Page 7 of Death, Interrupted

“I did not kill them! They had accidents!” I barked, squeezing harder, my arms shaking with effort as he flailed. “And I just so happened to be present when it happened.”

And then, because apparently fate loves to challenge me, I lost my grip. He shoved, I stumbled, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, the air leaving my lungs in one loudwhoof.My vision blurred for a second, but just as I managed to suck in another breath, I realized Garrett was standing above me, my knife now clutched in his hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I scrambled backwards on my elbows, holding up one hand like a referee. “Slow down, that thing’s sharp!”

“No shit,” he spat, his face red, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “You broke into my home, I have a right to kill you!”

Well…technically, he wasn’t wrong. This was self-defense by the book. But fuck that. I wasn’t ready to die. I still had half a bucket list unchecked, and I refused to go out before ticking “hot makeout session to Sex on Fire” off my life goals.

“Hold on!” I blurted as he raised the knife high above his head. My hand flew up in defense, my other pushing against the floor to steady myself. He swung down fast, the blade flashing in the dim light, and instinct kicked in. I lashed out with my foot, catching his wrist, and the knife went flying.

“Motherfucker!” Garrett roared, immediately lunging after it.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” I muttered, kicking again, this time hooking his leg and sweeping it out from under him. He toppled forward, momentum carrying him straight toward the glass coffee table.

The crack of his skull against the sharp corner was so loud it made my teeth ache. And then there was silence. His body crumpled onto the floor next to me, limbs awkward and still, and within seconds, a dark red pool began spreading across the carpet like spilledwine at a very unfortunate dinner party.

I sat there, staring, my chest heaving.

“Shit,” I whispered.

It happened again. Another “accident” in my presence. Another checkmark on the kill list I wasn’t supposed to be making so damn easy for myself.

I pursed my lips, watching the blood spread wider, and couldn’t help but shake my head in disbelief. Karma was really working overtime for me. That’s what this was. It had to be karma. There was no other higher power, no cosmic balance, no divine justice. Just pure karmic payback for doing me the favor of cleaning up my mess.

I laughed once, sharp and short, then shrugged and pushed myself up. Brushing dust and nonexistent dirt off my jacket, I planted my hands on my hips and surveyed the scene like an artist admiring his finished painting.

“Couldn’t have gone any better,” I told myself, because no one else was listening anymore. “And it wasn’t even planned. Shit…I did hope for a different outcome, though.”

Because this was exactly how Chase died.

Cracked his head open by tripping and hitting it on a counter.

How boring.

I paused and squinted. Wait. Was he really dead? Or just unconscious?

Surely, he couldn’t be losing this much blood without being dead, right?

I crouched beside him, two fingers pressed to his neck. There was no pulse. I held my hand under his nose to make sure he wasn’t breathing. Nope, no breath. I studied his face, lips pressed tight, then gave his back a quick pat like I was burping a baby. “You were a bad guy, Garrett. You deserved this. Rot in hell.”

That felt neat enough.

Now came the awkward part—what to do after the kill. It always felt weird to leave immediately, like ducking out of a party after just one drink. Too abrupt. Too rushed. My eyes drifted around the room, taking in the cozy apartment, the still-steaming containers of curry, the paused game on the massive TV. Honestly, what kind of monster leaves perfectly good Indian food untouched?

So I didn’t.

I plopped down on the same couch Garrett had been sitting on, kicked my feet up, grabbed the curry tray, and dug in with a satisfied groan. He might have been an asshole, but he had excellent taste in takeout. And while I ate, I switched off his game, flipped through his three different streaming subscriptions, and settled on something that always made me laugh.

New Girl.

God, I loved that show. Nick Miller was definitelyme in an alternate universe. Or maybe I was Nick Miller in this one. Either way, I was him minus the money problems.

By the time the first episode had me laughing, I was already halfway through Garrett’s naan, sipping his lukewarm Coke like it was a fine vintage, leaning back in his spot like I’d just claimed squatter’s rights. For a moment, I forgot the corpse bleeding out three feet away, and it was just me, Indian food, and Schmidt’s shenanigans. Honestly? Not a bad evening.

***

Later, as I finally peeled myself off the couch and left, I headed straight to my girl. “I know, I know, baby,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around April’s sleek frame before swinging a leg over her. “I missed you too. Took a little longer than expected, but you’ll forgive me when I tell you about the curry. Couldn’t waste it. That’d be the real crime.”