Chapter 25 #2
“You killed someone tonight?” Dove arches a delicate brow and glances at me, looking for a tell that I believe Vixey.
“Yes. I mean… I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. But it happened.” Her head wobbles, sass peeking through.
“Down, killer. You understand why we’re skeptical?” Stroking my stomach absentmindedly, I think back to how shaken she looked coming back. “Was it one of the guys you knew?”
“No. Just some random guy I’ve hung out with there before. He was trying to make out with me at the bar, and then he dragged me out the side door before I knew what was happening.”
“How’d you get back in without anyone seeing?” Dove asks.
“I pounded on the door until someone opened it. Usually there’s a bouncer, but he wasn’t at his post. The dumpster’s out of the door’s line of sight.” Her voice drops. “Plus, I kinda dragged him behind it.”
“So your DNA is all over him?” Dove sighs. “Rule number one, you never leave DNA.”
“No. Rule number one is never get caught,” I correct, eyes still on Vixey. She doesn’t seem to be lying, but I barely know the girl—no way to tell how good an actress she is.
“Right. Rule number one: never get caught. Rule number two: never leave DNA.” Dove ticks them off on her fingers.
“What’s rule number three?” Vixey asks, like a scolded baby bird trying to fly too soon.
“Rule number three: you never kill without a purpose. Some guy trying to take advantage of you is purpose enough for me. Though I’m still not sure I believe you.” My stomach swims again.
If you could chill right now, baby bean, that would be great.
I haven’t been sick in weeks. If it comes back, I swear bitterness will be my only feeling toward this child. I hate throwing up, and morning, afternoon, and night sickness already ruled too much of my first trimester.
“I’ll prove it! The body has to still be there!” Vixey jumps up, only to be shoved back down by Dove, who taps a palm to her forehead.
“Rule number four—which should probably rank higher and,” she whirls toward me, exasperated, “we should really rearrange the rules. Now that I’m saying them out loud, I feel like they need to be updated.
” Swinging back toward Vixey, she sucks in a deep breath.
“Never, and I mean ever, go back to the scene of the crime!”
“Can I write this down, or is there a handbook or something?”
Jesus fucking christ.
“No, there isn’t a handbook,” I mimic, acerbic. Breathing through my nose, I try to quell the climb of nausea.
“We’ll have to keep an eye on the news. That alley isn’t exactly high-traffic, but as soon as trash goes out, someone will find him… if you’re telling the truth.” Dove crosses her arms. “I have half a mind to keep you tied up until then.”
“Don’t put me on babysitting duty. I’ll kill her before you make it back.” Racking my brain for a solution, I come up empty, unable to focus on anything other than trying not to get sick.
“Bunny? You don’t look so good,” Vixey says softly.
Gee, what gave it away? The sweat rolling down my temple or the way I’m clutching my stomach and breathing through my mouth?
Ignoring her, I focus on Dove. “If the body’s found, like you said, her DNA will be all over it. Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go? I need fresh air, and I’m well acquainted with the shadows.”
I don’t give her a chance to reply, climbing the stairs as she calls, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, Love Dove. Don’t let the vicious vixen out of your sight.”
“Oooh, unless you’re lying, you’re in the club now. You’ve been graced with a moniker,” I hear Dove tell Vixey.
Inwardly, I curse, only now realizing what I did. I lock eyes with Dove. “We are the worst serial killers ever.”
It’s early enough that the club is closed. The sky is lightening—its midnight ink turning violet as the stars blink out one by one.
Soon, there will be no shadows to hide me.
But it doesn’t take long to find what I’m looking for.
Behind the dumpster, just where she said, lies a dead man with a good chunk missing from his face. Blood drips down the corner of the bin. The pool on the ground still gleams.
Slowly, I creep closer to Vixey’s “kill.” His face must’ve caught a sharp edge. A horizontal gash splits his lips and one eye, the orb pooling from the socket. A bit of frontal lobe has puddled onto the concrete.
But something feels… off.
Shit—she must have put serious force behind that.
This doesn’t look like a simple push-and-fall. It looks like someone smashed his face into the dumpster repeatedly, and Vixey doesn’t seem like the strong type. She’s willowy with giant boobs—no real arm muscle. So either adrenaline did the trick, or—
A resounding boom makes me jump, the hair on my arms standing on end as the side door crashes open. Silently, I press to the wall, rising onto my toes until shadow swallows me.
Curiosity edges into intrigue as a familiar figure steps around the dumpster, wiping his hands with a white rag.
His bloody hands.
Belt guy.
He’s on the phone, voice hushed but clear enough to catch.
“It needs to be a quick cleanup. It’ll be light soon.”
He pauses, listening. His eyes sweep both ends of the alley. I press flatter to the stone and angle my bump away from view. He doesn’t clock me—just returns his glare to the body.
“His identity is of no concern to me. He assaulted a woman tonight. He got what he deserved.”
Well, well, well.
Looks like Vixey wasn’t lying.
Pulling out my phone, I text Dove. Vixey isn’t a serial killer, but she’ll keep our secret as long as we keep hers.
Looks like the serial killer book club just grew by one more beast.