Chapter 3
HARLOW
Ijust finished plating up the last bowl of spaghetti when a shadow appeared in the the corner of my eye. Holding back a flinch, I glanced up to see Archer in the doorway, his appreciative gaze on me.
I won't lie, his expression was good for my ego, considering my hair was a mess and I was wearing my chef jacket. The look he gave me, I could have been wearing lingerie or a ball gown, with heels.
I flashed him a quick smile, cleaned the droplets of sauce from the side of the bowl and handed it to Yvette, who took it and the other three over to the table.
"What are you doing here?" I asked as I leaned over to wash my hands in the sink.
"I thought I'd help you clean up from lunch," he said. "You know what they say, many hands make for light work."
"They do say that,” I agreed. "It's thoughtful of you to come and help out. I'd really like to get out of here and over to Redemption."
He glanced around the kitchen. Nodded at Cass before returning his gaze to me.
"What can I do?"
That was a good question. I kept a tight ship here. As much as possible, we cleaned up the mess as we went, but there were always things to be done at the end of a shift. Today was no exception.
"It's not glamorous, but if you can take the trash out to the dumpster, I'd appreciate it."
I jerked my head towards the can in the corner, the bag spilling over the rim.
"Consider it done." He carefully tied the neck and carried it out.
I handed the last of the pots to Cass to rinse out before they went in the dishwasher and grabbed up a cloth to wipe around the stove.
"Is Archer looking for a job here too?" Cass asked jokingly.
"Archer has a job," Archer said, stepping back into the kitchen. "I'm working on a play right now. It's about a chef."
"It's not about Chef Stabby, is it?"
I didn't want to be the next big thing on Broadway.
The demon chef who murdered people and turned them into dinner.
For one thing, it wasn't original, as musicals went.
Although maybe there was more room on the stage for something other than the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.
The man who sliced his customers throats instead of shaving them.
While singing, if the musical was to be believed.
"If it is, can I be in it?" Cass asked eagerly.
"You could be the cute nerdy guy who does the washing up," I told him.
"You think I'm cute?"
"Of course I do. I think you're both cute," I told them.
I cocked my head at Archer. "You didn't answer the question." If he thought I was going to let that slide, he'd have to think again.
"It's not about Chef Stabby." He placed another bag in the trash can and smoothing down the sides. "It's about a chef who helps people in need. People who've had a hard life. Bad things happened to them." He pressed his lips together.
"I could still be the cute nerd that does the washing up," Cass pointed out.
Archer regarded him. "Possibly. I have to finish it first."
My face heated. "You're writing a play about me?"
"It's worthy subject matter," Archer said with a twitch of his shoulder.
"And it'll draw attention to the fact there are people out there who have real need.
I want to get it in front of as many rich and famous people as I can.
" The look in his eyes suggested he might tie them down if they didn't turn up to watch voluntarily.
"Archer Hardwick, social justice warrior," I said, approvingly.
"What's the point of art and literature if you can't use it to speak for you?" Archer said. "It's all political at the end of the day."
"I suppose it is," I agreed. His angle certainly was. If he wrote a play about Chef Stabby trying to level the playing field for innocent people, that was too.
"No one would believe the other story," Archer said, opening the dishwasher for Cass to load the pots inside.
"I hope not," I said. "It'd be hard to keep a low profile if—"
I stopped talking when Shelly stepped into the kitchen with a pile of plates and bowls in her arms. Cass took them from her and she hurried back out.
"We shouldn't be talking about this stuff here," I said.
Not while Shelly and Yvette were around anyway. The last thing I needed was for them to stumble on what their boss and her boyfriends were really like. That would be awkward to say the least, and dangerous at worst.
They could go to Detective Getzoff and tell him what they knew. Or I'd have to stop them from doing that, which was the last thing I wanted.
No, the less they knew, the better.
If you told me a few months ago, even four other people knew what I was doing, I'd shoot down the idea.
Before that, I largely worked alone, only sharing the occasional kill with Archer.
It seemed easier that way. Safer. The fewer people who knew what you were up to, the less chance there was of being found out and turned over to the police.
Or people like Hypnos and Zeus.
Now though? I couldn't imagine doing this without my men.
Having someone to talk about this stuff with, was keeping me sane.
I knew the value of that as a serial killer.
Sanity was fragile. Something easily taken from us if we let all of this get to us.
We'd escalate and do something stupid. Go on a killing spree or expose ourselves in some way.
No, I had to hold onto my sanity with everything I had.
Archer placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around so he could massage the tension out of them.
"You're doing a good thing," he said. "The percentage of people who see wrongdoing in the world and actually act on it is smaller than it should be. If they see other people doing the right thing, they're much more likely to do it too. There are whole chapters in psychology textbooks about it."
