Chapter 21
HARPER-RAYN
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
It’s my first night shift of the week, and so far, I’ve done everything in my power to avoid Knight Slater like the plague.
Yesterday morning, I woke up in his bed with his arms locked around me, and for just a moment, I never wanted to leave, but then the memories of Saturday night rushed back, as did all the words I said to him outside his truck.
Like I said, stupid.
I just had to go and open my big mouth, but I was so certain that it was him, despite the whole don’t call me by another man’s name shit that the stalker decided to almost suffocate me over. So I suppose maybe it isn’t Knight after all.
There are too many coincidences. The night the body showed up in the morgue, I drove like a maniac to Knight’s place, but he had only just gotten home.
If it were him, he could have absolutely beaten me back to his place.
Not to mention the night I was locked in the refrigeration unit.
I went straight to his place, and again, he was only just getting home.
Both times he was out. Though I know we technically cleared up the whole refrigeration unit mishap, and it wasn’t the stalker at all, but if it were, Knight absolutely could have been a suspect.
But in that club and in my room, I could have sworn it was Knight.
The way he plays, the bossiness, and the filthy demands.
Just the way he works my cunt. It has to be Knight.
Nothing else makes sense to me. He’s the same height as well.
He ticks all the Knight-shaped boxes. How could it not be him?
But then, I don’t believe Knight is a killer, and I sure as fuck don’t believe that he’d ever wrap his hand around my throat and squeeze until I almost pass out.
Don’t get me wrong, I think Knight would absolutely experiment with that, especially if I asked nicely, but he wouldn’t take it as far as the stalker did.
I’m in trouble.
After opening my big mouth on Saturday night, I had no doubt that Knight would have a shitload of things to say, and if it weren’t for Izzy not being a morning person, I would have hauled her ass out of there in an Uber.
But that woman sleeps like the living dead, and I had no choice but to face Knight.
At least, I thought I was going to face him, but he woke up to a work call and had to take off.
He reminded me on his way out that our conversation wasn’t over.
Joke’s on him though because I had no intention of waiting around to talk. I didn’t even risk leaving a message on his home security system on my way out. I just bailed with Izzy and have held my breath ever since.
I feel my time is running out though. He’s not going to let things fester after I drop a bomb like that. He’ll be barging through my door the moment he can, and when he does, he’ll have more than enough to say.
Mondays are always chaotic in the morgue.
Blackstone’s crime rate is absurd, and as a result, bodies tend to pile up.
Though I have it on good authority that after spending a good hour locked in the refrigeration unit last week, we have more than enough space to house all the bodies that the Blackstone criminals want to throw our way.
You’ll never see me complain about it though.
After all, it’s wonderful to have such great job security.
I sit at my desk, trying to get through my latest report, and I’m proud to say that with my mind so heavily focused on Knight’s disapproval, I haven’t been jumping at every little sound in the morgue. Or maybe that’s because I’ve finally got a handle on this stalker’s game.
It’s twisted, but it’s all just a game, and when you know the rules, it’s easy to play along.
Hell, it’s not only easy to play along, it can be extremely rewarding.
Though I have to admit, my thighs have been burning ever since my spontaneous reverse cowgirl performance in the middle of the club.
Or perhaps it’s from the mechanical bull. It’s hard to tell.
The words flow on the report, and I’m just about done when the familiar sound of the door opening has my head whipping up.
My breath catches in my chest, almost expecting to see Knight or a satanic mask walking through the door, but when I see the janitor’s familiar cleaning cart, I let out a heavy sigh.
“Hey, Vincent,” I call out, turning my attention back to my computer screen.
“Who the fuck is Vincent?”
My head snaps back up to see a new janitor, this one much younger than Vincent, and judging by his scowl, he doesn’t seem pleased to see me. The feeling is mutual.
“Just the usual night janitor,” I mutter, turning back to the report as he moves around the morgue. “What happened to him? He never misses a shift.”
“Do I look like I know what happened to some loser janitor?”
