Page 3 of Body Tox

“Two…”

The mousy ‘contributor’ fidgeted with a cross in her hands. Her uncertainty about what was to come was evident on her pale face.

“Child, come. This is what God wants from you. You are bringing your brothers and sisters another year of peace and calm.”

The child, otherwise known as the fruit, responded as he ushered her toward the car, taking a more aggressive approach.

“Three…” I let the arrow fly, piercing through the air and meeting its mark.

The “Priest” fell flat on his back, my arrow protruding from his eye socket.

The girl in the holy-what-the-fuck-ever robe screamed loud enough to give me a headache and started running off in my direction. I was crouched on a landing directly in front of her. She was sprinting, now, without paying attention to where she was going because her eyes were glued onto the damned dead carcass a few feet away.

I rolled my eyes, hopping down from the ledge, and she barreled into me.

“W-Who are you?” she screamed, falling on her ass and scooting away from me.

I snapped on my gloves, careful not to touch the blood splatter that coated her side.

Despite using a coagulation drug on the tip of my arrows, a dusting of red always painted anyone close enough to a target. It never failed.

“You’re welcome. Daddy sends his regards to you not becoming a shish kabob.”

The female blinked at me and shook her head in confusion. I sighed and pulled my mask over my face. It was a needed protection to keep the sweet smell of blood from tempting me and hauled her ass over my shoulder.

She was still kicking and screaming when I got to my motorcycle. I should have duct-taped her mouth shut because my head was shrieking at me. At least the groan of the growling motor on my bike drowned out her frantic squeals enough to get a reprieve.

I was even so kind as to strap her in with a helmet.

After about ten minutes of driving, she was still screaming. We were returning to society where her wails wouldn’t be justan annoyance. People would notice, which meant she needed to shut the fuck up.

Fucking great…

Slowing to a stop, I reared my head back, slamming my helmet into hers, knocking her ass out.

Smacking around a woman wasn’t my strong suit, but her freaking out as I hauled my backpack wasn’t making it easier to deliver the damn girl back to her highly prized gated community.

I didn’t bother to stay for reunions.

When I got to her flashy ass stucco house, I dropped her passed-out form off at her door, whacking the doorbell with the tip of my boot. Quickly, I snaked around the side of the house. One two three four…there it was—the fifth flower pot from the gate.

Underneath it was my money. Right next to it, under the base of a stupid ass gnome decoration, was another envelope hidden in the dirt.

Kicking the fucking stupid thing aside, I ripped open the damn dirt-covered paper. It was a message from the Debt Collector demanding an update. Sighing, I quickly typed up the text.

Me: Payment made. Girl delivered.

This fucking girl would be my hundredth and some odd save.

A fucking short vacation would be nice instead of gig after gig after gig, but D.C. kept me busy as hell. He probably got off on it.

Surely it had to be the details in the fucking contract that he made with me in the very beginning that kept the demands coming, and it was the shit that had started this mess and made me a slave to the blade. Grating my teeth as a response came back, a haze of red clouded my vision.

D.C – Can’t Kill Him Yet.: No, Asher. Get the information, and get the next girl.

What a fucker.

“Daughter, this makes the fifth fucking Guardsman that has ‘mysteriously’ disappeared when you’ve taken them on your little shopping sprees.”

---