Chapter 22 Rowan
ROWAN
I’m parked outside the La Arena condos, wrapped in shadow because I smashed all the lights in the parking lot. It’s nearly midnight, and my fingers are itching for death.
It was torture, parting ways with Abi at Neptune’s Adventure.
I sensed the sadness radiating off her when she walked off, like she was disappointed that I didn’t want to stay with her.
I wish I could have told her I’d see her later, that she’d hear from me soon.
But I knew she was sad about Rowan, not me.
No matter. I couldn’t go with her as Rowan because I needed to follow my victims when they left the mini golf course.
I waited on the little bench on the boardwalk, scrolling idly through my phone without really looking at anything, until I caught the whiff of their scents.
The two of them spilled out, still laughing, still drunk, and made their way toward the beach.
I followed.
That was how I found out they were staying here, at La Arena, a shabby little property that’s half locals and half short-term rentals. Not exactly a competitor to the Palm Breeze Hotel.
This was all the information I needed to put my plan into motion.
I saw what unit they were staying in, and I saw them leave this evening, presumably to go drinking.
They took a big pickup truck covered in sand and salt.
That was when I got my own car from my house and drove over to Neptune’s Adventure to set everything up.
Now, it’s just a matter of waiting.
I don’t have to wait too long. A little after midnight, the SUV pulls into the lot. I slouch down in my seat, watching over the rim of my steering wheel, as my two victims stumble around, arms wrapped around each other, clearly drunk. Idiots, to be out driving like that.
Their voices clatter out into the night. I stay put, waiting for them to disappear into their condo unit. This is always the hardest part, getting all the pieces into place. But I have plenty of experience.
Once the victims are inside, quiet falls over the parking lot again. Clouds cover up any moonlight, accentuating my work with the broken security lights.
Which is perfect, because it’s dark enough that I can move unseen. Good thing I’ve always had great night vision.
I put on my killing face.
Then I slide out of the car and make my way up the stairs, moving quickly and quietly.
This kill is going to be extremely complicated, and I know I could have made it easier on myself by choosing someone else.
Someone who worked at the golf course, for example.
But these two deserve to die, and so they will.
I’m prepared to pick the lock, but I try the knob first, and the door swings open. Lucky me.
I peer into a small, empty living room. I don’t see either one of my victims, although I can smell them, and I can hear them. Not just their voices, although one of them is singing loudly from the back of the condo. But their heartbeats. Their breaths.
I ease the door shut behind me and step into the hallway, listening.
One of them, the one that’s singing, is in the bathroom.
The other is in one of the bedrooms, and I go to him first, moving in the soft, careful way that Uncle Nash taught me when I was a child.
I trained to do this on men who would know to expect someone like me, and these two tourists are—not that. So that’s something in my favor.
I peer into the bedroom and find the guy who catcalled Abi. He’s facing away from me, fumbling drunkenly around in the closet, and I hear his sharp whistle in the back of my head.
His friend is still in the bathroom. I intended to kill both of them, but fuck it. I can streamline this if I work fast. And this asshole’s the one I really want, anyway.
So I act. I slam forward and hook my arm around my victim’s neck and slap my free hand over his mouth.
He makes a muffled hmmph sound and tries to kick out of my grasp, but his movements are sloppy and lazy from the alcohol he clearly drank earlier.
And the other drugs, too. I’m not sure what, but I swear I can feel them pulsing through his system.
I brace my arm around his throat, squeezing with all my strength. He wants to fight, but I’m much, much stronger than him, fat ass or not. I swing him around and heave him onto the bed, pressing my body against his back so his face is pressed down in the mattress and he can't scream for help.
I squeeze his neck, tighter and tighter like a boa constrictor, until he finally passes out. The other one is still in the bathroom, still singing drunkenly.
I sling my victim over my shoulder and stalk out of the condo. I move like a shark—constant and unthinking. If I stop, I’ll get wrapped up in my thoughts and risk getting caught by the other one, and I’ll have to drag both of them into my car.
This way is easier.
I carry my victim out into the pitch black parking lot. I throw him in the trunk. Get in behind the wheel. Peel away. The whole thing takes less than ten minutes.
It’s less than ten minutes to get to Neptune’s Adventure, too.
I pull up to the front gate and climb out of my car and breathe in the damp, salty wind.
The place looks untouched, but I know the truth: Snapped wires on the cameras and broken streetlights that will hide me as I go about my business.
The missing activation key for the pirate ship, which is currently in my pocket after I filched it when the bored teenager wasn’t paying attention.
Thumps come from inside my trunk, soft and confused. My victim is stirring, waking up, but he’s not all the way there yet. No matter. I can handle it either way.
I’m ready for him when I lift the cover. He sits up and opens his mouth to scream, but I slap my hand over his mouth and jerk him out so I can loop my arm around his throat again. He passes out even faster this time.
