Chapter 12 AIDEN
AIDEN
The bed squeaks and rocks above me. I was not expecting him to come home with anyone.
I did not anticipate being forced to hide beneath this filthy bed and endure their moans.
I was not at all prepared to catch a glimpse of Officer Hennessy, getting rimmed by his unexpected guest, in the mirror facing the bed.
That woman does not love herself.
I can understand a man doing it to a woman. Women are, by most accounts, clean creatures with, in most cases, less body hair and better hygiene practices. I imagine that Hennessy’s partner probably swallowed a stray pube or two along with the remainder of a shit nugget.
Disgusting.
My mind drifts back to Katie last Sunday. She was going to cancel our plans. I could only hear half of her conversation through the camera’s microphone, but whatever was said shook her to her core. I literally saw the colour drain from her face and heard the trembling in her voice.
Broken.
That’s the word that had triggered her—the word she muttered before she started falling to pieces. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to work out that she has severe post-traumatic stress disorder, but from what, I’ve yet to find out.
I’ve caught glimpses of her conversations since I began watching her two weeks ago. I’ve discovered her dark sense of humour, which I’ve only caught the slightest glimpse of in our conversations.
I’ve learned about snippets of her chaotic upbringing.
The gardaí were regulars at her doorstep because of calls from the neighbours concerned about domestic disturbances.
What I find intriguing about it all is how both Katie and Ciara seemed to laugh about it.
They laughed about being tossed into freezing baths in the middle of winter.
They laughed about being flung around by the hair, Trunchbull style, by their mother.
They laughed about the gaslighting and the physical and emotional abuse.
They simply fucking laughed.
Seeing how strong, how defiant, and how absolutely glorious Katie is in all of her manic splendour made my dick twitch and my hands itch to protect her.
She’s been through enough, seen enough, and survived enough that she doesn’t need me.
I’m not that deluded to convince myself that she needs saving.
She’s past that point. There is no damsel in distress; no woe-is-me bullshit from her.
Katie doesn’t need me or any other man. But she has me all the same.
I click into the Home Secure app, and Katie’s image pops up on the screen.
Shoving my EarPods in my ear, I keep the volume low—just high enough for me to hear her conversation but low enough that I don’t spark an alarm for one of the above, hearing noises under the bed.
“You said he was a red flag!” I hear Maria’s voice boom over the speaker in Katie’s kitchen.
“He is a major red flag,” Katie replies, cutting up carrots by the sink.
Aww—she’s not wrong.
“So, you were snuggling up with him on the couch because what? He smells good?”
I have to force myself not to laugh.
Katie laughs, shaking her head dismissively. “I guess I want to see how red the flag can get.”
Pretty fucking red, babe. Like a baboon’s arse. Like Rudolph after snorting party powder. Like a fire truck on steroids. Like Hennessy’s pillow once I splatter his brains all over it.
“He’s a criminal!” Maria exclaims.
“That was all years ago; I haven’t found anything to say that he’s still involved in anything illegal—”
Because I burned all the evidence.
“—People can change; maybe Aiden did too.”
Maria lets out a strangled sigh. “People don’t change, Katie.”
“We did,” she gives the phone a pointed look.
“We were different,” Maria insists. “For all you know, he’s a drug runner.”
Not since I was sixteen. And I don’t touch the stuff.
“A sexual predator—”
How fucking dare she!
Katie drops the knife and says, “He could be a serial killer.”
Ding ding ding—wait, what?
“He could be a lot of things,” Katie continues. “So, could I. So could you.” Katie grabs a pot from the drawer and scrapes the carrots into it before placing it on the hob.
“You’re defending him…”
“He bought my guinea pigs presents. I’m all for hating people but my piggies seem to like him.”
“Your piggies like anything that feeds them!”
“He’s been nothing but kind to me,” Katie defends.
“He wants in your pants!”
And that’s a crime?
“He didn’t even kiss me,” Katie retorts. “He didn’t make a move, try to cop a feel, or even so much as graze my hand.”
“Unlike Cillian,” Maria snorts.
Excuse you?
“Cillian went for the kiss; I gave him the cheek.”
I’ll give him a facelift and a shallow grave.
“I think I might need to find another tattoo artist,” Katie chuckles lowly.
“Is it because of Aiden?”
Yes.
“No!” Katie is quick to deny it. “It just didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to lead him on.”
I’ll lead him off a fucking bridge.
“So, it has nothing to do with the gorgeous—”
Guilty.
