Chapter 2
Your Friendly Neighbourhood Cleanup Crew
Kai to Carina: No, fuck off. [unsent]
Kai
It’s the smell that gets me first. Metallic, sharp, suffocating. Then the sticky warmth, the way it clings to everything. It’s impossible to forget, impossible to clean entirely, no matter how hard you scrub.
When I was fifteen my father finally snapped and killed my mother.
He wasn’t a bad guy—he was just done with her abuse.
I watched it happen. One minute, she’s holding a butcher’s knife, threatening him, and the next?
That same knife is buried in her throat.
We both stood there, frozen. But then, something unspoken passed between us.
It was like a switch flipped. We went into cleanup mode.
There was so much blood, pooling underneath her lifeless body. Maybe that’s why I’m so good at what I do now. Cleaning up. Erasing the evidence. It’s like it never happened.
We buried her that night. By morning, he was gone. No note, no explanation, just… gone.
I’ve never told anyone the truth. Not Nate, not Carina. No one. Nate thinks my introduction to death came with his first kill, but he doesn’t know I’d already lived it—cleaned it, buried it, and carried the weight of it on my shoulders. Alone.
Now, everything in my life is about control.
My house is pristine, every item in its place.
My job is about making chaos disappear, scrubbing it from existence like it was never there.
And computers? They became my sanctuary.
They don’t lie, they don’t bleed, and they don’t leave.
They gave me something I’d never had: power.
Over information, over people, over myself.
I spent my whole life wondering what would happen next, when my mother would snap and hit me.
Or worse. I need to know what my routine will be.
I need things to fit into nice little boxes, because if I don’t it makes me feel like I’m still that scared little boy. The one begging his dad to help him.
He tried. I know he did. But it wasn’t enough.
If the police had listened to him—if they had bothered to do their fucking jobs when he called for help, time and time again—maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe she would be too. Or maybe she'd be behind bars. But they ignored him. They failed. And I watched her die because of it.
There’s no justice unless you go after it yourself.
I raised myself after all that. I didn’t tell anyone that my dad was missing, I was too ashamed. And I was scared that they'd find out what we’d done. So, I kept quiet. Got a job to cover the rent.
It took three years for anyone to notice that he wasn’t around. By that time, I was old enough to look after myself, so I just continued as normal.
The police were suspicious, of course, wondering where both my parents were.
Their investigation led to him being found dead of a drug overdose. A john doe case.
I’ve stuffed everything down, deep into the dark recesses of my mind. My control over my life keeps me from spiralling.
I don’t know what the fuck happened with Carina’s friend, why she so brutally murdered her boyfriend. And quite honestly, I don’t care. I just want to get this all sorted as quickly as possible so I can go back to normal. Or as normal as you can get as someone who cleans up crime scenes on the sly.
It’s not like me to help out someone other than Nate (and inadvertently Carina). I started helping her out when she was on her revenge vendetta against the men that had trafficked her. That’s how she met Nate. The two of them are like the world's softest psychopaths.
I couldn’t say no to her when she texted.
I think she has her history on her side.
How do you say no to someone who’s been through more shit than a public toilet at a music festival?
I may not have liked her to begin with—she was different, and I don’t like different—but she slowly grew on me and now I can’t imagine Nate without her.
And so, here I am, breaking my routine to help out her newbie murderer friend. I’m assuming this is her first one anyway.
That’s the problem with Carina, she doesn’t understand that I like to know what I’m doing and when. From the beginning she started messing up my plans. Nate would call me out of the blue, asking me to clean up her scenes. And boy did they need cleaning.
At least when it was just the two of us, Nate and me, I would know what was happening. We would track down a monster together, work out a time to off them. Easy. Clean. No surprises.
I hate surprises.
I like to have a plan for what I’m doing—a step by step guide, almost, to make it easier.
“So,” Tess begins as I drive us back to my house, her voice all sunshine and daisies. “Do you do anything other than clean up other people’s homicides?”
Her tone grates on me, not because of what she’s asking but because of the way she says it. Like this is all a joke. Like there’s not a body in my boot right now and her life hasn’t just imploded. She’s either in shock or completely insane. I’m not sure which.
I can’t believe Carina convinced me to let her stay with me. I don’t let anyone into my home. Nate is the only other person who’s been there.
