Page 61 of Alamort

“Your eye?”

“Well, she didn’t quite get away.”

As Ben begins his story, I can’t help but notice Saint’s intense focus. His eyes locked on his every word, as if not breathingwould guarantee he didn’t miss a single detail. I swear he purposely leaves us in suspense.

“I put my hands around her throat and almost squeezed the life out of her. When she wouldn’t shut her mouth, a couple of bashes into the ground definitely did.” Saint has stopped breathing completely, his posture tense, ready to jump at any second. At him? Out of the car?

“Is she…?” Saint asks softly, not wanting to say anything too permanent.

“Oh no,” he chuckles humorlessly. “Your little techie managed to sneak up on me before I could finish the job. Spouting some shit about we ‘have it all wrong’ and when I didn’t let her finish, she punched me in the face! I would’ve taken a knee to the balls before she fucked up my money maker.” He throws a fist into the old dashboard. Saint’s body returns to his usual casualness, losing the tenseness he had moments ago when he thought Bennett had killed her.

“So…” Saint says.

“So, she limped off somewhere. It’s difficult to talk shit to a tiny girl who has a knife to your throat. She’s stabby.” He absentmindedly rubs his neck, feeling the cut like he can still sense the knife.

“You let River get one over on you?” Saint snickers, settling back into his seat. “Amateur.”

Ben ignores him, popping the trunk, a signal he’s ready to move forward. Saint sensing the hostility slinks out to meet me at the back of the car. He looks to me for answers before nodding his head towards Bennett. I shake my head at him, not knowing what to tell him. We both take a second to take in the surrounding area.

The suburban neighborhood is a camouflage for blending in seamlessly for a pervert. The houses merge together with their uniform shape and size, but the vibrant colors andwell-maintained landscaping add individuality. People would consider this the perfect picture family home in a friendly neighborhood.

The streetlights cast long, eerie shadows that creep towards the edges, obscuring the view beyond the illuminated sidewalk. That’s where we will stick to. The “Neighborhood Watch” signs, the nice pristine lawns, and the luxury cars create a deceptive sense of safety. Cookie cutter life is the word.

All of us are in our signature work attire, a sea of black. It’s easier to blend into the night and the color easily hides blood. I hand out a pair of leather gloves for each of us, the scent of new leather wafting through the air. Gripping Ben on the arm to give him his, he snatches them from my grip without looking at me and jogs across the street, disappearing around the dark corner of the two-story house to the back door.

Saint wrings his hands in front of him, the leather squeaking as he frowns at the front door.

“What?”

Malice usually joins us on these outings. After years of friendship, we’ve learned what his tells are. Sometimes it’s as simple as zoning out by staring off into a distance and other times, if it’s negative, a wince.

It’s very rare that Saint would be fronting right now with no switch in sight but calling him out might make him more antsy. He shakes his head, brushing off the question before waiting on me to make the first move. He sticks close to one of us on these jobs if he comes with. I wonder if he’s just as confused as we are that Malice is absent.

I follow Ben’s lead, sticking to the shadows. The house is devoid of life. It stands in stark contrast to its surroundings, with no light to be seen. It’s wrong, especially when every other house on the street has their porch lights switched on. Saint rummages through his hoodie, searching for his lock picking kit, his glovedhand gripping the doorknob cautiously. With a silent twist to the right, the door opens effortlessly. His brows crinkle as he examines his hand, then turns to look at me, wetting his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue.

Something is off. The house stands ominously, its silence serving as a haunting invitation. From the entryway, the rooms appear stark and empty, with no evidence of anyone living here. The distinct odor of the fresh paint and lacquer is the first thing that hits me. Someone has been busy with renovations.

The sound of heavy, booted footsteps stomping down the wooden staircase, ring through the house as I maneuver Saint behind me, pressing him against the wall for safety, my heart beating a mile a minute. Responsibility weighs heavily on my shoulders, over everyone in our small circle, but Saint especially. I want nothing to stall his progression from how far we’ve come since we were kids. If I can protect him, I will. Even if it’s from his own mind.

“Crew. You’re going to want to see this.” Ben’s voice is devoid of emotion. “I cleared the house. It’s fine.” He adds. Both of our bodies relax. With Saint close behind, I make my way up the staircase. We enter a sparse home office tucked away in the loft area. The pungent smell of a recently lit cigar lingers, overpowering the fresh paint. Behind the desk, a naked man stands with his limbs stretched out in a star position. I drop the bag of toys I brought on his desk and creep closer to observe the man we were sent here to kill. Holy shit…

“That’s Brian.” Bennett mutters from behind me. Brian Bush’s lifeless head hangs heavily on his chest, immobilized with his limbs stretched out, while a black envelope is securely stapled to his hairy torso. Upon closer inspection, I notice the fine layer of dust that settled on the bookcase behind, evidence of recently drilled holes. As I lift his chin with my pointer finger, I can’t help but notice the sickly grey complexion and thecareless, bloody mess left behind by the peeled-back skin on his cheek. The sight of burn marks on his abdomen, the flesh still puffy and raised, indicates the intensity of the burning object. In addition, his fingers have been cut off at the second knuckle and cauterized. This was done out of anger. It’s sloppy.

“It appears we have mail,” I say. Ripping the black envelope off of Brian’s chest. We all collectively neglected and pushed it aside last time, placing our focus on Priya. It should’ve been more alarming that it was at a job, but now it poses a problem by making another appearance in a place it shouldn’t be.

They both fixate on the glaring elephant in the room. My twin rubs his hands over his bruised face, giving the letter a tired look.

“Honestly, I totally forgot about the last one. I figured it was a hoax the first time. Outta mind, outta sight type shit.” We both wait for Saint to say something. He simply stares at it, his mind transported to another time.

“Who is it addressed to?” Saint asks without moving his eyes. Bennett’s hand moves at lightning speed, snatching it from my grasp.

“You.” His eyes scan Saint’s face to see his reaction. Acknowledging him with a nod like it’s what he expected. Ben opens it. His eyebrows raise and he faces it towards us to do the same.

I know something you don’t know.

The words are taunting. Childlike. Saint’s eyes refuse to look at it.

“Saint?” I press. He glances at it briefly, then down at his hands.

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