Page 24 of Filthy Little Games

“Okay. I think so too,” I agree as I stand in front of the sink and survey the whole room again.

“Let’s go, Zara.”

I slip on a pair of flipflops, and since he objected to adding clothes, I’m ready to leave wearing nothing but his giant jacket that smells way too delicious for a killer. Not to mention how good he looks in the black button-down with rolled-up sleeves. It’s a great choice of color to hide blood stains. Which reminds me…

“One last thing.” I wet a kitchen towel under the sink faucet with cold water.

“What now?”

“Your face.”

“What about my face?” he huffs.

“There’s some blood on it.” I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach over the bundle in his arms and scrub at the splatter on his cheek, then his neck before doing the same to the other side. There’s even a little drop of crimson on his earlobe.

“Really?” he asks as he recoils.

“I think that’s all of it.” I swipe the towel over the slice of chest showing thanks to his open collar before my heels lower to the floor again.

Rather than trash the towel with Izaiah’s DNA on it, I tuck it under the larger towel I tied on his thigh, so it won’t bleed through.

“I’ll take his legs, since they’re lighter.” I grab hold of the rug’s end.

Rather than open the door, Ferraro stares me down, his brow furrowed. “Have you done this before?”

“Done what? Disposed of a body?”

“Yes.”

“God, no. Why?”

“I think most women would sob and shit themselves if a man was killed in front of them by a don who also wants them dead.”

“I’ve dealt with scarier things than my own death,” I confess. “And some people deserve to die.”

Ferraro nods. “Unlock the door and check to make sure the hallway is clear. Are you sure he’ll fit in the chute?”

“Well, we won’t know until we try.”

“Go measure,” he snaps.

“Measure? With what?”

“You don’t have a measuring tape?”

“No, it’s in my toolbox I left in my imaginary work shed out back.”

He sighs. “This isn’t going to work.”

“It’s going to work!” I assure him, letting go of the rug, since he doesn’t need my help holding him up. “And when it does work, you better have come up with a plan that allows me to keep breathing. I could easily grab that gun from your ass and shoot you, you know.”

“Why do you think I’m keeping my back away from you?”

Of course, he thought of that.

And since he seems so concerned that our Izaiah blunt won’t fit down the hole, I go and grab my laptop from the sofa.

“What are you doing with that?”

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