by Goode, Ella
“I haven’t had good sex let alone great sex since…” Trin taps her chin. “Maybe ever? Are you absolutely sure that you don’t have anyone you could hook me up with?”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin before responding. “You’d have to be okay with conjugal rights. The only guy I know worth a lick is sitting on death row.” I tuck the napkin next to my empty plate. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure if a man on death row gets conjugal visits.”
Quinn throws up her hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m a language major, not a criminal law person.”
“Do you have a picture?” Trin asks.
“Seriously, Trin?” Quinn says.
“No. Not really.” Trin’s tone isn’t entirely convincing. She drops her head to her hands. “I’m in such a slump, our handyman is starting to look attractive. He chatted me up yesterday, saying how much he liked having us as tenants because we never break anything or cause problems. He wasn’t even mad about the locks like he was the last time, although he wanted to know where you got them.”
“I ordered them from Canada,” I tell her. “I’ll text you the information and you can share it with him.”
Quinn shoots me a look of dismay under her eyelashes, but it doesn’t matter what he knows now. He won’t be around much longer to put that information to use. I’ve been putting off disposing of the handyman ever since we ran into him in the grocery store. Quinn is with me at all times. We burned the sheets. While Trin was at class, I had new mattresses delivered and ordered the old ones to be destroyed. But I’d left him alone because Quinn seemed disturbed about the hit. I couldn’t keep ignoring his existence forever, though—not if I wanted to keep her safe.
“You should spend the night at the apartment,” I tell Trin. “The couch pulls out or you can bunk down with Quinn.”
“And where will you be?”
“I promised a friend I’d take care of some unfinished business. I’ve put it off but it’s time to get it done.” My eyes lock on Quinn’s. “I don’t want it hanging over my head while I’m trying to study for finals.”
She chews on her lower lip and then gives me a small nod of agreement. The handyman needs to be taken out. She smiles at Trin. “Yeah, come over and we’ll have a movie night. Daman just installed a big television. We can watch the Bachelorette and rank all the candidates.”
I narrow my eyes. “They better all be sub-zero.”
“No one compares with you, babe,” Quinn reassures me.
“Better not.”
“Or what?” Trin laughs.
“You don’t even want to know,” Quinn says teasingly, but when her eyes meet mine, they’re serious. I’d get rid of any competition in a heartbeat.
Chapter Twenty
Quinn
“Are you trying to put me in a food coma?” I ask Daman as he puts the rest of the junk food away. He picked up a ton of it while I was in class today.
“I wanted to make sure you have everything you need for your movie night.” He turns to look at me. “I want you to have fun. I don’t want you to worry about anything except the ranks of the candidates.”
“How can I worry about their ranks if they are all zero?” I tease as I put the bag of Cheetos down and walk over toward him. I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss. His mouth meets mine as I kiss him deeply. Before I know what’s happening, he has me sitting on the kitchen counter. His body is positioned between my spread thighs. His hand is currently in my hair, pulling it out of the ponytail I’m wearing.
“It’s going to be hard to have fun without you but you apparently have plans.” I lift one eyebrow at him. He takes a step back but I grab his shirt, pulling him back to me. He comes without fighting. “Did you find more out?”
“Yes.” His answer is simple. He’s not going to tell me more unless I ask for it. It’s how he is. He doesn’t go into details, making me pull most everything from him. The only time he’s open is when it comes to his feelings for me. I know he’s working on it and he’s getting better the more time we spend together.
“Do I want to know?” I’ve been wrestling with this for a few days in my mind. Oddly, it’s not about the fact that Daman once killed people for a living. No, it is the fact that I might be avoiding something that does need to be taken care of. Am I ignoring the fact that a terrible man could be out there doing terrible things because I don’t want to face what should be done? Maybe. But who appointed me to be judge and jury? This is the inner struggle I’ve been dealing with.
“No.” His hand comes up to my face. His thumb brushes along my lips. “But if you ask, I will always tell you.”
“I know that.” I kiss his thumb. Daman might be a killer but he is mine. He’d do anything for me. “If I asked you to stay tonight would you?”
“I would do anything you asked me.” Yet his eyes plead with me not to ask this of him.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is what you found? Without telling me any of the details that will keep me up at night.” His jaw hardens before he answers my question. His hands cup my face.
“On a scale of things I’ve seen in my life, an eight. On a scale of what I think you know about the world”—he kisses my forehead—“a twelve.”
“You think I’m naïve.” I look up at him.
“I do not think like your father.” How did he know my mind went there?
“Then what do you think?”
“I think I don’t want the darkness of the world touching you if it doesn't have to. I’ve seen enough of it for the both of us. You’re my light. Your innocence is something I live to protect now. I want to protect everything about you.”
“For a man who doesn't talk much, you sure know how to get me with your words.” I pull him down for another kiss. “I trust you. Do what you need to but know if you don’t come home to me you’ll shatter my world.” He looks surprised at my response.
“Home?” He smiles.
