Page 4 of Made to Be

We stopped in front of one of the middle rows of doors and I watched with bated breath as Alice grabbed the handle and pulled open the waist-high square door. After the table slid out with a long creak, my eyes landed on the silhouette of a body shrouded in ghostly white.

When she pulled back the top half of the sheet, I gasped for the second time that day and slapped my hand to my chest like some overwrought Victorian lady.

“He’s... He’s perfect.”

He was tall, had to be at least six and a half feet, and built with solid muscle. He had to have lifted weights or something when he’d been alive because... damn. He had thick, neat brows and dark raven hair that was longer on the top and buzzed short on the sides. An industrial pierced through his left ear while several hoops decorated his right. He even had one eyebrow and his bottom lip pierced. Fuck that was hot. His nose was straight and slightly wide with a smattering of freckles, and his jaw was finely sculpted. I never thought I would find myself describing a jaw as “sculpted.”

And... Oh my god, was that a chin dimple? I leaned forward and grinned; he had the most subtle indent there, right in the center. It was damn adorable. Everything else about him, however, was far from cute. He was masculine and rugged.

My eyes continued their thorough examination tracking the many bruises and minor cuts along his upper arms and torso before making it to his chest. I swallowed hard as I stared at his nipple piercings.

Fuck. Yes.

“Vic, meet Camden Hawkins. Age twenty-seven. Born February twenty-ninth of ninety-six. Leap year baby and a Pisces,” Alice told me. “Did you know a Pisces is your literal perfect match as a Scorpio?”

I barely heard Alice’s ramblings as I took in his countless tattoos decorating the ashen skin of his chest, arms, and even up the side of his neck. The artwork was interrupted by the Y-shaped incision running across his chest and down his sternum from the autopsy. It was stitched neatly back together, and I knew without asking that it had been Alice’s handiwork. He had some wicked road rash sporadically painting his torso, and several deep purple and red bruises. What in the world had happened to this guy?

I gripped the edge of the sheet and tugged it further down, too tempted to see what other assets this beautiful beast had been blessed with, but stopped when I noticed the left arm. Well, the lack thereof.

I cleared my throat, “Except, he’s missing a few...”

“Limbs? Yeah. Bottom half of his left leg too,” Alice casually replied. “Bad motorcycle accident. His original limbs were recovered but unsalvageable. Other than that, he’s pretty much your request to the letter.No one has claimed him, and he also doesn’t fit any missing person’s descriptions.

“Hedoeshave a bit of a record, but he’s not wanted for murder, rape, assault, or animal abuse, so he’s clean in my book.”

I nodded, “He likely won’t remember his past once I bring him back anyway, though.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how true that statement was, but I was leaving with this body one way or another.

My eyes landed on a pucker-shaped mark on the front of his right shoulder. I almost didn’t notice it seeing as it was covered by his tattoos.

“Is that...”

“A gunshot scar?” Alice finished for me. “Yeah.”

“Damn.” What kind ofrecorddid this guy have? I didn’t let that deter me, though.

“As for the arm and leg, I picked some replacements off of another body scheduled for cremation tomorrow,” she told me. “Figured they would work for you. They’re pretty similar in size and skin tone to this guy.”

“You really know the way to a man’s heart.” I batted my eyelashes at her.

She snorted, “Mandy would claim otherwise.”

I continued to admire the corpse while Alice went to fetch the replacement limbs. When the whirring of a saw echoed loudly through the metal room, I didn’t even lift my gaze, entirely unbothered. Once shereturned a short while later, she came bearing two small black garbage bags, each tied with a knot at the top.

“Here we go.” She set them in with the body, and I proceeded to help her zip him up into one of the classic black body bags. “I wouldn’t take too long getting him home,” she warned, pulling off her rubber medical gloves. “It may be October, but he’ll still need put on some ice. I assume you need him... fresh?”

I nodded eagerly, “Home. Ice. Got it.”

“Also, here.”

She handed me two things. The first was a small sewing kit filled with everything I would need to reattach the limbs; the second was a small black satchel-like case with the bold white letters “AED” on it.

I gave her a confused frown.

“You might need it.” She shrugged. “Ya know, in case your magic needs a little boost to get his heart going.”

“Why do you have this?” I asked her incredulously. “You work in a morgue.”