I dig out my crowbar and cart him up to the entrance gate with the same fireman’s carry I used to get him to my car. He’s not so heavy, even with all his sleek, cultivated muscles.
It’s easy work breaking the lock on the gate and getting him inside. I go straight for the pirate ship, all the animatronics still for the night. They won’t be for long, though.
I heave him up the stairs and drop him on the deck. This afternoon, when Abi was trying desperately not to let his jeering get to her, I studied the structure to keep myself focused. And I saw the latch that opens up the innards of the pirate ship.
I pry it open now, using the hooked end of the crowbar. When I see the tangle of gears and wires and metal rods inside, my cock jolts.
This is going to be the perfect gift for my Abi. Even if I can’t let her know it’s a gift. Can’t let her link me and Rowan Hanover.
The idea makes me sad. But I don’t have time to be sad. Not tonight.
I turn back over to my victim. He’s stirring again, moaning a little, dropping his head from side to side. I grab him by the ankle and pull him across the deck. He groans in protest.
“Ethan,” he mutters, which I suppose is the name of his friend. “Ethan, what the fuck is this, man? Why do you keep…”
The words dissolve into nonsense. I loop one of the ship’s ropes around his ankle to hold him in place while setting the scene that this was all just a drunken, stupid accident.
“The fuck?” he mutters, shifting around more earnestly. He kicks at the rope in confusion, then twists around, whipping his gaze back and forth. “What the fuck? Where the—”
His eyes finally settle on me.
For a moment, all he does is stare up at me, and I savor the quick flicker of emotions across his face. Confusion, fear, adrenaline. They’re all softened by the drugs and alcohol in his system, and he squints at me, like he’s trying to convince himself I’m real.
“Who the fuck are you?” he finally spits out, belligerent.
When I knot the rope off, I see him make the connection. He kicks again, more furious this time. “What the fuck?” he shrieks. “What are you doing? Why am I—“
He looks up at the ship mast, the pirate flag fluttering in the night wind.
“What are you doing?” he whimpers, his voice small and terrified. “Why is this happening?”
I consider telling him. But I never talk to my victims, just like I don’t talk to any of the other pieces of my scenes.
This man may have dimmed the bright, sparkling light in Abi’s eyes, but he’s not a man anymore.
He’s an object, same as that rope or the metal gears that are going to grind him into meal.
I step over to him, my boots heavy against the pirate ship. My victim tries to squirm away from me, but I lash out and jerk him over to the gaping entrance to the ship’s innards.
“I’ll pay you, man!” he shouts, trying to fight against me, his muscles tensing beneath my hands. “I’ve got money! How much do you want?”
I drop his arm and grab him by the back of the head and slam his forehead down on the ship deck, right next to the open hatch.
It’s not enough to knock him out, but it is enough to surge him with adrenaline, and he starts trying to fight me in earnest, even as blood pours over his forehead.
He swings his arms, kicks against the rope.
I manage to keep my grip, although it’s a reminder that I need to finish this up.
“Let me go, you Halloween-ass motherfucker!” He swings a punch at me, but I catch his fist. He stares at me, eyes wide with fear.
Then I shove him back, hard enough that he cracks into one of the animatronics. I cringe inwardly; I wanted the ship untouched. But I suppose that adds a touch of verisimilitude, considering he’s meant to look like he was stumbling drunkenly around up here.
It also stuns him, which gives me a chance to dart over to the button that activates the ship’s mechanisms.
I jam the key into the ignition, turn it, press the button. With a groan and a clatter, the pirate ship creaks to life. For a second, I just stand there, listening to the symphony of mechanical groans from inside. All that metal grinding together.
I climb back up the ladder. My victim stirs against the animatronic pirate captain, who twists back and forth despite the crack in his peg leg. I grab my victim by his hair and heave him toward the open hatch.
For a moment, I think he might be knocked out, given how heavy his body feels. But as I hold his head over the hatch, he wakes up, screaming.
“No!” he howls. “What the fuck! No! Don’t do this, man! I told you, I can pay! I can—”
I shove him inside, face-first.
For a second, his screams drown out the grinding mechanism of the pirate ship.
He kicks furiously, trying to drag himself out, but my rope holds him in place.
And eventually, his screams fade into a kind of wet squelching, and blood splats out against the dark of the night.
I step back, watching his body twist and flop as the ship’s mechanism chews him up.
And then there’s a loud, sighing groan, and the ship jolts sharply and comes to a halt.
I can smell something going wrong, the hot metallic scent of metal parts jammed together.
I kneel beside what’s left of my victim. It was his shoulder that broke the ship, the way it jammed in at an angle. The other shoulder juts up, his arm flopped against the deck.
Very carefully, I push his shirt sleeve up, revealing a smooth patch of skin. Then I pull out my pocket knife and press the blade there, making a single tiny mark. Then another. Another. Three simple lashes to form the letter K.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” I whisper, holding Abi’s bright smile in my mind.