Page 118 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
I’ve only been to this area of Hedgwick a few times, and each time was to visit Asher’s mum. She lives on this street. Across the road, in fact. A house that she thought was suitable for raising her son in.
I’m not trying to be a snob. I know not everyone has the privilege of living in a large home with landscaped gardens and fresh paint every few years, but there are many in this neighbourhood that still give their family a safe place to live.
Asher’s mum never even did that.
Approaching the back door of the nearly dilapidated house, I notice it wide open, which is odd given the chill in the air. I don’t know why someone in this area would even consider leaving their house open like that, especially at all hours of the night. It does make things ten times easier for me, though, so I step over the threshold, closing the back door behind me with a gentle click.
The glow and low tone of a TV reaches me from the front of the house, which must be the living room. It’s turned down low, like it’s merely background noise, and a moment later, I pick up the steady rumble of snoring.
Walking through the rest of the tiny house, I check that thetwo bedrooms and one bathroom are empty before going to the front door and clicking it shut, too.
Seriously, it’s an open invitation leaving doors open like that.
Once I’m convinced we won’t be disturbed, I approach the chubby guy sleeping in the armchair, his head tipped back, and mouth parted while truck-like snores fall from his lips.
He’s wearing a t-shirt that’s five sizes too small for him that says ‘Great vibes’ across the front, his round belly exposed, and I cringe at his poor fashion sense before I give his knee a shove with my foot.
He doesn’t stir.
For fuck’s sake.
I rear my foot back and kick him square in the nuts.
His eyes fly open as a choked gasp lodges in his throat from the combination of shock and pain, his hands moving to his junk on instinct as he wheezes.
“Hi Gilbert.” I flash him a smile as I pick up the remote and turn up the volume to max on his TV while he starts coughing, another wheeze sounding in his chest. “I’m your wet dream and worst nightmare bundled together in a package full of rage,” I tell him, loving the fear in his eyes. “And tonight, you’re the lucky winner.”
Gilbert coughs again before choking out, “W-winner of w-what?”
“The winner of being carved up by the Crimson Angel, of course.”
He goes to scream, but I lunge forward, pressing my blade to his throat.
“Uh-uh, Gilly. Screaming is a no no until I at least give you a little cut.” I glide the side of my blade over his cheek, loving the whimper that falls past his lips. “But if you want to make me happy, which really is something I recommend, then you should tell me where Julian and Stuart MacKenzie are hiding.”
He whimpers, “I d-don’t know.”
I tilt my head to the side, pouting. “Wrong answer, Gilly.” I turn my blade over and start slicing the sharp edge through the greasy, open-pored skin on his cheek.
He cries out, and I tut.
“Really, Gilly. That was nothing. Just a paper cut, really.” I pull the knife back to show him the blood, and his wide eyes flick to it before he starts trembling. “Now, let’s start again. Where are Julian and Stuart MacKenzie hiding?”
“I-I…”
I dig the blade in again and he hisses, trying to pull back, but he has nowhere to go. I have him trapped in his armchair.
“Make sure you give me the answer I’m looking for, Gilly. You don’t want to upset me now, do you?”
He shakes his head as he pants and whimpers, and the stench of urine hits me.
I sigh. “Did you just piss your pants, Gilly?”
He nods frantically. And I screw up my nose.
“That’s not very nice. Is that any way to behave around a guest?”
This time, he shakes his head frantically as tears pool in his eyes.
