Page 7

M entally running through my to-do list of the day, I stir creamer into my coffee and hope I make it to noon before needing another cup.

Last night, I sat in the alley until almost two in the morning, observing the agent through the spaces in the windows not obstructed by posters. It became clear rather quickly that she was the light of the room. The sun, with equal gravitational pull.

Whether Jessica realized it or not, everyone revolved around her, silently gaping, hanging on every word, laughing at her antics, or simply staring at her ass. In fact, there were very few moments when all eyes weren’t on her, watching and waiting to see what she’d do next.

The realization she’s always in someone’s line of sight serves as both a warning and an inconvenience. But not one I won’t overcome.

Walking down the narrow steps and into my work area, I place my coffee on the table near where my calendar is mounted. My eyes flash over the next thirty days and I take note of the nights I might be able to observe the agent more and find those pockets of time when she’s alone. Fortunately, I only have a few events this month in need of large arrangements, so there isn’t anything substantial hindering me from dealing with this sooner rather than later.

My fingers trace idly along the edge of the paper as I consider my plan, or lack of one.

Stalking, catching, and killing prey has never posed an issue for me—never given me pause, nor reason to question how or what I’m going to do. Yet Jessica is proving to be different.

For one, she is not my prey. She isn’t one of the many miserable men I’ve sent to an early grave. She is a federal agent. An innocent agent who is merely doing her job.

Unfortunately for her, that job involves a dog of a man who refuses to be put down, and has ordered her death sentence instead. A sentence he, himself, is too weak to carry out, and has bestowed upon me.

A long sigh leaves me as I force my attention to my day’s list of chores. There are a few bouquets, an herbal restock, and Niko’s quarterly order.

Ah. Nikolai Babin. The shadow of Noxus City.

Although he’s Alexi’s brother, Nikolai remains one of the few people in this world who I don’t mind is alive. It could be in part because he and I are so similar in the dual personas we reveal to others, or simply because he’s the opposite of his brother. But either way, his kindness is admirable, so his order is never a nuisance.

The damned plant he requires to make his toxin, however, is quite literally the bane of my existence. It’s easy to see why I’m one of the few florists that even know how to grow it—an accomplishment I used to be proud of.

Now, though, that success may be my very downfall.

Due to the rarity of that particular plant, it’s only a matter of time before the FBI—if they are capable—use the vial he left at the scene of his most recent murder and trace it back to me. Before Agent Frances traces it back to me.

My stomach twists as the blonde agent once again fills my mind. In another life, or perhaps if I weren’t as jaded as I am, I could have found her endearing. Found intrigue or even enjoyed basking in her vibrant rays of sunshine like all those around her.

Unfortunately for her, I don’t. In actuality, I think it’s what makes her an easily manipulatable target. A quick ticket to freedom from Alexi, at least for a little while, and that in itself is more than enough to resign the minute interest I found in her and focus on how I can use what I learned last night to my advantage instead.

She’s friendly, flirty, and can hold at least four shots without a change in her demeanor. She’s also keenly observant.

Hiking .

Something becomes askew in my chest, but I’m quick to push it away at the same moment a knock at my back door steals my attention. I abandon the list and my still-steaming coffee to walk through my long workstations to the delivery entrance. At six in the morning, it’s far too early for any pick ups or deliveries, so I tap on the monitor beside the door to reveal the live surveillance outside.

The camera, positioned ten feet above the door, has a wide one-eighty view of the back alley, and immediately I know my day is about to be offset.

Two men appear on the screen, one familiar to me as my afternoon delivery boy, Kline. His light sandy hair is plastered to his pale forehead, his clothes crumpled and torn in various places with the distinct red smear of blood decorating his arms. His breathing is rapid, his head slumped forward, and his hands are restrained behind his back.

I watch as the unfamiliar man standing by him lifts a bulky arm to knock again. His husky voice is muffled through the thick metal door. “Special gift for Miss Baudelaire.”

My eyes flash over him. Tailored suit. Neck covered in ink. An expression that appears bored, but a subtle smirk that says he’s anything but, as well as the signature playing card in his breast pocket.

He’s one of Babin’s goons.

I place one hand on the doorknob while slipping a pair of shears from the nearby pegboard with the other. With a flick of my thumb, the metal lock slides out of place and a heavy clank echoes around me as I slide open the door.

The man smiles when I come into view, his eyes dripping down my frame. For a solid moment, I consider plucking the light blue orbs out of his skull before shoving them down his throat, but before I can act on it, he jerks my delivery boy forward. “From Mr. B.”

Kline peers up at me, and though the ordeal appears taxing, his pupils expand when they meet mine. Oddly enough, there isn’t an ounce of relief in them. Instead, there seems to be more fear.

Interesting.

Returning my attention to the man, I slip a hand around his prisoner’s thin biceps. He flinches under my hold. “And to what do I owe such a gift? Especially one I already own.”

The man’s smile widens knowingly. “He thought you might enjoy finding out your boy here is one of his best testers.”

