Chapter 9 #2
That’s not true. He has a very strict routine for his cats, but Charls doesn’t need to know that.
Charls’s tongue touches his lower lip. It’s gross. I think I might hate him. Maybe I should tell Percy we can just kill him and fulfill the contract that way because I’m sick of looking at his face. Would anyone seriously miss this guy?
It feels like forever passes when he finally whispers, “Two.”
Milo looks disappointed, and I know why. He hums, then looks back at me with a shrug. “Toes.”
I give a sharp nod, and Charls lets out a cry, but Percy pulls the glue bottle from his pocket and seals his mouth up again, holding his chin tight until it’s dry enough that Charls can’t pull his lips apart.
It muffles his screaming, which is nice because I forgot my earplugs. Taking out my knife kit, I look for the one that cuts through bone best as Percy stands back in front of him and leans down, holding his hair firmly so Charls can’t look away.
“If you hire us, you hire us. We do the job. We don’t need someone micromanaging us or trying to make us look incompetent by burning down a fucking building and leaving behind evidence.
We’re trying to build a life here, and you will not ruin it because your wife and mistress decided to climb off your cheese-dick and no one wants to touch you.
And you’re very lucky I’m feeling merciful tonight.
Do you understand?” Percy waits while I pull out the knife I was looking for. “Nod.”
Charls does. Frantically.
Percy holds him by the cheek. “Nail polish remover will get rid of the glue. It’ll taste like ass, but it’ll do the job. And if you go to the ER and a word of this slips past your lips, you won’t keep your tongue. Understand?”
Charls whimpers, nodding as he openly cries, and oh…great. Just like I thought, he pissed himself. Luckily, it’s not near his foot because while I don’t mind body fluids on men I want to fuck, on men like this?
No fucking thank you.
Milo steps back into the shadows while Percy drops to the ground and yanks off Charls’s expensive shoe and sock. He tosses it onto the ground before looking up at me.
“Leave him the big toe.”
I was going to anyway. That would take too long, and I have a call to make and then my little rabbit to catch. I drop to the ground, paying no attention to the way Charls is squirming and begging and screaming in his throat.
This part is easy—simple.
The knife cuts the flesh, and pressure breaks the bone. He screams louder as I watch blood pool on the ground. It’s rich and red—not as pretty as some things, but pretty enough. It stains the silver knife as I make the final cuts, and then Charls’s head sags forward.
“He passed out,” Milo says.
“Of course he did.” Percy rubs the back of his neck with a sigh. “Rock, paper, scissors for who drops him off at the clinic?”
“You always pick rock,” Milo complains, holding out his fist.
I stand as they bounce their hands in the air.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”
I burst into laughter as Milo picked rock, and Percy picked scissors.
“He played you,” I mutter.
Percy flips me off as Milo turns happily and leaves the shed. I put my knives away, then turn back to my brother, who’s grimacing at the mess Charls is currently leaving on the floor.
“I’m having a guest over tonight. Don’t scare him off,” I say.
“A guest?” Percy raises a brow. “Does he know about us?”
“No.” I don’t think so. He probably will eventually, but that doesn’t bother me. “He’s pretty. Does drag. I like him.”
Percy hums but doesn’t do more than give me the big brotherly nod. “Wash your hands before you meet up with your friend. No idea what this nasty fucker has picked up.”
I was going to do that anyway, but I appreciate that he looks out for me. “Good luck with the clinic,” I say, then open the door and head out, making my way toward the house so I can chat with my best friend and then bring in my little rabbit.
‘How are things?’
Nico looks the same as he always does—his dark curls perfectly styled, tawny-brown skin without a single blemish, and his rich, honey-amber eyes pop, thanks to the thick black liner he’s got on his top eyelids.
His full lips are flesh colored but shine with gloss, and it gives me a visceral sense memory of the last time we were together and he kissed my cheek, leaving his sticky goo behind.
But he also looks a little older, I think.
And maybe a bit more tired. It’s been months since we talked like this, but he still has the same fire in his eyes he’s always had.
I remember the first time I saw him, blood on his temple, big, wide eyes as he scrambled up and ran from the person who was hurting him.
But like Denver, he was brave and didn’t go far. He stood at the edge of the building and watched me beat his attacker to death.
There was no regret or horror in his eyes, and he showed up two days later with coffee that I refused to drink and an offer to hang out, which I reluctantly accepted.
In reality, apart from my brothers, he was my first friend.
And right now, he’s my only friend.
‘I’m having sex with someone,’ I tell him, the signs flicking off my fingers. I rest my elbows on my desk and lean toward the camera.
Nico’s perfectly sculpted brows fly up. “Seriously?” he says and signs at the same time.
I shrug. ‘Yes. I like him. He’s very pretty. Like you, but different.’
Nico’s not as femme as Denver, but he’s close.
He likes lace and silk too, but I don’t think he’s ever done drag, though I think he’d like it.
Nico’s relationship with his past is complicated, and he wears his trauma like a mask—just like Milo does.
I think adding another mask, even for just the length of a show, would give him some comfort.