Page 60 of Dark & Deceitful

Succumbing to the fire burning through every cell in his body, Romeo crashes to his knees on the sleek tiled floor andclaws at his throat before collapsing onto his side, where he contorts like a man in need of an exorcism. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, gasping for breath that doesn’t come. I do nothing but stand there, inches from his feet, and watch him die. There is no comfort from me. No apologies. As kind as he was, he was complicit in the atrocities his employer enacted, and for that, I have nothing to give. No remorse. No twinge of sadness.

Eyes locked on me in fear, he reaches out with a trembling hand as if I’ll comfort him.

I give him nothing.

Not a prayer.

Not even a smile.

I feel nothing as I watch life fade and his muscles cease lurching. Wide, vacant eyes stare at the ceiling as sweat trails down his forehead and foam settles like bubbles around his lips.

Romeo’s death is a quick mercy, far quicker than the rest on board. That’s my gift, as small as it may be.

When a sous chef races back into the kitchen and witnesses the evidence on the floor, his shrill scream echoes through the space, and still, I show no emotion. This is what I was taught. If you choose to take a life, you accept it, you own it. There is no looking back, there is no what-if, there is no sorrow. You are forever branded a killer, and that I can live with, in this moment and the hundreds of moments before. I can live with knowing these men, these scum, will never walk the face of the earth again. I did that… I freed these women. I gave them a chance at a real life, and I could never be sorry for that.

Once more, I feel nothing more than a niggle of triumph as I plunge the second needle into the shoulder of the sous chef, on his knees, trying to perform CPR on Romeo. Then, I walk away. I don’t wait for him to die. I enter the dining hall, where the floor is littered with male corpses, including Romeo’s plaything, and search for the one male who had better be breathing.

Helping the group of frantic women calm down, Dark corrals them to the far side of the dining room, away from the death, and makes them sit in the same chairs the men bought them from.

When he sees me, Dark swoops in for a giant hug, pulling me right off my feet. “Thank fuck you’re okay.” He squeezes me fiercely and kisses one of the many hickeys he bestowed upon my flesh.

Wrapping my arms around his thick neck, I half giggle at the ridiculousness of his excitement. “I’m fine.”

My ex pulls back enough to assess I’m not lying as he suspends me in the air like I weigh nothing. “You need to wash your face.” He frowns, eyeing the cut and crusty nose. I can only imagine how crappy I look, but it worked, didn’t it?

“It’s fine.” I tickle the soft hairs at the base of his head.

“No. There’s still too much blood.”

Ignoring his concern, I ask, “What’s next?”

Grumbling at my brush-off, Dark lowers me to the ground, dragging my body down his front until I’m back on two feet. He cups the side of my face, careful not to touch the slight injury. “The brothers are hooking up now. As soon as they started dropping,” he motions to the corpses, “I sent the signal.”

As if on cue, men clad in all black enter the dining room, laden with duffle bags of clothes for the women, as…

“Sunshine?!” I screech when that gray-haired, bearded man comes into view, wearing the biggest damn smile.

Waiting in the middle of the space between the entrance and Dark, Sunshine puts his arms out, and I run to him, jump, and wrap my legs around his waist. He catches me with an audible “Oof” but bears the brunt of my delight as his hands get a solid hold on my ass cheeks.

“Hey, Sweets,” he greets, all smiles.

“I didn’t think you were coming.” I play slap his shoulder in reprimand for not telling me. It wouldn’t have been hard to drop a line.

Sunshine clucks his tongue. “You know me better than that. Since when have I missed cleaning up your jobs?”

“Hmmm.” I think on it a beat, trying to recall a time he wouldn’t have been there. When I come up short, my face scrunches in surprised disbelief. “Huh. I guess you haven’t.”

“Exactly. You make the messes, I clean ‘em up.” He winks and squeezes my cheeks to cement his point.

I tug on the tip of his beard. “That’s true. But you don’t have any bodies to wrap up.” Usually, when he cleans, it entails his van, a couple brothers, plastic, sometimes bleach, and, occasionally, a well-thought-out fire. I poison, and they come in and clean up after me like maids but for dead bodies. They are cleaners, after all. They not only clean up my messes, but they clean up any messes the Sacred Sinners need. That’s why Sunshine’s a nomad. Patching into a chapter would mean roots. You can’t put down deep enough roots if you’re busy traveling all over the country, disposing of corpses in whatever creative means necessary.

Oh, I’m sure you’re wondering why he does it and how he got into the job in the first place. It’s not like someone is filling out job applications for an occupation like this. The biggest question of them all is how does he dispose of the bodies? Well, sorry to tell you, but you’ll have to keep wondering because I don't even know the full backstory, and I won’t ask what he does with my kills. In my mind, there’s a vat somewhere where he dumps the remains, and they liquefy after a month. I think I saw something like that online when my morbid curiosity piqued. Then again, he could know someone who owns a crematorium and go that route, burning the bodies. That’s probably a smarter scenario, or he could use the old-fashioned method and bury themsomewhere nobody could find them. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. Your guess is as good as mine.

“No,” Sunshine remarks, pulling me back into the present. “But we have a boat to sink.” Much like his son, Sunshine slides me down his front and resets me on my feet, but he doesn’t let me go far as he grips my chin and turns my face up to get a good look at me. “Don’t like seein’ blood on you. You cut your face.” He thumbs the underside of the wound, and I pull away, not wanting it to ache any more than it already does.

“Babe, Pops has work to do. Let’s get these women on the boat,” Dark calls.

“He’s right,” Sunshine replies. “We can catch up when I’m through.” Pecking my forehead, his lips linger for half a beat before he steers me toward his son.

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