucker had a pocket full of bouncy balls or his luck was far better than mine. And right now, I didn’t know which was more irritating.

46

COHEN

Casper clamped a hand down on my shoulder, grinning like the idiot he was as he maneuvered around me. Crouching low enough in the shrubs that his six-foot-something frame collapsed in on itself, while I could barely bend at the waist without the skin on my right side pulling tight against my muscles.

The elasticity was gone, the new layers of epidermis transplanted from my thigh combined with subcutaneous cadaver tissue taut and inflexible. But I refused to let Dr. Lecter anywhere near me with a scalpel again. The pain reminded me of the rage. Fueled it. Kept me focused on the task at hand. Which had nothing to do with a certain woman curled up in her bed. As much as I wish it did.

I hadn’t seen my pet in two days. Not close up at least. And my skin was beginning to itch. Like insects were clawing beneath the surface and eating away at the layers one by one. I knew the shit wasn’t healthy. My dick didn’t give a fuck.

I waited for the signal before following Casper’s lead, Donnie at my tail with Bugs on the comms. The brothers didn’t talk much. Though it was clear one was the brains and the other was the brawns. The lobotomy scar next to Donnie’s nasal cavity gave me a good idea as to why that was. Not that it mattered. The fucker in front of us talked enough for everyone. Except whenever he was hyperfocused on a target. Then, the ass clown turned assassin. Like some sort of switch had been flipped.

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