Chapter 26
Corvus
If a person is proficient at something, having spectators apparently improves their performance. Works for professional athletes, actors, even torturers, but I’ve always hated having someone watch as I work on a body.
Corvus Van der Horn works alone, so nobody ever witnesses my failures, as rare as they are. But how can I tell Dalton to leave, when he’s saved my life tonight? The matter does involve him after all.
I take another sip of the cold brew I keep frozen into cubes for situations like this one, because it’s the middle of the night, and while I’m not slurring any longer, sobriety isn’t even on the horizon yet.
The work I do is messy and often leads to unsightly or… olfactorily unpleasant situations like the piss currently stinking up my workroom. Some stimulants can have this effect on people, particularly in situations where one’s life is threatened, and the ugly bastard in my chair has wet his pants.
Hardly the first person to do that here.
I’m very much desensitized to bodily functions, and Terry’s scream tells me I’m doing my job well. Because yes, he did give up his name quite easily. But Dalton stands in the corner with a hand over the bottom half of his face.
I’m sure he’s not squeamish, but it’s one thing to hit someone, or even kill them in the heat of a fight, and to meticulously flay a pec showing no hint of emotion is quite another.
I doubt Dalton wants me to stop or feels sorry for the man who almost killed me, but I’m not surprised he’s pale, and I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to just leave me to it. It might even be endearing that he chose to stay.
Terry’s body shakes, shock setting in before I reach into the open jar and toss a handful of salt on the exposed flesh.
It’s ugly business, but someone has to do it.
Terry lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a scream and a gurgle, and thrashes uselessly against the cuffs and straps holding him in place.
“I know, I know,” I tell him gently, so he knows I don’t want to do any of it and will relent as soon as he tells me what I want to know. “You have the power to put an end to this at any moment.”
“But I don’t know!” He cries, head lolling from side to side as snot, tears, and drool drip from his chin.
I hum, pretending to give it some thought as I trail the tip of my gloved finger over the raw salted flesh on show. “You don’t know who you work for… That really doesn’t make any sense, does it? How would you get paid?”
There are ways, but I’m not here to make up stories for him.
I’m surprised by the little groan reaching my ears at the same time as the whimper, but then I realize it’s Dalton who made it, not Terry. I face him, leaving the object of my ministrations to his thoughts.
“Everything all right? I checked you for broken ribs, but maybe I should have another look?” There’s a nasty bruise under Dalton’s sweater, but that’s that.
“Y-yes. It’s just…”
Gruesome? Nauseating? Disgusting?
He hasn’t yet seen that side of me, the monster hiding under the pristine suits, crisp shirts and shiny moccasins. I don’t want to know what my mother would think if she was confronted with the reality of my work. It’s only natural that Dalton is a little shocked.
I peel off my latex gloves and toss them into the trash can, crossing the space between us. “You don’t have to watch,” I assure him, briefly wondering whether I should offer him a glass of water or not.
His shoulders rise and fall, he glances at Terry, then at me. “I just… I don’t want to leave you with all of this.”
He needs to understand that I’m in my element. I feel much more comfortable here than I was brawling in a back alley, but his concern is still sweet, and I find myself smiling.
“You can run me a bath once I’m out. And for now… just rest. You earned it.”
Dalton takes a deep breath and presses his forehead to mine. “Okay, but just say the word, and I’m here.” I expect him to walk out, but he approaches Terry and once more checks if the binds on the chair are secure.
Now that’s adorable.
He gives me a quick kiss on the way out, then puts on a Corpselock album on my phone, so I can enjoy my favorite soundtrack, and only then does he leave.
Our relationship is hardly a secret to Terry who must have seen more than I would have liked him to. Oh well, he’s dying anyway.
And now that my one spectator is gone, I have no more need for decorum.
“Who hired you to kill me?” I ask and put on a new pair of gloves before picking up a half-full bottle of vinegar from the cupboard close to the chair.
“No, please!” Terry cries out, and I couldn’t feel more detached.
Just like my father taught me, I tell myself this man is no longer human.
He’s a sack of nerves and meat for extracting information.
But then he looks up at me with manic eyes bulging out of their sockets.
“You? No! No, you’ve got it wrong! We were to kill the other one!
The big guy, Dalton Cross,” he chokes out frantically.
“I don’t even know who you are, man, but if I knew you were…
” He looks around my torture chamber. “That you are well-connected, we would have never taken the job! We’re just mid-listers, not some spec-op commando,” he sobs, shaking like a leaf in the wind.
A dark cloud settles in my chest, and I stop breathing. “Why?” I find myself asking before I can think.
“I don’t know why! Why does the chicken cross the street?”
Now he’s getting cocky with me? I rip the open skin of his pec. We can play this game all night long.
Terry stiffens, shaking as if he were suffering a seizure.
“Why?” I demand as my insides slowly freeze with uncertainty. “You must know something!”
“I can give you all the aliases I was contacted by, but it was all done on the dark web. Untraceable.” He’s heaving, eyes closed, and I’m stewing in this new information like this room is a fucking Crockpot.