My insides flare with anger, but I’m quick to mask it with a strained smirk. While I’m not one to care about what others chose to do with their lives, the routine checks done on the sex workers employed under Alexi have always been rather…unsavory to me, which means none of my boys are permitted to be involved. A deal they fully understand and commit to when working for me. “Is that so?”

“Yes. He even has a signature he likes to leave. A bite mark on their ribs that more often than not needs stitches.” The man slides his hands into his pockets. “Funny thing, though, he’s not on Miss Falcon’s or Mr. B’s payroll.”

The grip I have on Kline tightens, and his hiss of pain from my nails embedding in his skin sounds muted behind my increasing heart rate. “Care to elaborate?”

“He’s been visiting the clubs and taking the girls home, claiming he was one of the boss’s and needs to ensure quality. Over the past few weeks, he was able to get through twelve of them before we caught him.”

Kline whimpers, and I barely register the warm liquid seeping through my fingers. “I’m sure this gift comes with strings.”

It’s more of a statement than an inquiry, but the man grins as he begins a dramatic walk backward. “Not so much strings as a simple message. Your timer has started: Twenty-nine days left.”

I narrow my eyes slightly, reminding myself I have too much to do and probably shouldn’t stab him with the pair of scissors, before jerking my delivery boy inside and slamming the door shut.

He drops from my hold as though he weighs a thousand pounds, his knees hitting the concrete with a sharp crack. “I’m sorry, Miss Baudelaire. Truly. I was forced. They said I had?—”

I hold up a hand as I lock the door behind me. “You were forced?”

Kline’s head bobs harshly. “Yes. They said if I didn’t, they would ship my body parts to my mother’s house.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Atone.”

My stomach rolls as I realize what he’s saying. He’s not saying he was forced to test the girls, but was given a choice in his repentance. Confess to me what he’s done and endure whatever punishment I dole out, or be tortured by Seline’s men before having his extremities shipped to his family—all the while he’d likely be kept alive as long as possible, a trademark of the club owner.

“I didn’t mean to hurt them, they said I could?—”

“Could what?” I ask calmly. “Open their skin with your teeth? What did you tell them the bite was for?”

I’m not sure why I’m asking. It doesn’t matter anyway.

“T-that the mark meant—” His shoulders tremble with a sudden sob, snot falling from his nose and into his mouth. “That it meant they p-p-passed.”

I shake my head, leaning over to one of my work benches to toss my shears down and grab a chair. It’s hard to quell the anger now building in my gut, but I manage to tamp it down enough to question him. “Tell me, Kline, did you truly think you would get away with it?”

His sobs grow louder and I quickly realize how taxing this will be. “I—I, please don’t kill me, Miss Baudelaire. I just?—”

I bend forward, tipping his chin up with my index finger. “Did you rape them?”

He starts to open his mouth again, but I’m quick to stop him when I grip his arm and guide him to his feet. He follows suit, rising enough to sit in the chair I’ve brought over.

“Let me be clear.” I stride behind him, checking the tape binding his wrists. The surrounding skin is raw and red, bruises already blooming. Leaning over, I grab a bit of loose twine at my station, making quick work of securing him to the chair. “To every question I ask from here on out, I only want a yes or a no.”

“But I want to explain?—”

I jerk on the twine, making him groan. “I refuse to waste my time hearing explanations that don’t matter. So you’ll do as I say, or this will not be a peaceful death.”

He sobs again. “Please.”

After tying off the knot, I secure his ankles before walking back in front of him. I keep my voice level and absolute. “Tell me you understand, Kline.”

A snot bubble expands from his nose as he nods, realization and acceptance falling over him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now,” I relax against the counter and begin my questioning, all the while keeping the clock in my periphery. I’m already behind. “Did you lie to the women and say you were with Alexi or Seline?”

Alexi owns more than a few strip clubs, some of which are upscale, providing escort and sexual services. No matter how disturbing, it’s not unheard of for Miss Seline Falcon, the head over clubs, to have these women “checked for quality.”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Did any of them refuse and if so, did you continue your ‘testing’ regardless?”

He swallows thickly, his bloodshot eyes finding the floor. “Some of them.”

Vexation licks my spine. I’m not a dogooder by any means, but I feel the inherent need to wipe the world clean of any fifth I happen to come across. Seems Kline is another stain in need of eradication. “Was there any additional abuse outside of the rape?”

Kline begins to cry again, his whole body violently shaking. Just yesterday, he was smiling in my front lobby, watering some plants as he waited for me to finish packing his delivery. He’d always been kind and respectful to the customers. An everyday person no one would expect to commit any atrocities.

But it’s the most innocent with the darkest souls. All humans are all the same. Some are just better at hiding it.

Annoyed with his blubbering, I walk over to the special cabinet where I store my most toxic of plants. The top shelf is dedicated to Nikolai’s while, underneath is my poisonous hemlock.

I withdraw a vial along with a pair of gloves before returning to Kline. Drawing in a calculated breath, I put the gloves on and grip his chin. As I’ve said, I’m not a good woman. My ethics and morals lie within a very flawed internal compass. So when I take a life, I feel as though not only am I ridding the world of scum, I am also righting a wrong. Enacting a justice that would otherwise go amiss. Fixing a mistake.

