Page 26 of Beautiful Cruelty

"Inspired?"

"Insane. Where are you going to find a woman who's as stubborn, reckless, and committed to the idea of justice and fairness as you, to do that?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll figure it out." I say, moving toward the storage closet. "Now help me process the body and we'll dump it in the Sound before daybreak."

"Like old times?" A ghost of a smile crosses Demyon's face.

"Like old times."

Demyon holds Walker's arm up and hands me a pair of gardening shears. One by one, we remove the fingers, then move on to the toes. The teeth come next—crucial to prevent identification. Once everything has been removed, I stab holes at regular intervals along the body. Twice on each lobe of the lungs, four times through the stomach, and then every two inches through the large intestine.

All to prevent gas buildup and ensure that the corpse would sink after it's tossed in the water.

We empty his pockets, and find a wallet with an address in Queen Anne along with a set of keys. There are several credit cards and a hefty wad of cash in there as well. I memorize the street number before tossing everything into our pile of items to burn. His phone joins it.

We'll destroy everything properly later.

Then, it'll be as if Nathan Walker never existed.

As I bend down to gather Walker's shredded clothes, a new scent catches my attention.

It's subtle, barely there beneath the metallic tang of blood, and oddly familiar—a light blend of citrus and lavender.

Suddenly, my mind is filled with the memory of gentle curves pressed against me. Amber-flecked eyes sparkling with hidden fire. The tantalizing way she looked wearing nothing my suit jacket.

The sweetness of her lips against mine.

And this time, a new memory joins those—her chin jutting out defiantly at me in a tiny run-down dry cleaner, as she claimed that we’re enemies.

I would very much like to see her again.

"Demyon." I straighten up, clothes bunched in my fist. "I need you to do one more thing."

"What?"

"Contact Allison's Catering Services and get a copy of the resume for one of her employees," I say. "Whatever price she names, double it. And make sure Allison understands that refusing isn't an option."

"Which employee?" Demyon asks.

"Lacey McKinney."

7

VADIM

The soft morningrain filters through Queen Anne's tree-lined streets as I pull up to Walker's address. The lights are off and there aren't any cars parked outside.

If Walkerdoeshave a fiancée, she's definitely not here.

Or, she's at the police station, filing a missing person's report right now.

I drive a block further down and park before walking back towards the apartment. The red Ferrari stands out like a sore thumb, but it's a damn sight better than parking right in front of it.

The key slides smoothly into the lock. Inside, cheap Ikea furniture and abstract art made tolookexpensive fill the space—all carefully chosen to project success and sophistication.

Silence greets me like an old friend, and I give it a few heartbeats before moving methodically through the living room.

But my thoughts keep drifting to Lacey.

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