Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“Yo, Win,” I heard someone say from behind me. I didn’t flinch, even though they’d surprised me. “Where’s the body…oh. There.”
Two men came in and methodically began scouring up the mess.
And I watched as it happened, not curious at what was going on, but contemplative of what the woman next to me was thinking as the cleaning happened.
She looked enraptured.
“You know,” she said quietly to no one in particular. “I’ve watched a lot of crime documentaries. I listen to crime podcasts. And sometimes they explain the cleaning up process. But I’ve never seen it actually carried out. I’m, in fact, quite amazed with the process.” She leaned forward. “I could probably eat off this floor right now. I’m sure it’s cleaner than some of the dishes in my dish rack.”
I snorted. “They’ve been doing this a long time. I have a friend who owns a home restoration business. He deals with natural disasters, and he’s also the man who takes care of cleaning up after murders. He lends me his guys when I need them.”
Her brows rose. “They don’t have an issue with just cleaning up like this? What do they do with the bodies?”
“They take them to the morgue that a friend owns and cremates them,” one of the men answered for her. “Now, stop asking questions.”
Crimson snapped her mouth shut and then opened it again to offer an apology. “I’m sorry. My mom always told me one of my most annoying habits was my inability to stop asking questions.”
“Questions aren’t a bad thing,” one of them muttered. “If you’re five.”
She snickered. “Noted.”
I caught up her arm and led her out into the hallway.
She came willingly, her eyes checking out our feet as we moved.
“We didn’t step in anything,” I pointed out.
“Just checking.” She sighed. “Wait. I gotta go pack his shit and then burn it. That way people think he left because I fired him. And not because you shot him.”
I gave her a pointed look before saying, “That’s the last time that you say anything joking like that.”
She held up her middle three fingers on her right hand before saying, “Scout’s honor.”
I caught her hand before she could turn around. “As for the stuff, I’ll get them to take it and burn it.”
She nodded and followed me through the maze of hallways, not leading but not heading in any specific direction, either.
“Where’s your office?” I asked.
“I don’t have one,” she answered. “None of us do. If we want to do something in an office setting, we go to the conference room.”
I nodded to the plaque on the wall of the room we’d just passed. “Then why does that say Crimson Singh?”
She shrugged. “That’s new.”
She pushed open the door and sighed.
I looked, too, and found a bathroom behind it.
“I’m gonna put a lock on this door, and then make sure that no one else gets to use it,” she murmured mostly to herself.
Sounded like a solid plan.
“Who did that?” I asked.
“My guess would have been Hades or Val. But since Hades went home to Hannibal’s Longview house after our talk, and I don’t think she would’ve found the time to come back and do that while also in Dallas photographing the professional football team here…I’m guessing Val.” She expounded way too much on her answer.
I pulled her into the bathroom and closed the door.
“Have a seat,” I said. “You’re gonna need it.”
CHAPTER 9
No one wants to hear about your diet. Just eat your stupid salad and let the rest of us enjoy our fat.
-Crimson’s secret thoughts
CRIMSON
I didn’t like the seriousness of his tone.
If he was going to pull me into a bathroom, I would’ve much preferred him doing other, less serious, things to me. Like having sex with me against the bathroom wall.
Yet, the way his eyes were set, and the way he was being carefully neutral with how he spoke to me, I knew I wasn’t about to like where this talk was going.
“Well, you have me where you want me,” I drawled.
Jesus, the man was potent.
There I was, in a bathroom in the middle of the circus, only thirty minutes after he’d flat-out murdered my costume designer, and I was thinking about what it would be like to ride his dick on a toilet seat.
Yeah, there was something not right in my head.
“Are you going to focus here?” he snapped.
I blinked, then focused.
“Sure,” I said.
He waited a few long seconds, I guessed to make sure that I actually was going to look at him and pay attention, and when he was satisfied, he rocked my world.
“Your mother was part of this scheme,” he said without preamble. “She was, according to my information handler, LaDerrick, a part of the overall issue with the trafficking.”
My mouth fell open.
Then I exploded up from the toilet seat as if I had a self-propelled rocket strapped to my ass.