“Stop fucking around,” Ryker hisses, tapping his foot against the ground impatiently.
I continue to sing “Golden” under my breath as I step over the body, accidentally on purpose crunching the fucker’s hand beneath my boot.
“Singing makes me murder better,” I point out, tossing him the cloak and mask. I made sure to take it off the victim before I murdered him. This time. The first victim—and, consequently, his clothes—wasn’t as lucky.
“You’re a fucking psychopath.” Ryker bares his teeth at me, but I simply smile wide, my chest swelling. Fucker does love me. That’s the best compliment he could’ve given me.
Ryker’s nose scrunches up at whatever he sees on my face, and he looks away with an exasperated breath.
“I’ll take care of the body,” Beckett tells us, drawing our attention to where he stands in the uncomfortably small kitchen. Everything about this house is small, now that I think about it. Small living room. Small bedroom. Small bathroom. It makes sense, though. Headless has never been in a serious relationship and has no kids. The last girl he saw filed a restraining order, claiming he sexually and physically abused her.
So, do I feel bad about slaughtering him? Not at all.
Anyone who hurts the person they’re supposed to love and care for deserves worse than that.
“We need to go,” Ryker reiterates, his upper lip curling. “Ellie needs us.”
My jovial mood instantly diminishes. Not because of Ryker’s reminder—Ellie’s always at the forefront of my thoughts—but because his condescending tone suggests that I’m not a high-functioning psychopath whose entire world revolves around the pint-sized girl.
Rude.
Ryker matches my glare with one of his own. It isn’t long until it becomes a contest of wills—my brown eyes locked on his icy blue ones. The air between us seems to crackle and shimmer, almost like currents of electricity are permeating the air. A distant roaring sound takes up residence in my head.
“Enough of this posturing!” Beckett moves to stand between us. When Ryker and I continue to glare at each other, the irritating Brit shoves at my chest, forcing me back a step. “Enough! Don’t make me drop Frodo in your bed while you’re sleeping tonight.”
Instantly, I pivot my glare so it lands on him instead. “You wouldn’t.”
Beckett arches an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”
Bastard.
“Come on!” Ryker barks, already turning on his heel to storm outside.
“Don’t murder him,” Beckett reminds me. “Remember—you love him. He’s just worried about Ellie. We all are.” A frown touches his lips, and he flicks his gaze down to the body at our feet. “Remind me again how I got stuck on cleanup duty?”
“You lost the coin toss.”
His right eye begins to twitch erratically. “A coin toss implies that you used a coin, believe it or not. Not an eyeball.”
“Pupil up, I go. Pupil down, you go,” I tell him. Honestly, I have no idea why he’s so confused. The rules seem pretty straightforward.
Beckett stares at me blankly, not a hint of emotion in his multicolored eyes, before he deadpans, “You need help.”
I smile sharply—something I imagine resembles nothing more than a baring of teeth.
“Obviously.”
Apparently,Headless’s name is Gideon Smart. But Gideon Smart wasn’t too smart if he left his door unlocked, allowing me and the others to break inside and murder him.
I stare intently at the driver’s license in my hand as I move with the other employees through security. Ryker is directly behind, having assumed the identity of Lochlan Ares.
A tiny smudge of blood decorates one portion of the driver’s license, and I hastily wipe it away with my thumb. Of course, that only makes the blood smear even more, but oh well. I’m sure it’s not the first blood splatter these people have seen.
Everything about this place creeps me the hell out. It’s so…dark. Dark and gloomy, with a scent reminiscent of spiced copper in the air. Like the last time I snuck into a POP party, we parked Gideon’s car in the back lot and then followed the other masked employees toward a nondescript door near the back. Then, one by one, we were led through various stages of security screening until we reached the final agent.
Now, I hand over Gideon’s identification, and the guard’s eyes immediately home in on the blood.
But, like I expected, he doesn’t ask questions as he waves me forward with more contempt than courtesy. I resist the urgeto perform a sardonic bow as I stealthily slip inside, entering a bustling kitchen.