Page 13 of The Hitch
The knives hang in plastic sheaths. None of them are reallyprofessional-looking. There's even a package of rainbow-colored steak knives. Cute, but useless for my purposes.
After inspecting the other knives, I finally find something worthwhile. A German brand, eight inches, and lethally sharp. "A sharp knife is a safe knife," I whisper to myself with a smile.
The thirty-dollar expense is necessary. And it's not like thirty dollars is a make-or-break amount for my international travel plans. After peeking around for a clerk, I crack open the plastic sheath and slide the knife out.
It feels good in my hand. Cold. Heavy. Substantial. I test the edge and hiss in pain as it easily splits my thumb.
It's perfect.
The drive back home is a glorious blur. I'm no longer unarmed. Phil can break in here all he goddamn wants—I'mreadynow. And I'll cut him up just like I did his uncle. Fuck that whole family. I'm glad he's dead. I'm overjoyed that they're in shambles.
My mom, on the other hand…. I know she had a life insurance policy on that shit stain. And she stopped trying to find me after a month. No more tear-filled press conferences begging the unknown attackers—I snort—to give me back. Based on the news articles I stopped reading months ago, she cashed the life insurance check and moved out of town. Back to Oregon. She started a new life.
Good for her. I've done the same. All I really had to do was use my absentee dad's last name, and I'm a whole new person. Once I flee to Mexico, I'll use another name.
With thoughts of my international travel floating through my mind, I practically skip up the stairs to my apartment. The dooris still locked, which is lovely. I peer around the living room and kitchen. Everything is just how I left it. No new roses. No new "gifts."
Maybe calling the cops scared Phil off for good. But, even if it didn't, that doesn't matter. I've got my own safety in my hands. I take a few practice stabs with the knife, slashing through empty air. It feelsgood. It feelsright.
"Fuck you, Phil!" I yell. A neighbor pounds on the wall next to me, and I about jump out of my skin. A muffled "shut up," accompanied by another bang, wipes the grin from my face. He can steal my joy, but he can't steal my confidence. I roll my shoulders back and narrow my eyes at the yellowed paint.
Maybe the next time I get some urges, I could pay Mister 403 a visit.
Dante
Phil Pinelli, age thirty-two, official occupation: general contractor licensed with the city of Chicago. Unofficially, he disappears people for the Chicago chapter of the Seraph. I rake my hands down my face, scratching at the five o'clock shadow beginning to emerge on my chin.
I should be upset with Melody calling the police on me—and inviting Rafaella into herhome—but she unknowingly gave me incredible intel. Phil Pinelli's uncle, Charles Pinelli, died in a botched home invasion a little over six months ago. Hewas brutally murdered, with his hands severed. They were later found in the sink's garbage disposal, torn to shreds.
According to the reports, there was another occupant home during the invasion. A woman, named Melody Autumn Crawford. Her mother, Nanette, held multiple press conferences urging the attackers to bring her daughter home. I scowl at the screen, watching the middle-aged woman send out her tearful pleas.
Melody Autumn Crawford. I should have caught that in my research. Though there wasn't a father listed on the birth certificate, I'd wager a guess his last name is Gutierrez.
A miracle, it seems, that she's turned up in the city unscathed. No stranger to murder, as well. She tried to stab me in her rattletrap car. And Charles Pinelli was stabbed over forty times.
"Melody, you naughty girl," I whisper with a smile at my computer.
"Sir?" Valencia pokes her head into my office. "The Ridgeway Arms deal is nearly done. I just need your signature."
My mind swirls with thoughts of Melody's devilish deeds as I sign my name on the dotted line over and over, through a thick stack of closing documents.
She's a dangerous woman. She doesn't need an arsenal of guns, just a knife. And she came home today with a shiny new toy. Though her connection to the Seraph gives me pause. Her cousin by marriage is a low-level grunt, body disposal, general kidnapping, that sort of thing. I'll need to look into the deceased as well.
Though Melody didn't pull the Seraph card with Rafaella. Is it possible she doesn't know? She's totally unaffiliated? It can't be—they wouldn't let someonethatvicious go free.
I sigh as I sign the last page for Valencia. My future wifewouldbe in the Seraph. It's just my luck.
"Everything alright, sir?" Valencia tosses her hair and flashes a bright smile.
"Perfectly," I respond and point to the door. "You're dismissed."
A frown flashes across her face for a split second, but she quickly neutralizes it and nods. "Of course. If you need me…."
"I know where to find you." I finish for her and turn back to my computer. Melody hasn't touched any of the food I left for her. I watch her mill around the apartment, aimlessly wandering back and forth from each of the rooms. She's whispering something to herself. Unfortunately, the built-in microphones of my surveillance cameras aren't strong enough to capture it.
She's quickly become my favorite show. This murderous woman who'll be my wife, by choice or by force. She'll bear my children. Though, if I'm to be honest with myself, the thought of forcing her to carry my heir brings a nasty taste in my mouth. I've never forced a woman before. I never had the need to.
I won't start with her. She's obviously in distress, and I'm going to wave a golden ticket in her face. She'll happily jump into my bed.Especiallywith the deal Roman and I are drawing up. I grin at the screen, watching Melody take the salmon out of her fridge.Got her.