“—Tattooed bad boy that just happens to show up with guinea pig bribes and blanket snuggles?”
Katie pauses, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “Shut up!”
The groaning bed comes to a screeching halt, and I log out of the camera feed, shoving the phone back into my pocket.
“Was it good for you?” I hear Hennessy ask from above me.
Well, if you have to ask…
It takes another twenty minutes of faffing about for his unsatisfied guest to leave and his fat arse to jump into the shower.
Wriggling my way out from under the bed, bringing the dust bunnies and stray hairs with me, I make my way towards the bathroom door.
Pulling the wire from my back pocket, I roll it between both hands, ensuring the cord is taut and ready. It’s all too easy to creep in silently behind him. While lathering his chest and bollocks with an inexpensive body wash that smells of mint and middle-aged desperation, Hennessy hums a tune.
I tug on the wire, wrapping it around his neck before pulling it tight.
His humming turns into a desperate gasp for air as he kicks and thrashes, desperately trying to free himself from my grip.
My back connects with the sink with a loud thud, causing bottles and toiletries to crash to the floor.
“Come on, you fat bastard!” I growl, tightening my grip on the wire.
Hennessy’s face turns red, his eyes bulging as he fights for every breath.
And then he does it.
He fucking shits himself.
My foot slips in the mess, causing me to lose my balance, and my shoulder slams into the tiled wall. “Motherfucker!”
Hennessy’s feet slide, pressing his throat further into the wire and opening a beautiful gash across his neck. Blood spurts out, painting the walls crimson.
“Are you dead yet?” I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Nudging his head with the tip of my boot, I see his eyes wide, bulging, and petechiae already forming.
I stumble to the shower, stripping off my clothes and shoving them into the plastic pedal bin bag beside the sink. I’ll need to bring it all with me. Everything, including my boots, will have to be burned.
As I step into the shower, the hot water cascades over my body, washing away the remnants of Hennessy’s DNA that cling to my skin.
The water turns pink as it swirls down the drain.
There is no way in hell that I’m using his body wash or any of his products.
Water alone will have to do; I’m not risking partial fingerprints, and I need to be quick to avoid leaving any footprints behind.
Once I’m done, I grab a towel and carefully dry myself off, making sure not to touch anything else in the bathroom.
The towel then goes into the plastic bags along with everything else.
I take my burner phone off silent, noticing a message from Tracy that reads, “This could be you” and a picture of her sucking on a lollipop.
“It could be if I were hung like a bumblebee.” I text back and retrieve the bag I stashed under the bed, taking out a change of clothes and putting them on quickly.
“Are you coming over tonight? I wanna taste you.” Tracy replies, adding an obscene amount of emojis to emphasize her intentions.
“Well, I am a mixture of sugar, spice, and all things nice, but tonight doesn’t work for me. I have to work.”
“I can come by.”
“I’d rather you don’t.” I do another once-over of Hennessy’s house before I leave and head to the Orion. The deed is done. The person who hired me wanted to send a message—no clean-up, no way to claim it was an accident—a good old-fashioned crime of passion.
My phone rings as soon as I get out of the car, and Katie’s name pops up on the screen.
“Well, if it isn’t my little snuggle bug, long time no see.” I chuckle as I answer the call.
“I found your wallet down the side of my couch.”
“You did?” I feign surprise. I stuffed it down there on Sunday, knowing she would find it and reach out to me. “I was wondering where that went to.”
Several employees scarper as soon as they see me coming.
Her voice drops to a whisper as she continues, “Have you seen the news today?”
I pause, halfway up the stairs to my office. “No. I’m surprised you did. Did you not say that you’re not a fan of keeping up with current events?”
“Ciara told me to turn it on,” she sounds anxious.
“What is it, Katie?”
“Those pricks from the Orion, they’re missing.”
They’re not missing; they’re part of a pig’s colon right now—several pigs.
“Oh really?” I start moving again, making it to the top of the staircase. “Are you sure it’s them?”
“I’m sure. Aiden—”
“AJ!” Keith, one of the security guards, beckons me over.
“Can you hold on a second, bug?” I mumble into the phone. “What is it?”
“The guards were here wanting to speak to you earlier,” his eyes quickly shift to the staircase. “Two of them are waiting in your office.”
“Katie, I’m going to have to call you back.”
Sure enough, two gardaí are in my office when I step in through the doors. “Make yourselves at home,” I grumble as I close the door behind me. “What can I do for you?”