“Will you stop,” I complain, hitting him away as I wake up. We had sex two more times before I finally passed out, and now his cock is nudging my ass.
“I tried. It lasted...” he pauses, and I turn to see him looking at his watch, “… five hours.”
Fuck, I’ve only had five hours of sleep.
“Happy birthday, birthday girl.” He trails kisses all over me.
“Another year older,” I mumble.
“Another year sexier,” he says between kisses.
A doorbell rings, and he groans.
Getting up, he reaches for his pants, and I watch as he slides them on, looking back at me. He stares for the longest time, and then reaches down to kiss my lips. “Stay where you are, I’ll be back.” Marcus takes off, and while he’s gone, I think about his words for a while. But soon realize I need to pee, so I quickly run to the bathroom, then climb back into bed just before he comes back in. When he does, he’s holding a large box with a bag of food. I sit up.
“You’re feeding me?” I ask, smiling.
He grins at my clapping and places the bag of food on the bed in front of me. I open it to find pancakes and hash browns, as well as many other things.
“I’m so hungry.” I take a bite of a dry pancake, making him chuckle.
“Worked up an appetite, I see.”
I nod. “You wouldn’t let me sleep,” I say between bites.
“I did for five hours.” Marcus moves the food bag and drops another on my lap. It’s big. I look up at him in question.
“Open it. I arranged it last night. One of my former customers works there.” I tear open the box, and the familiar G that greets me when I see the box causes me to squeal. Tearing it open more, I reveal the perfect little black bag.
“This is way too much. I can’t accept,” I say while eyeing it, knowing I will never let it go. I’ve always wanted one, but it’s so much money.
“It’s yours. Accept it. I can’t return it, and I don’t look good in black,” he jokes. My lips turn up into a full-on smile.
“You do look good in black. Sinful, actually. But this…” I say, looking back down at the gorgeous bag, “… this is huge. I can’t let you waste your money on this for me.”
“I have a lot of money, pretty girl. Death pays extremely well.”
“So it seems,” I say, putting it down to the side.
I reach for him, bringing him closer to me. “So, what are we?”
“We are whatever you want us to be,” he says, then kisses my lips.
“You aren’t going to sleep with anyone else?” I ask him.
“No.”
“And I won’t either, of course.”
“Okay.”
“You’re fine with this?” I ask him to double-check.
Marcus brushes my hair back. “Yes.”
“Perfect. Now hurry up and fuck me before I have to leave.”
He pulls the blankets back. “Your wish is my command, pretty girl.”
And he does just that.
Best birthday ever.
Chapter Twenty
Marcus
“You what?” Blaze asks, shaking his head. “You want her? Really?” he asks as if he can’t believe it.
“I do. Now shut the fuck up and tell me what you need.”
Snow carries a body inside while I wait for Blaze to speak.
“I can’t believe the man you’re turning into. You don’t fixate on a woman like this. What’s wrong with you?”
“Last nerve, Blaze. Last fucking nerve,” I say, shaking my head. “Now, tell me what you need.”
“Fingerprints, that’s it.”
“Dispose of the rest?” Blaze nods as Snow steps out. As he passes, he slaps me on the back. “Heard you went back to that fine piece of ass. Smart choice, man. She is mighty fine.” I shrug him off and walk inside.
The body is already on the steel table. Walking over to the iPod, I crank the music loud, zoning out as I start cutting. I don’t need to cut the body to dispose of it. I have the cremator for that. Which usually has to have the body burn twice to turn the bones into ash, because sometimes the first go isn’t enough. When I first started, we had to crush the bones. Now it’s a lot easier and cleaner. But sometimes, just sometimes, I like to play with a body. Particularly the ones Blaze sends my way. Which doesn’t happen all that often. But when they do, I zone out like I’m doing right now.
The dead are easy.
The dead don’t complain.
The dead don’t care if I cut them into tiny pieces so I can see what they’re made of.
They don’t care that I cut a hand off and hand it to someone else so they can access their phone.
They simply don’t care.
They’re dead.
And it’s the reason I love this job so much.
But the dead also deserve respect.
No matter how vile or evil they are, their soul is gone, and their body is left. I take great pride in doing what I do—my cuts are flawless, precise, and the care I take is perfect.
For someone who is about to burn them that is.
They come to me in usually pristine condition, unless they don’t have loved ones or were involved in a terrible accident. Their hair is combed, and they’re dressed in their best outfits. It’s the bad ones, or the homeless ones, or those who have no one that I take extra care of. Even the ones Blaze brings to me. I know he has his reasons, and I don’t question them, but I still treat them respectfully.
I do it to help him, and I do it to cut.
I like to cut.
I love the sound of the saw.
Removing the first hand, I place it in a plastic bag and look up. When I do, Rochelle is standing there with Blaze next to her, a grin gracing his lips. Her eyes are wide, and there’s fear evident in them. Removing the gloves, and not even bothering with the music, I walk to where she’s standing. She steps back, and her hands go up as if warning me not to touch her.
“I know that person.”
Fuck, of course she does.
Her eyes lift from him to lock on to me. “You look comfortable, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen you,” she says while shaking her head. “How is that possible? How do you like that?” She nods, and I turn to see Blaze watching our exchange.
He’s never inside. Ever.
“You had to bring her in, didn’t you?”
Blaze shrugs. “She saw you… the real you.” Blaze turns to her. “Tell him what you saw.”
She does as if she’s on autopilot. “You were smiling as you cut into him. You were smiling through your mask.” Rochelle shakes her head. “I rarely get smiles like that.” The music from the room thumps and she shakes her head. “I have to try to accept this side of you if I want you, don’t I?” Then her eyes go back to the room, and she shivers. “He served me coffee. Creepy coffee guy, I used to call him.”
“He was more than creepy,” Blaze harrumphs next to us.
I turn, and without thinking, clock him one right in the fucking jaw. Hard.
Blaze falls backward and clutches where I hit him. “What the fuck,” he screams, wiping the blood from his lip. “She asked to see you, so I brought her in,” he mumbles, then he says something else as he walks out shaking his head, but I don’t catch it.