Page 100 of Villains Never Die

“I’m a simple man.”

“With no taste,” I muttered under my breath. I wasn’t about to start an argument about his general lack of aesthetic in this downpour when we were going inside to prep for a murder.

We circled the building twice, switching directions each time, peering past hedges and a pool that had been closed for months. The place was pristine—no dead leaves or trash, plants dormantfor the season, but the landscaping was clearly cared for. That meant he had a staff, at least one person keeping up the outside of the house.

“No cameras,” Carter pointed out on our second round. “That’s good.”

“No wards on the fence or the gate,” I added, “but be careful when we get to the door.”

“Backdoor,” he said, motioning for me to follow him. “Less chance anyone will see us.”

We traipsed through the rain that seemed determined to delay us, up a cobblestone path around back, to the door behind the house flanked in proud columns.

I lifted my hands a few inches from the door and expected my fingertips to itch at the wards, but there was no protection on the door.

"That's odd," I said, brows drawing toward one another, but there wasn't time to wonder about our stupendous fortune. I gestured to the doorknob, which was undoubtedly locked. “Your turn.”

Rook produced a small lock-picking kit from his pocket and dropped to one knee as he inserted parts of it into the lock, jabbing and twisting. It was almost graceful the way he coaxed the lock to release and let us in.

He stood as the door swung open and motioned in front of him—after you.

I stepped inside and glanced around in the dim room. It may have been three in the afternoon, but the stormy sky stole too much light. I was hesitant to turn on any overhead lamps and alert the neighborhood that someone was in the house.

“Where do you want to do this?” Rook asked.

“Doesn’t really matter,” I said. “There won’t be a mess to clean up, and I’m planning on leaving the body for the Council to find.”

“Upstairs gives him less chance to run. Catch him by surprise. How long does that power of yours take to work?”

I prowled away from the sunroom we’d stepped into and toward what I thought might have been a kitchen. “Only a minute. It won’t take long.”

“Let’s figure out which bedroom is his. We can wait for him there.” He followed me into the kitchen—black granite, garish white appliances—and into the living room. The interior was elegant, but every room was the same—dark wood, light accents, stone that complimented both. Either Emmett had very specific tastes, or he’d hired a designer with only one vision.

The stairway stood in the living room with polished banisters and a charcoal runner up the middle. I moved toward it until the toe of my shoe hit something just a little off. A wrong texture.

Something wet.

My eyes dropped to my feet and the pool of dark liquid gathered around my shoes. I gasped and Rook squeezed my shoulder.

“Close your eyes,” he said, his other hand rattling his keys. “I’ll see who it is.”

My eyelids slammed shut, even though I could barely make out the blood on the floor. It was always so much worse when I wasn’t expecting it. There was no time to mentally prepare myself for the sight of it.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“It’s the human guy. What the fuck is his name? Andy—”

“Andrew Clark,” I said. “What does he look like?”

“Really not fucking good.” I registered him bending lower, examining the body. The beam of his flashlight lit the insides of my eyelids. “Same as the other ones—no tongue, hands are gone.”

“Is there a note?”

He was quiet for a moment, searching, and then, “Forever. The ‘for’ part is the number four.”

“I really don’t want to open my eyes,” I said, even as the urge to see it for myself prickled under my skin.