Page 130 of Rest In Pieces

I turn the water as cold as I can handle and step under the spray, hoping to cool myself down. I quickly wash my hair and shave everything that needs shaving before climbing out. After grabbing a towel and drying off, I get dressed and head back into the bathroom to blow-dry my hair. I don’t bother styling it sinceit will be under a wig later. Instead, once it’s dry, I pull it back into a ponytail and head to the kitchen for something to eat.

I hear my phone going off like crazy and spot it on the table where I must have left it last night. I ignore it while I rummage through the fridge but close it again when I don’t find anything I want. Instead, I grab a banana and a blueberry muffin, eating them both before I finally give in and pick up my phone.

Most of the notifications are from social media, so I open the app and freeze, the blueberry muffin threatening to make a reappearance as I stare at the image in front of me. It’s a photo of Monica in bed, half-sprawled over a man as she takes a selfie. She’s captioned it:

Last night was the best night of my life.

She’s wrapped in a sheet, her shoulders bare, with the fabric draped over her thigh. But that’s not what makes my stomach turn, though. No, it’s the man lying on his stomach beside her, the same sheet sitting low on his waist, revealing his bare muscular back covered in tattoos.

Tattoos I’ve traced with my tongue.

I see comments coming in from all around the world, asking who he is and if they’re a couple. Hashtags like #mysterymanand #tattooedhottiestart appearing as I swallow down bile.

I had the perfect morning. I should have known it wouldn’t last.

I stare at his back as numbness washes over me. I put my phone into my pocket, slide my feet into my sneakers, and head to the front of the RV. Dropping into the driver’s seat, I buckle up and stare at my too-pale face in the rearview mirror. My eyes fall on the rosary, wishing my mom was here now so I could cry on her shoulder over the stupid boy who broke my heart. I take the chain and slip it over my head, needing her close today.

Taking a deep breath, I put the RV into drive and head to the set. If they want to play, I’ll play.

33

GENESIS

Ipark my bike and hang my helmet on the handlebars as I take in the unassuming concrete building in front of me. If it wasn’t for the sign above the door readingX.O. Laboratories, I would’ve thought I’d come to the wrong place.

I walk over to the door, press the buzzer, and wait, the silence stretching on until I buzz again.

“I’m here to see Dr. Bruce Horton.”

The buzzing sound of the doors opening has me stepping back for a moment. I don’t see anyone as I walk in and head to the reception area. When nobody appears after a few minutes, I ring the little bell on the desk. I almost pull my fucking gun when an elderly woman—who looks like she just crawled out of a grave—pops up from behind the desk.

“Can I help you?”

For a second, I wonder if this is the beginning of a zombie invasion. But when she just stares at me expectantly, I cough to clear my throat.

“I’m here to see Dr. Bruce Horton. He’s expecting me.”

“He’s in lab room eight. Go down to the end of the hall, turn left, then right when you see the elevators. It’s the last door on the left.”

I turn to leave, but she tuts at me. I look down to see if I remembered to put my cut on. It covers my torso, but the tattoos on my arms, neck, and hands are visible along with my piercings. I look at her and wonder if she’s blind. That’s gotta be the reason she tutted at a motherfucking biker.

“Sign in. And here’s your guest pass. Don’t lose it,” she barks at me, making me question if she has a death wish. Old people get like that, right?

“Anytime today, young man. I’m not getting any younger.”

“No kidding. I bet your first pet was a T-Rex,” I mutter under my breath as I sign in and grab the lanyard that marks me as a guest.

“Tell Dr. Horton he has a meeting in forty-five minutes. I won’t be chasing him if he forgets.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur despite myself. I head down the hall, shaking my head. If Blade could see me now, he’d have a field day.

I find the room easy enough and knock. When Bruce answers, he looks like he’s been living in his car for the last week. Most people would ask if he was okay, but this is just Bruce. He always reminded me of the professor from that kids’ movie with the green slime—brilliant with science but has the memory of a goldfish and the social skills of a piranha.

“Genesis, come in, come in.”

I walk in. The lab itself is spotless; Bruce’s desk, on the other hand, looks like a tornado hit it.

“Good to see you, Bruce. How are you doing?”

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