Page 9 of Death, Interrupted

Sly

Joey lived in a nice little house. Not gonna lie, I didn’t expect that the first time I drove up here. It wasn’t a mansion, but it wasn’t a shack either. A small two-story with a garage, a cute little front porch, and grass so green it looked like he bribed Mother Nature for it. There were flowers, too. Bright ones, lined up neatly in little pots.

It was all too pretty for Joey. Way too pretty.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Men can keep flowers. Men can bake sourdough bread, knitsweaters, and start indoor herb gardens if they want to. Equality, baby. But Joey? No. Joey was not the type of guy who gave a single fuck about living things other than himself. Which could only mean one thing: someone else was keeping those plants alive for him.

A housekeeper. A woman. I audibly gasped. “Agirlfriend.”

The thought made me gag inside my helmet. There couldn’t be a woman stupid enough to look at Joey, who was the human equivalent of Axe body spray mixed with expired energy drinks, and say,yes, I want that one.Goosebumps prickled down my arms.

The idea of him actually having a girlfriend made me itch under my jacket. Who the hell would willingly sign up for Joey? He was a bully, a show-off, rude down to his core, and, yeah, I’ll say it, gross. And not just on the inside.

He’d gotten this haircut a while back, some half-assed undercut with bleached tips, and it made him look like a rejected boyband extra. The guy still wore ripped skinny jeans. Skinny jeans. Ripped. Like it was still 2012. On top of that, he always had tank tops that were three sizes too small clinging to him, probably just so he could flash his muscles around like a discount gym influencer.

Sure, he was big, and yeah, he worked out, but it was the way he carried himself that made me roll myeyes. Everything was about the performance, about who was watching, and I couldn’t stand it. It had always been that way, even when we were kids.

I work out too, I’ve got muscles, but I don’t shove them in everyone’s face.

Exactly…I’m modest.

Okay, maybe I do flex for April, but that’s different. She appreciates me, and I’m loyal to her. Joey strutting around in tank tops isn’t romantic or hot. It’s desperation.

I was still in my April daydream when headlights flashed across the street and a car turned into the driveway.

“Shit,” I muttered, yanking my visor down.

Joey was home.

Punctual as ever. I crouched lower in the shadows, watching him get out, strut up the walkway, and unlock his door like he owned the place—which,okay, he did, but he didn’tdeserveto.

And then he went inside. But the weird part? He didn’t turn on a single light. Not one. The house stayed pitch black.

Why the hell would you walk around in the dark on purpose? It was dark outside. It was dark inside. Was this his new thing? Was he trying to be mysterious? Or maybe he tripped the breaker and was too stupid tocall an electrician. Or maybe he was trying to ruin my plan.

Shit…did he actually figure out that some psycho was going around killing his friends? No. Joey’s not that smart.

Which meant he was actually walking around the house in the dark on purpose.

What a loser.

“Great,” I grumbled. “Super considerate of you, Joey. I schedule a murder and you go wandering around like a raccoon.”

Fine. If Joey wanted to do his little raccoon impression and lurk around his house in total darkness, I’d just have to adapt.

It’s not like I’m not good at sneaking around in the dark myself.

Fuck, am I a raccoon too?

I mean, they’re adorable but feisty, and they can get totally aggressi—focus, man!

The front door was out of the question. The porch light was motion-sensitive, and I wasn’t about to step into a glowing spotlight.For a second, I actually had a vision. Me showing up with a pizza box, ringing the bell, Joey opening the door all clueless, and then me pulling out the knife, surprising him. He’d trip over his own feet, crack his skull on the floor, andboom, another accidental death for the books. Honestly, itcould’ve worked. But this wasn’t just another kill. This was the grand finale, the last name on my list, and it had to be special. It needed to be more fun, memorable.

So I circled, keeping to the edge of the yard, annoyed at every little detail of his perfect suburban setup.

I kept moving, muttering under my breath like some lunatic live commentator. “And here we have Joey’s backyard, a true suburban masterpiece. We’ve got the perfectly arranged patio chairs he probably never sits in, the little grill he definitely doesn’t know how to use, and, oh look, string lights.”

I sighed, getting more annoyed with every step I took. The sliding glass door came into view, and of course, it had one of those cheap little latches people think counts as security. You could open that with a strong wiggle or a butter knife. Or in my case, sheer spite. I crouched down, gave it a few nudges, and the thing popped open with an ease that actually offended me.