I don’t bother to point out that he just managed to insult himself, so I just offer him an awkward smile instead. “Sorry, just trying to figure out if this is going to be a permanent change. I like to know who I can expect coming in and out.”
The new janitor scoffs, and I immediately miss Vincent. “My schedule ain’t none of your business, bitch.”
Well, shit.
Knowing I don’t have a good poker face, I turn back to the computer again and get back to work before he’s able to see the deep scowl pulling at my lips.
I don’t like this guy even a little bit, but assuming he just wants to get in and get his job done, then I’m more than happy to keep my mouth shut and ignore him.
He grabs the antiseptic spray and some old dirty rags and gets to work, moving around the morgue and putting in the absolute bare minimum, spreading more germs than actually cleaning them.
I clench my jaw to keep from saying anything, but the moment this asshole is out of my morgue, I’m going to have no choice but to reclean everything he’s touched.
I just hope someone in another department who doesn’t run the risk of being alone in a room with him has the good sense to report him.
I need Vincent back stat. I hope this is only a temporary situation.
The longer he’s here, the more he seems to give me the creeps, though not in the same way my stalker does.
This is different. The new janitor seems like the kind of guy who would rob you blind and spit on you when he was done.
My stalker is more of the . . . Well, I think it’s clear what type of man my stalker is.
God. That club was fun. It shouldn’t have been, but it was.
Am I sick for wanting to do it again?
The janitor seems to linger longer than necessary, and every time he wanders close to me, I grip my trusty pen, more than ready to plunge it deep into the side of his neck if need be. His eyes on my back are unsettling, and I’m pissed off that I can’t focus on my work at all.
Now I know I’ve done some questionable things over the past few days, but dropping to my knees for a man like this? Absolutely not. He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s about to get something out of me.
My computer screen goes into sleep mode, the dark screen allowing me to see everything behind me like a mirror, and just as the janitor sweeps back around toward me, the soft beep of the morgue doors sounds through the room.
I let out a heavy breath and relax my hold on my pen as the big doors open. The coroner walks in with two gurneys being pushed by hospital staff, two police officers, and one of the newer detectives I haven’t had a chance to get to know.
“Double homicide,” the coroner says as the bodies are delivered onto the autopsy tables.
I give him a tight smile, still feeling awkward with the janitor loitering, but I put it aside, certain I don’t need to be concerned now that there’s a room full of people, three of those being cops.
I move in beside the first body as the detective hands over a file and launches into an explanation of the murders, and just as expected, he follows up his summary with the typical declaration of just how quickly I need to prioritize these autopsies.
I nod and give false promises just like always, but honestly, there’s something that seems exciting about these cases.
I glance at the clock on the wall as the cops and the hospital staff file back out of the room, and seeing that I have just enough time to get both of these autopsies done and will have time to write up their reports before the end of my shift, I reach for a pair of gloves.
The coroner is just walking out as I reach for the zipper at the top of the body bag. The janitor pauses in the middle of the room, gaping at me in disgust. “The fuck? You’re not going to do that shit while I’m here.”
Having had enough of this asshole, I pull the zip right down to expose the body.
“You’re in a morgue. This is what we do,” I tell him, not even bothering to look up as I reach for a scalpel, despite not even being close to needing it yet, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“If you can’t handle it, there’s the door. ”
I glance up to find his face scrunched and pure evil reflected in his eyes as he grips the handle of his mop like a weapon, and so I simply open the body bag wider, watching as his face turns an uncomfortable shade of green.
“If you don’t mind,” I say, bringing the tip of the scalpel to the victim’s chest, despite him still being fully clothed. “I need to get started.”
The asshole gags, and I roll my eyes as he bails on whatever fresh bullshit he was about to throw my way. He races out of the morgue with his cart dragging behind him and his tail tucked between his legs in shame.
I scoff. What a loser. I just hope that Vincent will be back tomorrow.
Having a little peace and quiet, I put the scalpel down and get to work properly, removing the body from the bag, and as I take in the victim’s face, I pause, my back going stiff.