Page 62 of Widow's Walk

I was going for dramatic, but it morphed into a goth clown glam style. My skin is porcelain-pale, a contrast to the rest of the makeup. My eyes are framed by elongated, black lines drawn both above and below like wicked clown tears. The red, matte color on my lips is sharply defined at the corners of my mouth, giving me that sinister grin. And to top it all off, the classic red nose tip. Not humorous in appearance, but provocative and eerie.

I pull the black hood up over my head and blow a kiss at the mirror. “Alright, girlfriend. Time to finish setting the stage. Our leading man will be here soon.”

Double- and triple-checking all my booby traps and trip wires, I make my way up to the top floor for the best seat in the house. Lighting up a cigarette to help calm the nerves, I wait.

The petite mansion is old and forgotten. Places like this always call to me. Abandoned. Ghostly. Full of stories and pain. It feels like home.

The loud chirping tells me that one of my perimeter sensors has been triggered. I spit out the wad of gum I’ve been chomping on for too long and stretch my body like a feline. “Alright, Blender.” I turn and look at her with a grin. “You might want to make yourself scarce.” Another chirping rings out, alerting thatthe sensors on the other side of the property have gone off, too. So far, everything is going as planned. “It’s showtime.”

They breach quietly and methodically, but not cautiously enough. One by one, my traps spring. Silent darts with paralyzing serum of my own little invention hit their marks. They go down like a sack of potatoes, one thud after another. I lurk in the shadows, picking off the stragglers with my dart gun. None of them see me coming.

Blackwell goes down very last. He’s stronger, more stubborn. But eventually, he ends up sprawled out on the dusty floorboards. A couple more twitches as he tries to move his arms, then he’s still. Only his chest heaves.

That’s my cue.

I step out of the dark and into the warm light filtering as the sun is getting low. Hood up and knife in hand. I straddle him slowly, tilting my head. Our eyes lock, and it tries to move something inside of me. But I slam it shut and shut it down.

He tries to lift a hand to stop me or pull me closer. Either way, I don’t care. “Hello, lover,” I say, grinning, revealing the knife. “Miss me?”

I slice and chop at his Kevlar with careful precision. Then I rip his shirt open. I almost salivate when I see the brute muscles bulge under the rich skin. Glistening with a sheen of sweat, his chest heaving.

Okay, focus, you huzzy.

I tease him some, coming at him with the knife with slow movements. But it’d be too easy to kill him like this. Very anti-climactic. Instead, I delicately carve a heart into his chest. Not too deep, but deep enough to bleed and scar.

I drag the blade along my tongue and mewl. “Mmm.” Then I flip the blade over to wipe the rest of the blood across my lips like lipstick.

Lowering my head, I kiss him. Sloppily and possessively. But I force myself to think I’m kissing someone else. Anyone else.

The illusion almost cracks when he kisses me back. It’s sluggish, but his lips move with mine. And I hate myself for letting the kiss linger a second longer than intended.

I pull back and smile down at him, unfazed. “Don’t blink, darling. The grand finale is closer than you think,” I rasp.

At the front door, I sling my backpack over one shoulder, then pick up the red gas can. I whistle a happy tune as I make a trail of gasoline from the stoop and down the path. Blender is already waiting for me there. Twitching her tail and watching with disinterest.

I light up another cigarette and take a few puffs as I pause. What a shame to destroy something so beautifully broken.

I flick the cigarette, and seconds later, it catches flame. The fire races, slithering up the path like a serpent. It doesn’t take long to grow, and it somehow adds more beauty to the withering estate.

“Beautiful,” I whisper.

I hear male voices in the distance. The second team. And they’re coming in hot. Probably because Blackwell isn’t answering them. No one is.

“Time to go.” I slip off the backpack and open it for Blender. She jumps right in, and I swing it across my back, snug to me, and take off into the woods.

Hopping on my bike, the engine roars to life, and I take off without a glance back.

Chapter twenty-six

Blackwell

I’m wrathful as we get back home, empty-handed.

“Goddamn—kiram to khodam!”Fuck me! I pick up a chair and arch it over my head and release it. I hardly register the crash. “That fucking—” I grab another piece of furniture and slam it on the ground over and over, growling through gnashing teeth. “Kiram to madar-e kasi ke… kiram to in zendegi,”Motherfucker…fuck everything, I snarl as pieces of another chair go flying. But no amount of damage could relieve the ire scorching my insides.

She was right there. “Goh khordam,”I fucked up, I mutter and pace furiously. Literally right on top of me. But I was helpless. Paralyzed from whatever she shot us all with. I couldn’t even speak. I couldn’t tell her that she was never on my hit list. That she was under my protection. That she will always be under my protection. Tell her that I refuse to marry someone else for power. That she is empowering enough, no matter her surname.

That yes, I do miss her. My hand goes to my bloodied chest on instinct.

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