Page 66 of Heart of a Killer

The man’s bellows are muffled as I lift him over my shoulder. The gravel shifts beneath my feet with every step. His body thuds on the rocks, and I hold him over the edge. My hand tightens around the blade’s hilt, and my fingers align with each groove. A spark lights in my veins, and a swimming sensation erupts in my brain. The adrenaline rush hits me, and I swiftly glide the blade over the man’s throat. He coughs and spurts, blood running like rivers over his clothes. I press my boot on the middle of his back. His body bounces off the hills of Artist’s Palette a few times until I can’t see him anymore.

Quick, clean, and effective.

Desert air whips through my shaggy hair, and the gritty sand slaps my exposed skin. The walk back to the car is peaceful, even with the song blaring from the Jeep speakers. It is Skylar’s favorite, even though she won’t admit it. My chest swells at Brie tossing her hot-pink hair back and forth in the front seat. She belts the lyrics at the top of her lungs, and Skylar does the same from the backseat with a small smile.

Regardless of the doctor that tried to pin a diagnosis on my mental health, I proudly own every part of me. If I had the chance to go back and change everything, I wouldn’t. I’m a bad guy and I’ll do whatever it takes to take care of Brie and Skylar. These are my girls. That’s the butterfly effect of it all. Bad things happen for us to see and appreciate the good. Everything happens for a reason and how we choose to see it changes everything.

The song ends as I jump in the front seat, and Brie asks, “Why not Dante’s Point? That’s such a cool name for a place to drop dead bodies off.”

“We’ve been over this before.”

“I know,” she mumbles.

“Then why do you keep asking?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “Can we at least come visit during the daylight sometimes? I wanna see the pretty blues of the Artist’s Palette.”

“If our schedules ever permit it,” I say.

That shuts her down fast, and she looks down at her hands in her lap.

“I’ll talk to Anna and see if we can make it happen,” I suggest, my tone softening.

Brie hops out of her seat to squeeze my neck and squeals, “You’re the best!”

“All right, all right,” I say, trying to pull away so I can breathe again.

Brie is a ball of energy; when she loves, she loves hard. Skylar quietly sits in the back, and it makes me wonder about her sometimes.

We ride out of the hills from a usual off-roading trail we located. Dante’s Pointe is too crowded with tourists to just leave a body to decay in the mountains. While the heat is excellent for fast decomposition, it’s not as great as one would think. If I chose a high-volume area, a dead person would be found faster than we can run from it. It would link back to Anna, which we can’t have. Father Crowley Vista has too many military jets flying through it, which is also risky. So, Artist’s Palette was the most reasonable choice.

As we drive through the winding roads out of the hills, Brie plays more songs from her curated playlist. Her job as a stripper at Darling Girls has shaped some of her song choices, but Skylar has too. I usually like Skylar’s picks because they are more rock heavy, while Brie’s have more pop and dance beats.

The desert isn’t anything like I expected. There are areas of grass, sand, rock, small towns, and even farms. Most days, it can get up to a hundred and twenty degrees, but at least there isn’t as much humidity as there is back home.

We get home reasonably fast, considering it only took us forty-five minutes and we live an hour from Death Valley National Park. I park the Jeep outside our white ranch-style house, and the girls hop out.

“Do you have to work tomorrow, Brie?” Skylar asks.

“Nuh-uh, we have to keep practicing. We don’t want to have a slip-up in public,” I interject.

“Ugh,” Skylar groans. “Fine.Codi, do you work tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Sadly,” Brie murmurs.

“When you get a day off, I need you to read your part of the book.”

“I’d love to,” Brie squeals. “I’ll read it tonight even.”

They run up the long walkway to the front door and let themselves in while I’m left in the dust.

While Brie and I go to work, Skylar insists on staying home and working on her book. She says it’s a form of therapy with everything we’ve been through. I admire her for that, but I’m always worried about her and how she is handling everything. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to turn that off. So I’m not a big fan of her writing this book about us, but if it helps her get it out that way, I’ll support her any way I can.

Brie is up on a stool when I enter, screaming at the cat.

“What’s going on?” All my senses are on alert, expecting the worst.

“Cooper is playing with a scorpion again,” Skylar says.

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