I grind my jaw as I answer. “Yep.”
“Really? What, like a hobby? Or is it just your day job?”
My knuckles turn white as I grip the wheel. She’s like a dog who won’t stop barking, her words spilling out one after the other like she can’t help herself.
“Both,” I mutter, barely sparing her a glance.
She gives a soft laugh, and the sound goes straight through me. She’s too pretty for her own good. The kind of looks that should be illegal—long, dark auburn hair, wide greens eyes with flecks of gold shimmering inside, and a smile that she offers far too easily.
A perfect hourglass figure was the first thing I noticed about her. Well, maybe it was the blood covering her, but her figure was number two.
Now she’s clean(ish) and she’s got these denim dungarees on that highlight her heart-shaped ass, and a tight green top underneath.
Seeing her in nothing but that towel had my imagination running wild, my mouth watering. It took all my self-control to cover my eyes.
Despite her looks, something about her just gets under my skin. She won’t stop talking, and it’s fucking infuriating.
I prefer my women to be quieter, more reserved. I’m not a fan of talking.
“So, you’re, like, a professional... clean-up guy?” she asks, still chatting like this is just another boring conversation. “Do you have a business card? ‘Kai: Your Friendly Neighbourhood Cleanup Crew’?”
I snort despite myself. “Something like that.”
“I mean, really, though,” she continues on, “it’s gotta be pretty... boring, right? Just cleaning up after other people’s messes all the time?”
“Depends,” I say, looking at her from the corner of my eye. “Sometimes it’s interesting.”
“Guess it beats my job. Now that is boring. Except for all the eye candy, that makes it worth it.”
“What do you do?” I grit out, only mildly intrigued. Something about her words has unexpected jealousy spiking in my chest.
“Receptionist at a gym. I know, I know. I should be doing something useful with my life. But I’m still figuring things out and—”
I stop listening.
I slow the car, backing it into the driveway, then hop out so quickly you’d think it was on fire.
“So, what do we do with the… you know what.” She motions to the boot where her boyfriend's body is currently stashed. It’s not ideal, not disposing of it immediately, but it’s too risky to do in the day.
“Nothing yet. We’ll deal with it tonight.”
“Right. Okay. Makes sense.”
She keeps talking, and I keep biting my tongue, every word making me more tense. She doesn’t stop until we’re inside my house, scanning the space like she’s cataloguing every corner.
“This is… homey,” she says, her tone light but with a hint of sarcasm.
I can’t help the sharp laugh that escapes me. “Not really the vibe I’m going for.”
I watch her silently judge my house, probably thinking it’s too cold, too sterile. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t know that the neatness, the order, is the only thing standing between me and chaos.
We head right inside the hall towards the stairs; the left takes you to the living room then further on to the kitchen behind it.
“Yep. I’m definitely getting cleaner vibes,” she states.
I look over my shoulder at her as we ascend the stairs and I realise I’m not sure what bothers me more—the fact that she is so fucking distracting, or the fact that, for some reason, I don’t want her to stop talking.
“I also work at Haven.” I turn my head back and continue walking.
“Did you just… share something with me?”
I shrug. “Guess so.”
“So, what do you do at Haven?”
“I helped Nate open it. But basically, anything to do with tech: cybersecurity, intelligence, data analysis.”
“Wowza.”
We reach the guest room, and I motion her inside. Like the rest of the house, the space isn’t particularly inviting, but it’s not like she’s here for a spa weekend. There’s a bed, a side table, a chest of drawers—it’s enough.
“You should sleep. We can work out a game plan for everything else later.”
“Okay.” She nods, shuffling from foot to foot.
I move to head in the direction of my room when her hand on my arm stops me. It’s like electricity jumps from her skin to mine where we’re touching and I want to wrench my arm back to avoid being burned.
“Thanks Kai. I really appreciate you helping me.”
I don’t answer, too confused by the emotions swirling inside me, so instead I give a terse nod then leave her standing in the doorway.
But as I turn, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s still watching me—like her gaze is a weight on my back, pulling me in.
Fuck. I’m not sure if I’m pissed off at her for making me feel anything, or pissed at myself for letting it happen. I don't do emotions. I don’t do attachments. I don’t do... whatever the hell this is.