I am committing my own act of repentance for my failures as a child.

So while the heap of flesh in front of me carries no resemblance to my father, he will bear his sins. Endure the same judgment I laid upon him at a time too late to matter.

“I’ll ask again. Did you abuse them?”

His nod is almost indecipherable, but then he lifts his eyes to look at me. Tears stream down his face, mingling with snot and blood from whatever Alexi or Seline did to him beforehand, and not an ounce of sympathy flits through me.

Instead, Kline’s defeated “yes” to my question brings me peace.

* * *

Kline is a lot heavier than I realized.

Sweat beads at my temples as I finish wrapping his body, turning him over with care much like I would a fresh bouquet. I bat my hair away from my face and check the time.

Shit .

The shop is due to open in ten minutes and I have nothing from my agenda done. Luckily, mornings aren’t too busy and my deliveries don’t start until noon. The most pressing issue is that Nikolai will be here as soon as I unlock the doors, having to pick up his order before reporting to the hospital.

Leaving the body, I rush over to the cabinets and pull out everything I need for his order. I place it into a bag before sealing it and taking it to the front.

His black car is already parked outside, the gleam of the sun bouncing off the hood and shining like a spotlight into my shop. I grimace as I turn back and ensure there isn’t anything out of place or something that would suggest of my recent transgressions. After what happened with Alexi, I never intend to let another soul gather leverage over me.

I huff to myself at the thought and slide Kline’s body under my workstation, tossing the two bags of soiled rags—filled with his vomit and blood—by the back door. I wash my hands for the fifth time, scrubbing my cuticles raw, before repositioning my apron and striding back to the front. Sure enough, Niko has exited his car and stands by the door.

At first glance, it appears as though he’s calm and unbothered, his navy tailored suit pressed to perfection, his stubble trimmed neatly. But another exposes the lack of sleep with the shadows under his light eyes, the worry clear from the tousled hair he’s run his hand through.

I flip the lock, open the door, and give him a small smile. “Rough night?”

Niko smirks. “Not rough, just long. The wife is in the part of her pregnancy that has her insomnia at an all-time high, and I don’t like her to be awake alone.”

I step backward, gesturing for him to come inside. “That’s kind of you.”

He huffs. “Well, she also started a show she only watches at night and it’s gotten pretty good.”

This coaxes a genuine laugh from me as I lead him to the counter. “Smart.”

Niko silently agrees before lifting a hand to place it on the counter as I grab his order. His posture is tense, his lips moving back and forth over a grimace. There’s something much more than the standard fatigue that comes with pulling an all-nighter bothering him, but I don’t pry. If someone doesn’t willingly want to give me information, it’s not for me to know.

Besides, I’d rather not get myself even more involved with the Babins than I already am. “Sunflowers as well?”

He blinks twice before nodding and accepting the small brown paper bag I slide across the counter. When I come around to pull flowers from the row of vases, he clears his throat.

“You haven’t heard from my brother, have you?”

I shake my head. If he doesn’t know of his brother’s latest request from me, I’d rather not be the one to tell him. As long as I’ve worked with Nikolai, I’ve found he doesn’t enjoy it when Alexi tasks me with anything that could impede my botanical services. “Should I anticipate hearing from him?”

Nikolai’s silent for a moment, waiting as I pull his usual order for his wife. He doesn’t speak until I’m back behind my counter, arranging the bouquet on top of the butcher paper.

“I just…” he trails off, running a large hand through his hair. It flops over his forehead, making him appear more boyish. More innocent. As if this city’s poison wasn’t made from the very breath he and I both exhale. “He’s getting himself in pretty deep with this capo we still don’t know a lot about, and then there’s this agent situation. I just don’t want to cause you more trouble than I already have.”

A small grin curls the corner of my lips. “Don’t waste the stress on me. You know I am more than capable of handling whatever is brave enough to show up on my doorstep.”

His responding nod is almost unperceivable. “I know you can. I’d just rather you didn’t have to.”

Niko’s ability to be kind, empathic, and a vicious murderer rolled all into one has always baffled and surprised me throughout the years. Minus the killing, he actually reminds me of the blonde agent. She, too, is quite a conundrum. It will be such a shame to see the light flicker from her eyes. So unlike the delivery boy, who’s still warm under my workbench.

I blow out a breath as I recall the tasks I’ve yet to get done because of said body. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but you’ll call me if he contacts you?” Nikolai looks as if he’s ready to start a war if I tell him anything other than yes. So I do.

“Of course.”

He lingers a bit longer before finally accepting my answer. His shoulders relax as his lungs seem to fully expand and part of me—a small part—feels the heavy weight of what I assume to be guilt.

Luckily, it fades as he turns, packages in hand. “Come by and have dinner with me and Dominique sometime, yeah?”

“Sure.” I nod, telling him another lie.

Even if I deliver the agent’s head on a silver platter, I somehow doubt I’ll be breathing much longer than her. Though from what or why, I still don’t know.

It’s merely a feeling that hasn’t left me since I laid eyes on her.