Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Ezra

T hey've made several upgrades to the villas since last year. A new floating dock for swimming. New furniture inside, which gives it a homier feel. Home would be nice right now, actually.

A pain rips through my stomach, and I lean against the brand new chairs in the kitchenette's dining space. I gave Kindra my last precious sachet of pills, and now I feel as if my bowels may evacuate from the sheer irony that has become this trip.

When I got on the plane and saw her, I thought the good fortune of her being there too was cute. Sweet, even. But now I think it's a load of tosh. How did it turn from one of the greatest nights of my life to absolute horse shit?

I killed her brother, which is shitty enough, but then you factor in the knowledge that I only kill predators, and it only gets worse. It means her brother was one of them. There is no solution that will allow her to hate me less when she finds out.

I remove my glasses and strip off my shirt. The heat from the island makes the waves of stomach pain even more unbearable. Sweat drips down my temples.

"Ezra?" Bennett's voice drifts through the windows.

I open the front door and get him inside before he alerts Kindra to our whereabouts. We really need to fucking chat. We didn't have a chance once we left the jet. The host ushered us to our private villas and scurried away.

"Get in here," I say.

He enters and closes the door behind him. "Whoa, you look like shit."

"Then I'm sure I look exactly how I feel. Where's Gary?" Even in my panic, I can't take my mind off that bellend.

"He's Cattle now. Don't worry about him. I wish I could have taken a picture of his face when I handed him over, but no photo opps, unfortunately. So what's got you looking like you've seen a ghost?"

It's an interesting choice of words because I feel like her brother's ghost has come back to haunt me after so many years.

"Remember the woman I met on the plane?" I say.

"And back at the hotel?"

I squeeze the bridge of my nose. "Yes. We had the most incredible night."

"Then what's the problem?"

"She's here to find her brother's killer."

"And?"

"I'm her brother's killer."

Bennett blinks an innumerable amount of times before uttering two words. "What? How?"

"Her brother was clearly unsavory, or I wouldn't have killed him."

I brush a hand through my hair. If she'd found this out before we had sex, this would have been so much simpler. Instead, I had to listen to her spew her hatred for me while my come was still inside her. That's fucked, even by my standards.

Bennett shifts his weight between his feet. "Just tell her?—"

"I'll do no such thing. She can't know. She mustn't find out."

Bennett laughs, and I envision punching a hole in his throat. "The regulars know you as the Abattoir Adonis."

"Well, we need to make them not know."

"How?"

"We'll tell the organizer I want to remain anonymous this year. Then we just need to find the regulars and encourage them to keep schtum."

"I mean...I guess. But this sounds like a waste of time."

"Bennett, she can't find out." I've never been one to beg, but I'd get on my knees and lick boots if it means I can get a handle on this situation.

His eyes roll as he raises his hands skyward in a show of defeat. "Fine, I'll help."

How is it so difficult to find these people? It's an island, and only a small portion has been cleared out for guests.

Knocking on the villa doors proved unfruitful, though I did find Grim cleaning a knife in his Speedo. When the older man answered the door, one testicle hung from the scanty hammock of navy-blue fabric. I couldn't get him to close the door on my face fast enough after I'd told him to keep my identity a secret.

With Bennett off to tell the organizer, I head to the beach. A huge pavilion stands on a strip of sand. New benches and chairs sit inside, and the outside shines with a new coat of sky-blue paint.

Ice Pick sits on the beach nearby, a beer balancing on his reddening belly as he sleeps. I step closer, and when my shadow eclipses him, he jerks awake. Before I know what's happening, there's an ice pick aimed at my gut. Where did that even come from?

Ice Pick lifts his dark sunglasses and laughs. "Hey, Adonis."

The Ice Pick Killer is a Midwestern phenomenon. He's brutal, willing to stab first and ask questions later, and I came a fraction of an inch from feeling that sort of evisceration.

"Can you do me a favor?" I ask.

We don't usually ask each other for favors. This is a very selfish profession, and we are very selfish people. But I don't see what other options I have.

"Depends what it is," he says as he tucks his ice pick beneath his hairy thigh.

"I need you to pretend you don't know me on this trip. Forget who I am. I'm nobody."

He takes a hearty swig of sun-warmed beer. "Can I call you the Crumpet Killer?"

Why do Americans always come at the crumpets?

"That's not your name, is it?" asks a sing-song voice behind me. It's not the lusty, mildly bitchy tone of Kindra, which means it's her blonde friend. The only other female killer on the island is Maudlin Rose, and she doesn't speak at all.

I turn and hope she only heard the tail end of this conversation.

"Yes, I am The Crumpet Killer," I say, because what the fuck else can I do? I'm now tied to this stupid name. Though I'm enraged, I'm equally amused and hysterical, and I struggle to keep a straight face. My happiness is on the line if I don't. "Where's Kindra?"

"She's over there with . . . um . . . the guy with the mullet."

I follow her finger to the pavilion and spot Kindra just within the comfort of the shade. Her dark hair whips around her face as she tries to hold it back with her hand. She looks angelic and so out of place compared to the man beside her on the picnic bench.

His wild blond mullet blows behind him as he points toward me, laughing with lips that are covered by one of the worst porno mustaches I've ever seen.

"Eighties Man." Fuck, I haven't gotten to him yet.

"Yeah, that's him," Cat says.

I'm typically a very calm person. You don't survive this career by allowing emotions to control you. But I am at their utter control as I watch his squirrelly finger pointing at me.

What has he told her? All I imagine is him saying, " Oh, there's the Abattoir Adonis! "

And my god, I'm not panicking inside as I make my way over to them to see if Kindra will try to kill me. No amount of orgasms will stay her hand once she learns who I am. Judging by the scowl on her face, I may already be too late.