Page 130 of Evil Hearts

Chapter One

Francesca

I t is exhausting and expensive to have to replace organs after a few decades. Last time it was the heart. The time before it was the pancreas. This time it’s the kidneys. I need kidneys.

The ones I have now came from a thirty-year-old woman. Unembalmed and freshly dug up. That was nearly forty years ago. Organs tend to expire after a while, unfortunately. That is the main reason I opened the Stein family funeral parlor.

Walking across the cool, marble floor to the coolers, I pull the recently deceased Beatrice Maynard out. The autopsy has been completed. I just need to take what I need before the embalming takes place later this evening.

Over the years, I’ve learned how to expertly open a corpse up and close it back as if I were never even there. I place the kidneys on the cooling pad, close the cooler, and walk over to the mirror.

I chose a bad day to wear a white blouse. The loose-fitting blouse is tucked into my charcoal slacks. Taking the pen from the clipboard on the wall, I twist the mess of black hair on my head and pin it up.

Now, where in the world is that scalpel? I ought to come down here more often. The light glinting off the tool catches my eye on the surgical tray by the embalming table. Found you.

Pulling my blouse off, I sit on the edge of the table and angle my body to see the left side in the mirror. Tracing the skin just beneath the ribs, I mentally prepare myself.

Pressing in the scalpel, I open myself up. Transplanting the kidney isn’t hard after that. It’s not like I bleed much anymore. The worst mess I have to clean up is the formaldehyde leakage. Once the new kidney is in and the old is removed, I close myself up and wash my hands in the sink.

Knock.

Knock.

The door atop the stairs creaks open. Shit. I don’t have time to wash off before I pull my blouse back on. Quickly tucking my shirt into my pants, I turn to the stairs.

A man walks down, holding onto the banister as he descends. His wristwatch reflects the fluorescent lights. Ah. Victor. The local florist who we contract with for our services. He’s a younger man, but well-built. His chocolate brown hair compliments his ocean-blue eyes.

“Good morning, Frankie,” he says with a smile.

“Victor.” I nod.

His shoulders slouch as he gives me his famous lopsided grin. The heart in my chest flutters. I would say my heart, but it hasn’t been my heart, well, ever. I wasn’t born. I was created in a crude lab centuries ago. Victor has always had this effect on me. I believe this is a crush.

“I just need to go over the Maynard arrangements for the service and burial.”

I gesture to the stairs. “I see. We can chat in my office. I took note of the family’s wishes there.”

“Lead the way. Ladies first.”

I walk ahead of him up the stairs and take a sharp turn to the right into my office. The space is small, though so is the town. We cater to four funerals per day excluding our graveside services. Everyone is dying to be here at some point.

Walking in ahead of Victor, I take a seat in my cushioned office chair opposite my desk. Victor closes the door and pauses before turning toward me.

“Frankie.” His eyes fixate on me.

“Yes?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He asks, taking a step toward the desk.

“Hurt myself? No. I’m feeling quite well right now in fact.”

Does he know? There’s no way he knows. I’ve been so careful about everything.

“What did you replace this time?” He asks as he circles the desk.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” I turn my chair to face him.

“You know exactly what I mean by that.”

He knows. Fuck. He knows what I am.

“Educate me.”

“The arrangements in the parlor. Those aren’t mine, Frankie. Are you cheating on me?” He clutches his chest dramatically.

Jesus Christ. He doesn’t know my secret. He just has his boxers in a twist over a faux floral arrangement. The laugh that escaped my lips is involuntary.

“They were a gift from a family. They’re going to be donated to the local cemetery. Calm down,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye. “I’m not keeping them. No reason to be jealous.”

Victor leans toward me and lifts my chin with this index finger, “Now that’s my obedient girl.”

Fuck. Me.

Leaning forward, I close the distance between us and press my lips to his. Victor smiles into the kiss and moves his hand from my chin to my throat. His Free hand moves from his side to my thigh.

I part my legs and turn my incision away from him. His warm hand moves from my thigh, up my waist, and to the hem of my shirt. Victor grabs it and pulls it over my head, leaving me in my nice green bra and pants. He pulls away from me and sits on my desk.

Swiveling the chair around, I reach for his belt. He smirks at me, resting his hands on the desk. I see. He wants to play.

“Frankie,” he growls, unfastening his belt.

“Yes?” I purr.

“Be a good girl and come here.”

“And if I don’t?” I ask, my lips twitching into a smirk.

“I will choke you with my cock.”

“Prove it,” I say, leaning back in the chair.

His eyes trail to my breasts. I trace the side of my bra slowly and then my waist. His eyes follow my every touch. His cock is already hard, straining against the fabric of his slacks.

Victor unbuttons his pants and slides down his zipper with hungry anticipation in his eyes. Gods, I need this. I need to get fucked so hard I don’t remember anything but the feel of his cock in me.

Seconds later, his cock springs free from the confines of his dress slacks. Wrapping my hand around it, I pump it slowly.

“You know better, Frankie.” His words are nearly a growl.

Rolling my chair closer to him, I lick my lips and smile.

“Tell me what you want, Victor. Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

“I want you to take my cock like the good girl I know you can be.”

The arrogance in his voice doesn’t match his demeanor, but something about it turned me on. I lick my lip and smile a bit before swirling my tongue over the tip of his erect cock. Fuck. This is my favorite part of the morning.

Taking care of his jealous ass and getting laid. It’s better than my morning coffee.