Page 29 of Body Tox

I looked more intently at the fence. There were animals surrounding it. Little China glasses encased the area like a bowl.

“So what’s your story?” I said, tapping my nails on the table because that was all I could fucking move strapped down at the wrists like this.

I had big blue velcro straps on my thighs, ankles, midsection, and collarbone. He huffed, stuffing the whiny bitch lady into abig-ass body bag and sliding her onto one of the metal tables with a door.

Perk of being in a morgue? Free delivery.

“Don’t got a story,” he grumbled.

“You farmer Bob’s kid or something?” I made a popping noise with my mouth, playing with my tongue ring on my lips. “That’s why the pigs and shit are drawn on you?”

He stiffened, turning his body so I couldn’t see those designs anymore and shutting the metal door with the fresh stiff inside. I continued to make the noise, a cool squeak coming through my teeth. The man’s shoulders rolled as if they were irritated, and he continued scrubbing the floor.

“What’s your deal with blood, Vamps? You get a chub at paper cuts?”

He ignored me and slammed the mop down harder.

I looked at his back—the warped story of fish, water, and cabins lined up on the Alaskan landscape.

“You either like basic fishing tattoos or are a fisherman yourself,” I declared proudly.

He turned around toward me and walked to my side.

“Stop trying to figure me out. I don’t have a story,” he said through the jacket’s fabric.

“Oh?” I snickered, happy I struck a nerve. “Still being written, then?”

“Can I borrow those?” He pointed at my fingernails.

Confused, I raised my manicured eyebrow and watched him cautiously.

He unwrapped my hand from the restraint, holding my palm with my nails outward. Placing them on his chest, he pressed down, leaving a deep groove of red on his torso and pecs. It completely blurred the pictures in the blood-welted scratches.

Smiling smugly, he dropped my hand with a painful thud of the metal and walked back to his chore.

I blew all air from my lungs in an annoyed sigh and then realized the moron didn’t restrain my hand back to the strap. Discreetly, I slipped it under the lab coat and started fidgeting with the other restraint.

The stranger-hitman-asshole shook his head and laughed.

“Sorry, babe, but I’m not that dumb. I know you went for that strap the minute I left. Don’t think I didn’t let that happen.”

I froze, his words taunting me.

“Oh, I know,” I said. “You have pigs on your body because it’s your brethren! Smelly, meaningless swine.”

He didn’t laugh or roll his eyes in return.

I could be wrong, but I thought I had seen a flash of pain in his bright eyes. Ignoring that, I stopped being discreet and ripped the damn strap off my wrist and midsection. Leaning up to do the same for my waist, legs, and feet, but I caught him watching me.

He ignored me finally and turned his back.

“Whatever, I’m not worried. Not like you’d run out here, na?—”

Before he could finish his sentence, I bolted off the table and dashed to the exit, the leather jacket falling off my naked body and onto the ground. I was near the exit when a reflection in the cabinet made me halt.

Turning around, I ignored the shrieking, exasperated man. I walked back to the table and picked up the tatted, eyeless moose.

Why…

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