Chapter 22 #2
“That’s not a wink, that’s a hole,” Jiya corrects me.
“Tomato, to-mahto.”
I re-wrap the head and set it aside. “We’ll save this for last. Thorne said to alternate the tough bits with softer tissue.”
Lazlo dumps what looks like part of a thigh into the disposal. “You know, I once had a patient with flesh-eating bacteria in his leg. Looked a lot like this.”
“Wow,” I deadpan, “that’s the conversation starter we needed right now.”
The disposal makes a concerning noise, slowing down.
“Hot water,” Jiya reminds us, turning on the faucet. “Keep it flowing.” The steam rises as the hot water hits the metal, and the grinding returns to its normal pace.
Jiya laughs despite herself. “We’re all going to hell, aren’t we?”
“Darling,” I say, dropping more lemon peels down the disposal, “we’ve got a reserved table with a view.”
Our shoulders touch as we work together, feeding Marcel piece by piece into the churning maw.
“The head’s next,” I say, reaching into the final bag.
Jiya touches my wrist. “Let me.”
She takes the head by the hair.
“You should have kept your hands to yourself,” she whispers before dropping him into the disposal.
Lazlo whistles from his position by the door. “You two make quite the cleanup crew.”
I glance at Jiya, her expression focused and unwavering. Something shifts in my chest. Admiration.
“Almost done,” she says. “Just need to run it for two more minutes with water and peels and clean all that blood.”
The disposal hums, processing bone fragments and tissue as we wipe down every surface we’ve touched.
“That should do it.”
The kitchen gleams under the lights, cleaner than when we arrived. No trace of Marcel’s remains. Not in the disposal, not on the countertops, not even a stray drop of blood on the floor tiles. It’s as if he never existed.
“Thorne would be proud,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
Lazlo leans against the industrial refrigerator, his face paler than usual.
“You okay?” I ask, approaching him.
“Just peachy,” he says, grimacing. “Nothing like being stabbed to make you appreciate your circulatory system.”
Jiya rolls her eyes but looks concerned. “I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t unpierce an artery.” He attempts a smile that turns into a wince. “But your technique was flawless. Ten out of ten for execution.”
I examine the bandage. “You’re bleeding through again. You need stitches.”
“I can handle it,” Lazlo says, pushing himself upright with visible effort. “I’ve got supplies in my bag. Benefit of being a paramedic—I’m basically a walking ambulance.”
“Let me help you,” I offer, reaching for his good arm.
He waves me off. “I’ve had worse injuries rollerblading. Besides,” he glances between Jiya and me with a knowing expression, “you two clearly have...things to discuss.”
“Lazlo—” I start.
“Don’t worry about me,” he interrupts, pushing away from the refrigerator. “Worry about what you’re going to tell Thorne about all of this.”
“I’m an adult,” I say. “I can handle my own affairs.”
“Can you?” Lazlo asks, his usual joking tone absent. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve compromised everything we’ve built.”
Jiya steps forward. “I’m right here, you know. And I’m not a threat to your little murder club.”
“That’s exactly what a threat would say.” Lazlo pokes her shoulder with his good hand. “No offense, but I don’t know you. And neither does Thorne.”
I move between them. “I’ll handle Thorne.”
“Sure you will.” Lazlo sighs. “Look, I need to go before I pass out and become the next item on tonight’s disposal menu. Cal, can you drop off my bike later? I’ll take an Uber or something.”
I nod. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” He pushes the kitchen door open with his back, wincing as the motion pulls at his wound.
“Lazlo,” I call out, “text me when you’re home safe.”
A thumbs-up is his only response as the door swings shut behind him.
Silence floods the kitchen. The industrial refrigerator hums, the only sound besides our breathing. I turn to face Jiya, aware of how alone we are.
“So,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s your friend?”
“Colleague,” I correct. “But yes, in a way, friend.”
“He doesn’t seem to like me much.”
I shrug. “He doesn’t like anyone who stabs him.”
This earns me a reluctant smile. “Fair point.” She glances around the spotless kitchen. “So what now?”
The harsh overhead light catches the droplets of water on her skin. She glitters as if dusted with crushed diamonds.
My chest tightens. The feeling is unfamiliar, electric.
“You’ve got a little something...” I step toward her, pointing to a spot on her cheek.
She touches her face. “Where?”
“Here.” I move closer, reaching out to wipe away a speck of blood with my thumb. The moment my skin meets hers, the air between us changes.
We stand there for a heartbeat, my hand lingering against her cheek. Her eyes darken, pupils dilating as she looks up at me.
Leaning in before I can talk myself out of it, I press my lips against hers. She tastes like adrenaline and copper, danger and want.
Her mouth opens under mine, hungry and demanding. My hands find her waist, lifting her onto the steel prep table behind us. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me closer, fingers digging into my shoulders with bruising force.
I have never craved someone like this. It’s not just a physical need; it’s a desire to consume her, to crawl inside her skin. To excavate every secret she keeps buried and claim it as my own. I want to erase the boundary where her soul ends and my obsession begins.
I’m already too far gone.
“I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” I confess, the words torn from some place I’ve kept locked away. “It scares the fuck out of me.”
She pulls back enough to meet my eyes, her own burning with matching intensity. “Good. It should.”
A laugh escapes me, the sound almost unrecognizable to my own ears. Wild. Unhinged. Free.
The rules, the club, Thorne’s disapproval, my walls. None of it matters except making Jiya mine. Completely. Irrevocably.
The need pulses through me like a second heartbeat. I want to photograph her like this, immortalize the look in her eyes. I want to paint my name across her skin with my tongue. I want to make her scream until her voice gives out.
I slide my hand around her throat, just firm enough to feel her pulse jump beneath my palm. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating until they nearly swallow the color.
“Tell me to stop,” I challenge, giving her one last chance to save us both. “Or I’ll take you right here.”
She pulls back, her eyes wild, chest heaving. “In a commercial kitchen where we just disposed of a body? I’m in.”
I trace my thumb along her jawline. “You’re incredible.”
I capture her mouth again, pressing her back against the table. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make my scalp tingle. The metal is cold against my palms as I brace myself over her, but Jiya is burning hot beneath me, arching up to meet my body.
A door creaks.
I freeze, breath caught mid-kiss. Someone’s here.