"I wish I could say I'm surprised,” I said, dropping my chin to give him better access. "I've seen it firsthand. If a man is harassing a woman, people will watch or pretend they can't see until finally someone steps in. Then they'll do it too."
"You're one of the people who always steps in," Archer said. "You don't hesitate."
"So are you," I reminded him. "I've never seen you hold back when someone needed help."
"Yes, but the things I do aren't suitable for public consumption," he said in my ear. "So I resort to writing about it instead."
"We all do our part," I told him. "All of us are doing what we can."
"Sometimes it doesn't feel like it's enough." He exhaled softly, his breath soft and warm on my neck.
"I know what you mean," I said. "Sometimes it feels like for everyone we deal with, there's three or four or ten more still doing it." That was probably a conservative estimate.
"I wish that side of our lives paid better. Then we could do it full-time," he said, as dry as ever.
I choked back a laugh. "That would be living the dream, wouldn't it?"
Full-time serial killer had an interesting ring to it. Who would pay us? People were professional assassins, so I supposed there was a market for it.
Unfortunately, in our case, the people who were the most likely to pay for our services were also the people we were dealing with. People with power and influence. People who'd pay an assassin to take us out if they knew where to find us.
Cops, I could deal with. A professional assassin was another thing.
Part of me was curious how I'd measure up again them.
Mostly, I didn't want to know. I suspected I wouldn't come out of it alive.
Maybe I wasn't giving myself enough credit.
It was possible I'd take them down with me.
I'd give it a good try. I hadn't given up anything without a fight yet. I wasn't going to start any time soon.
"Until then, I better keep on cooking." I looked out into the seating area, as Yvette and Shelly packed up the last of the dishes. The remaining customers made their way out the door.
They seemed to have enjoyed their lunch. They tipped well. Of course they did. I made sure the food and service here was impeccable.
Hopefully Archer would remember that when he was writing his play.
"Have a great night," I said as they grabbed their things to head out the door.
"Thanks, Chef," Yvette called over her shoulder.
She reminded me too much of Erin. So much so, I kept my distance from her, making sure to be professional and not too friendly. Gina used Erin against me. I didn't want anyone doing the same to either of these women.
Cass stacked the last of the crockery into the dishwasher, turned it on and turned around.
"I made you a promise," he said, his eyes dark. "You're going to have at least one orgasm before we leave."
"I like that promise," Archer said approvingly.
"Of course you do. Listening to Harlow come is better than music." Cass laced his fingers and rested his hands in front of himself, over his cock.
"Archer, take her clothes off. Taste her pussy."
Archer didn't tend to jump when Cass told him to, not in the way Boner did, but he didn't hesitate to ease my chef jacket off my shoulders and place it aside before starting on the rest of my clothes.
I stepped out of my pants and my panties and let Archer lift me up and place me on the clean counter. His eyes on me, he knelt down in front of me and parted my thighs with his hands.
"You smell like heaven," he whispered, all but burying his nose in my pussy. He teased my clit with first the tip of his nose, then the tip of his tongue. Drawing my clit between his teeth and sucking gently.
I quivered at his touch, wanting more. After a few moments of me rolling my hips to try to find the exact place where I needed him, he looked at me with amusement in his eyes.
Of course he was doing it on purpose. He knew exactly where my clit was. He was teasing me, drawing out the moment before he dove back in and started to devour me.
I gave him a small eye roll, but then they were rolling into the back of my head instead as his tongue drove me higher and higher.
"Just like that," Cass said. "Harlow, touch your breasts."
My gaze shifted from Archer to him. I raised my hands and cupped my breasts. My palms made my nipples harden. The sensation added to my arousal.
"So fucking perfect," Cass whispered. "So fucking ours."
Archer murmured his agreement, the sound coming from the back of his throat. At the same time, his lips smacked wet against me.
I couldn't hold back any longer. I arched my back, pressing my pussy hard against Archer's mouth as I came, riding his face and drawing out the pleasure for as long as I could.
The whole world melted away. Nothing left but heat and bliss. Release leaking from my pussy onto Archer's lips. His tongue working harder to keep me afloat before I finally sank back down to earth.
"I'll never get enough of watching that." Cass blinked a couple of times as if to clear his vision. He seemed to be as lost in the moment as I was. Getting off on my orgasm.
"We should—" I started. I wanted to return the favor. Right here, right now.
"Get ready for tonight," Cass finished for me as Archer pushed himself to his feet. "There's time for more later."
I wanted to feel them inside me, but he was right. I needed to go and get ready for the big opening. When that was done, we'd have a private party.