“Yes, home.” I smile back. Not only is most of my stuff here but Daman himself has been turning this place into a home. What were once bare walls and tables are now filled with decorations and life. It actually looks as though two people live here now.
“I will be in our bed tonight and every night after. I promise you this.”
I tilt my head back, offering my mouth for a kiss. He takes it.
“I’m serious, Daman. Don’t do something to get yourself taken from me. That will hurt me more than anything in this world.”
“I would never hurt you,” he vows to me.
“That’s good because I’m in love with you and we’re building a life here together.” I push on his chest. He takes a dazed step back as I hop down from the counter. I fight my smile at how shocked he is at what I said.
A knock sounds at the door. “Open up! It starts in a few minutes.” The always late Trin shouts through the door.
“That’s why we have DVR,” I shout back as I head toward the door, leaving my hitman to stand in the kitchen. I open the door to see Trin standing there in her pajamas.
“We have to watch it live. People ruin it on Twitter.” She pushes inside, dropping her stuff down in the living room.
“You don’t have to look at Twitter,” I remind her.
“I like following the hashtag and seeing if everyone is thinking what I’m thinking.”
“You like to talk shit.” I laugh.
“That too.” She looks over to Daman. “What’s wrong with him?”
I wave my hand. “He’s all shocked that I love him.” I fake an eye roll. Trin snorts.
“Did you see his face when I said you guys act like a married couple? That shit lit up like a Christmas tree.”
I look over to Daman, who has finally moved. He’s coming right toward me. I try and think back to what I’d said when Trin had mentioned marriage earlier. I don’t care if I get married or not. I just want to be with Daman. It's not that I wouldn’t marry him, I just always figured people don’t get married until they are olde
r. But what the heck do I know? When Daman reaches me, he lifts me off my feet.
“I don’t need to see you guys making out!” Trin half shouts. “I’ll go away while you guys say your goodbyes.” She darts out of the living room. I rush to put my hand over Daman’s mouth.
“You don’t say those words to me until you get back here,” I tell him. He kisses the palm of my hand and nods his head yes. “You say them when you slip into our bed before you make love to me.” I drop my hand away from his mouth. “Now kiss me and go do what needs to be done.”
He does as I ask, kissing me with everything he has. Telling me he loves me without the words. Then going to make the world a little bit of a better place for me to live in.
Chapter Twenty-One
Daman
A computer hard drive is like a diary of sorts. The browser stores traces of your internet visits, emails keep track of your conversations, the metadata on a photo can reveal the location and time of the photo. With a person’s hard drive, I can recreate their entire life. The best part is that I don’t even have to break into someone’s house to track all this information. You only need to send a link to their phone or email and once they click on it, the door is opened.
That’s how I know the handyman is at twelve on the ten scale of worst humans around. It’s not that he’s going into women’s apartments and jacking off on their beds. It’s not even the dozens of porn sites he visits every day. It’s the videos and photos he’s stored of the college girls that live in and around the apartments. He takes daily snaps of the apartments he oversees but the vast majority are in their apartments when they’re passed out. He strips them down, does his business, takes photos and videos and then leaves. The women probably don’t even know he was there. I don’t know if he drugs them. I didn’t find evidence of that, but it’s easy enough for him to monitor who was drunk coming into the building and easier to get into their apartments without anyone questioning it.
If Quinn had lived here much longer, it would’ve been her or her roommate and if I don’t end him, it’ll be someone else. That is something I will not allow. He should have never looked at her. Fuck. He doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as my Quinn. Never mind him having the thoughts I know he was having about her.
I’ve killed people for thinner reasons. My moral code isn’t that strong. After all, I was a hitman. I killed for money, but this guy deserves to be gone and I’m not sorry I have an excuse. When it comes to Quinn, I’ll never let anything harm her. Even if it’s only to clear her thoughts. I will fix it. I check my watch again. The handyman is taking a while. He should’ve been here at least an hour ago. It only takes about ten minutes to get a sandwich from the deli, especially on a Tuesday night. Then again, the dude is not very habit oriented. He gets up when he feels like it, goes to sleep after he’s done stalking the women in his apartments and in between spends time selling his homemade porn stuff. I debated nuking his hard drive, but figured the police will need it to track down some of the buyers and contact the victims. I’ve made it all easy for them to find. I am making the world a safer place for my girl. It might not be the way others go about it, but it is the only way for me. I am using my skills to keep her safe in the one way I know how.
The front door opens and the handyman stomps in. His keys make a clinking sound as they hit the table. I hear the faint buzz of the refrigerator as he opens it. He pops a bottle cap off and the small metal piece pings against another surface—probably the sink.
He takes precisely six minutes and forty-eight seconds to drink his beer, rifle through his mail, and then piss. From the sounds, he drinks while he’s pissing. And if he didn’t deserve to die for the other things, that seems like a good enough reason in and of itself.
The toilet flushes and he strolls into the bedroom, flipping on the lights—or trying to. I’ve disconnected the electrical connections.