Someone wanted to take Dalton away from me. How am I supposed to ever sleep again without knowing who and why?
And then on the other hand… What if this is some sinister conspiracy that goes way beyond the surface?
What if I’m unknowingly playing a game of chess, and Dalton is someone’s pawn, harmless until I let myself be coerced into a trap?
I can’t stand not knowing. Lack of information means control might slip from my grasp at any moment.
My feet take me to my cupboard of poisons. I pride myself on always keeping a minimum of three syringes that are ready to use, so I can easily pick up one and show it to Terry.
“This will go into your eye, and you will feel it being eaten away by the venom,” I lie, because the substance I’m holding isn’t corrosive in any way.
It just kills a man really damn fast, but he can’t know that, and when I approach, grabbing his jaw and hovering the tip close to the eyeball.
I can smell Terry’s fear even before he sobs.
“I’ll do whatever you want, but no more! I don’t know… I just don’t know… I’ll say whatever you want, but—” Saliva rolls down his chin, and my shoulders relax with dismay, because I’m not squeezing any more juice out of this lemon.
The needle stabs into his neck, I press the plunger, and he stiffens, choking on his own drool.
Two minutes later, he’s dead.
And I’ve got nothing of use, only his excrement to clean. I could have left him for Remo to dispose of and would have gotten—
No. Not exactly. I guess I did learn that whoever hired him and his buddies was proficient enough to hide their identity, and that the hit was on Dalton.
Is it possible that Dalton stayed here with me for a while to make sure Terry knew nothing of value? Someone might call me paranoid, but I haven’t stayed alive in my line of work by being careless.
The muscles in my right hand twitch, and I drop the emptied syringe, pacing away from the chair, and then around the empty space close to the door.
Am I letting my feelings lure me into the woods again?
I will never forget what happened last time, and Dalton did appear out of nowhere.
Suddenly, he’s a part of my life, sleeps in my bed and learns secrets those closer to me don’t know.
Could it really be an accidental turn of events?
I was the one to choose him. I pulled him into the whole fiancé act. But what if someone from a past buried deep knew exactly who to plant in my path? I used to hook up a lot a few years ago. It’s not impossible that someone spied on me and knows my taste in men.
I wash my hands, then move, mind clouded by the terrible implications of it all. I am not afraid of confrontation, and if he’s someone’s agent, pushed into my arms like a remotely-activated bomb to undermine Van der Horn business, I can’t leave it active.
But if he really is innocent and loves me despite only knowing me for the past three weeks, then there’s something else he’s hiding, because nobody orders hits on some random dude.
It’s been a while since his fighting career came to an end, but that kind of past has a way of returning with a vengeance.
There might be people who want him dead, maybe someone desperate enough to send killers.
The least grim option is that he lied to me about having no enemies, that what he’s really after is Van der Horn protection, a resource much more valuable than money.
I finish my coffee, taking deep breaths to trick my body into calming down, because I let this man in. I’ve held him, and smiled at him. How dare he lie to me?
I head out, almost reaching the first floor by the time the door to the secret room shuts behind me.
I hear Dalton in the kitchen, the coffee machine grinding the beans. It must be four in the morning, and there’s not much light outside, but I’m still painfully aware of the window in the kitchen and ready for spies anywhere. That’s why I got bars installed and the front windows walled up.
Is Dalton not aware of me walking in, since I’m so soft-footed, or does he pretend to put me at ease? He’s showered since we came back, so he’s not covered in blood anymore and looks innocent.
He’s using the little lamps attached under the hanging cupboards, which paint the kitchen in a warm, intimate glow.
“Tell me the truth,” I say softly, ready to fight if he drops whatever mask he’s hiding behind.
Dalton turns to me, eyes wide. “What? Everything okay? What did he tell you?”
He appears so genuine in those gray sweatpants, the plain T-shirt, and with green eyes focused on my face as if he’s worried for me. I’m so tempted to give in, but I won’t fall into a deadly trap again.
“Just tell me, Dalton. I promise, there will be no consequences."
Unless of course he’s betrayed me, in which case no wonder he got so pale downstairs. He might have been imagining himself as my next victim.
The hapless confusion on his face annoys me now. It’s been a very long night.
“Tell you what? What did I do?”
Did he just glance at the wood block filled with knives?
“You’re hiding something,” I snap, putting my shaky hands into my pockets, because this can’t be happening again. I’m older now. Wiser. How could I let someone dupe me for a second time?
He dares to roll his eyes at me. “The only thing I’m hiding is that I forgot how to use the coffee machine. Be serious, Corvus. Someone tried to kill us tonight.”
He sounds truthful.
And yet, a good liar can speak flawlessly, until truth is only an abstract concept.
I think back to Kemper warning me about Dalton’s lies.
This is somehow worse than having irrefutable proof of his betrayal, because I’ll never know.
Unless he turns against me one day, I’ll have to live on with uncertainty.
This is exactly what I’ve been avoiding all these years. Why I stopped hooking up.
I’ve got a knife in my hand before he can beat me to it, and I press it to his throat.
“Move to your own detriment.”