Page 3 of Soulless Deeds

“Hmm, I came from the circus room. Although, I don’t think I’ll be welcome back there.”

“Sudo is a hard nut to crack. This job isn’t cut out for everyone.”

My head cocked to the side. “I’m not here for a job. I’m a client… Well,wasa client.”

His face drained of colour, fake eyelashes fluttering. “You.”Cough.“Fuck, I’m totally screwed.”

“I don’t see why. He deserved this.” Referring to the corpse positioned in the centre. “Your eyes seem awfully dry now. Where are those tears for your lover?”

He growled, whipped a silk robe over his form and paced, thick smoke floating behind as he toked harder.

“Do you need help with the clean up?”

He halted, silver eyes fixed on me in disbelief. “Who are you?”

“Do you need my help or not?”

“Why would you…”

I shrugged, aiming for the door. “If we’re done here, I’ll be heading off now.”

A firm hand pulled on my shoulder, spinning me to face plant into his sweaty, hard chest. “Ah, what the fuck?” My words were muffled from the contact.

He retreated, averting his eyes. “What do you want from me? Name your price.”For my silence.I knew how that game went.

My brows rose. Taking the lapels of his robe in each hand, I closed it over his chest and tightened the belt around his waist, near cutting off his circulation. He winced, no doubt his back bleeding with excruciating pain. “No offence, but I don’t think your injuries would be able to hold up.”

I backpedalled, his mouth agape, stunned into silence. When I reached for the handle, he found his voice. “You wouldn’t be able to afford me anyway.”

My lips wobbled, preventing a snicker from breaking through. My eyes roamed up and down his killer frame, muscles flawlessly proportioned and accentuated with the fine sheen of perspiration. “Hmm, I can tell.” We both gave a carefree laugh. “What’s your name?”

He waved an errant hand in the air. “Trove.” He was dead serious.

“As in treasure trove?” I chuckled. “Not your stage name, yourrealname.”

He hesitated, unsure how I would use the ammo against him. “Remi.”

I dropped into an elaborate curtsey. “Well, Remi, I’m Spencer.” Giving him my name was probably stupid…but if he used it against me, I’d simply kill him, which would beunfortunate. Despite my previous statement, I liked injured, sexy things.

Remi’s lips lifted into a reluctant smile. “I’m in your debt.” I gave a dismissive wave. I had no intention of returning.

Pushing through the exit, Remi’s voice drifted behind. “When you think you can handle me, come back for a visit,Spencer.” My name rolled off his tongue as smooth and alluring as a lover. I simply lifted a middle finger over my shoulder, metaphorically telling him to go fuck himself.

His chuckle chased me down the corridor.

II

Spencer

Psycho dominated the kitchen, his bare back on display, tattoos of screaming souls dancing in the artificial light. I was used to being the first person awake in the morning. With the rising sun came a stagnant space in time where I’d clear my head, compartmentalise my trauma like a pro and set up my day for being a badass motherfucking bitch.

Instead, it was filled with god-awful church organs, and as of two weeks before, my sister’s new beefed-up psycho of a boyfriend.

We were at Variant Sanctorum, the wealthiest church in Junction City. Fat load of good that was, since we were buried in the catacombs beneath. We lived amongst the dead, surviving off scraps and breathing in asbestos or equally contaminated air from our skeletal neighbours.

Our humble living area consisted of one large space; a basic kitchen lined one side and a cheap, uncomfortable sofa was on the other, the expanse of floor between covered in fighting mats. That summation was the full extent of our temporary residence and crumbling home, coined the Temple.Open plan living, eat your heart out.

I straddled one of the stools at the kitchen island, my chihuahua Frankenstein curling up into a ball at my feet.

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