“Fuck, what now?” he mutters. He tries it again, but the switch is dead. “This stupid ass of a building. I should have quit years ago.”
“But how would you stalk your prey if you didn’t work here?” I ask.
“What the fuck?” he yells, frightened by my voice.
I flick on a flashlight and shine it in his eyes. His hand comes up. “Are you wearing my fucking sweatshirt?” His eyes squint as he tries to make me out.
I am, and a pair of his pants and his boots—all over a skintight neoprene bodysuit. Any blood or fibers from his apartment will stick to those items and not my clothes. It makes it easier for me, not that he needs to know that. I ask my own questions. “If you didn’t work here, how would you be able to take advantage of the drunk and unconscious women? Would you start hunting them at bars or clubs and drugging them in the parking lot?”
His hand comes up to block the light. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I turn off the flashlight and jab my index finger against the keyboard and the computer screen lights up. “Look familiar?”
He lunges forward to turn off the monitor, tripping over his own feet and nearly doing a header into the desk. The guy’s got no coordination. He fumbles around, searching for the power button and eventually just yanks the power cord from the wall, sending the room into darkness again. He thinks the computer is his problem? It really is the last thing he should be worrying about right now. I am going to make him regret every decision he’s ever made. By the time I’m done with him, he won’t be able to say his own name. Least of all Quinn’s.
“This is private shit, man,” he exclaims.
“Call the police then. Let’s have you explain all of this.” As if I’d really call them. Why bother? They are likely busy. I can take care of this for everyone. My mind drifts to Quinn. I picture her face, wondering what she is doing right now.
He doesn’t respond right away. In the silence, my phone rings. It’s Quinn. “Think about it while I take this call.” I turn a little away from him, not wanting to look at him while I talk to her.
“You’re seriously going to talk to someone—” I hold up my hand and he falls silent immediately. I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength. He likely doesn't know what to do right now. He can’t call the police. He’ll put it all together shortly.
“Babe? Something wrong?” I speak into the phone. Maybe I shouldn't have answered it right now but I couldn't help myself. What if something is really wrong?
“I felt a disturbance in the force,” she jokes. Could she have really felt me thinking about her? I know it’s impossible but I thought a lot of things were impossible before her. “Just kidding. I was worried about you. Is everything going okay?” I can hear the worry in her voice she is trying to hide. Of course she is worried. This is all so new to her. She is taking who and what I am far easier than I ever thought she would. I didn't know how good it would feel to have her know all the details of who I am, good and bad. I never want to hide things from her. It isn’t the kind of life I want to have with her.
I should’ve called her earlier when it looked like this was going to drag out. “I’m almost done. I’ll be home soon. Why don’t you put a beer in the freezer for me? By the time I get home, it’ll be cool.”
“The freezer? Oh, because you’re going to be quick.” Her voice perks up.
“Very quick.”
“Okay. On it. Be safe.”
“Love you, babe,” I say the l word without thinking. It’s been on the tip of my tongue for weeks now and I guess I couldn’t hold it in for another second. I brace myself for her response, or worse, her silence. She told me to wait until I got back home but it so easily slipped past my lips, the need to say the words to her pushing forward.
She huffs out a laugh. “Now you tell me you love me? When I can’t properly say it in return? Get your work done and get your ass back here. Okay?”
A giant grin cracks my face. “Okay.”
“Were you making a booty call while snooping around my bedroom?” Dipshit starts to come to a little more.
&n
bsp; “I gotta go, babe. See you soon.”
“Your boyfriend’s a nutcase,” the handyman shouts.
I hang up before Quinn can hear another word. “That wasn’t a great idea.” I reach down between my feet and pick up the hammer I found in the toolbox in the hall closet.
“What the hell is that? Where are the lights? Fuck. Why is it so dark—”
I’m a hitman, or, at least, I was. I’m not here to listen to excuses or make fake bargains. I have one task and once I’ve completed the job, I’m done.
I wish I could have taken longer. Made him pay more for the things he’s done—and for the things he thought of doing—but I told my girl I’d be home soon.
I lay the hammer down next to the handyman’s head and take my leave from the bedroom window. Outside, I take off the clothes and boots and chuck them back inside. It doesn’t matter that it’s obvious he’s been killed. It only matters that it can’t be traced back to me and Quinn. There’s a host of other possible suspects sitting on his computer. I close the window and pull off the surgical gloves. Halfway home, I toss them into a trashcan.
Maybe I spent my entire life training for this one kill. I didn’t have much of a life before I got to college, but I left my past job so I could find a future and now I have one with Quinn. Funny how that works out. I shove my hands into my pockets and begin to whistle, knowing I’m right where I belong. With her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Quinn
“Are you sure you’re not Superman?” I ask Daman as I put my phone down on the counter. That call went a whole lot easier than I thought it was going to. The first time I called him Clark Kent, Daman hadn’t found it so funny. He thought I was calling him another man’s name. I immediately made him sit down and watch a million DC movies with me. This is when I realized how naïve he really was about the world. I may be that way in some things, too. We balance each other out, I guess.