Chapter 27 Take your pants off, too
Catalina
The room the club president led me into was disgusting. It was the kind of place that made your skin crawl. The bed was a mess, the sheets looked old and filthy, covered in dark stains I did not want to identify. The floor was a carpet of dirty clothes and discarded dishes sat on every surface. The brown carpet was ruined with cigarette burns and other, stranger, white stains. The whole place smelled like old smoke and feet. I had to fight the urge to throw up. The only halfway clean thing was a single metal chair pushed against a dirty yellow wall. I grabbed it and placed it in the center of the room.
I set my bag down. As he pulled off his jacket and shirt, I bent over, pretending to adjust my boots. I loved these thigh-high boots; I had made them myself, adding special loops inside the tops to hold my knives. I pulled out two blades and slid them securely into place.
“What should I call you, sugar?” I asked him.
“The name’s Cap.”
“Alright, Cap. I have a thing for kinky games. How about I tie your hands behind your back? I promise, I will make it worth your while.”
“Baby, you can do whatever the fuck you want, just so long as my dick ends up inside you. And for the record, I like it rough. If you feel like slapping me around, you go right ahead.”
Interesting, I thought.
“Take your pants off, too,” I told him.
“Fuck yes.”
He stripped down to his black briefs. I had to give it to him, he was good-looking. He was all solid muscle, with a chest covered in tattoos. His hair was black and spiky, and his hazel eyes were actually pretty. He sat in the chair, eager. I pulled out a roll of silver masking tape. I wrapped the tape around his legs, fixing them to the chair’s metal legs. Then I pulled his arms behind the chair’s back and taped his wrists together. He was squirming, but from excitement, not fear. I turned on some music from my phone and started to move my hips, standing right in front of him.
“Cap, do you want me to take my shirt off for you?”
“Oh, yeah, baby.”
I pulled the shirt over my head. My tits bounced with the movement. He let out a low groan, and I could see the bulge in his briefs getting bigger.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he breathed.
“You think so?” I asked, as I walked toward him and then circled around behind his chair. He tried to turn his head to follow me.
I dragged my hands over his arms, up to his shoulders, and then down his chest, letting my nails scrape lightly over his skin. He moaned again. I leaned close to his ear, my voice soft, as I brought my hands back up his chest and then behind him, down to my boots where I found the handles of my knives.
“How much money do you think you would get for me,” I murmured, “if you sold me like you do the other girls?”
“What the fuck?” he shouted, his body jerking hard against the tape.
I did not hesitate. I brought my hands up and drove a knife into each side of his neck. I pulled the blades out and blood shot out in thick pulses, matching the beat of his heart.
He tried to scream, but the sound was just a wet, choking gurgle. I walked around to face him and smiled as I cleaned my knives on the dirty bedsheet before putting them away in my bag. I put my shirt back on and stood there, watching as the light went out of his eyes. I picked up my bag, turned off the music on my phone, and texted Jenna. I told her to take a picture of the man she had killed. I did the same with mine. I wiped my fingerprints from the chair, checked the hallway through a crack in the door, and seeing it was empty, I locked the door from the inside, wiped the knob clean, and stepped out, closing it behind me.
Jenna came out of another room and gave me a thumbs-up.
“Did you wipe everything down?” I asked.
“Of course I did. Do not act like this is my first time,” she said, sounding annoyed.
I rolled my eyes, and we got back to our plan.
For the next hour, we led men, one or two at a time, into different rooms and killed them just like the first two. It was a surprise that no one noticed their friends disappearing. The party was full of people who were far too drunk. Girls were starting to pass out from the spiked drinks. Some men were already unconscious. Jenna and I found the Sergeant at Arms asleep in a bathroom. We dragged him into the bathtub and cut his wrists so he would bleed to death. For every kill, we took a picture as proof. We could not believe how easy it was. A couple of the guys had not drunk the bad liquor, so we talked them into shooting up with the Special K that Jenna had brought. They got so high, they were floating. We gave them blades and told them how beautiful it would be to watch their own blood flow. So they did us the favor of cutting their own wrists. This club was full of fucking morons. There was no security anywhere. How the hell had they managed to stay alive for so long?
The last three men were Razer, Bear, and Crack. Sara and Emily were nowhere to be seen. I wanted to find them before we finished the last three. Jenna went to look for them while I walked into the kitchen. The three men were there, eating chips and swaying, beers in their hands. I was amazed they were still standing.
“Look who decided to join the party,” Crack slurred. “Where have you been, baby?”
Jenna came back into the kitchen and leaned close to my ear. She told me Emily and Sara were passed out in a bedroom.
“I am tired of this,” I said to her. “Let’s just fuck these three up and get it over with.”
She gave me a dark smile. “Let’s do it.”
The three men just stood there, stupid and unsteady, swaying like drunk trees. I took a single blade from my purse and threw it at Razer. He never saw it coming. The knife sank into his left eye and buried itself deep in his brain. The force snapped his head back. He fell forward, landing on his face, which only pushed the knife in deeper.
Bear and Crack just stood in shock, their brains too foggy with alcohol to understand. Jenna launched herself at Bear as I jumped at Crack with another knife from my bag. He put his arm up to block me and the blade stuck deep in the bone. He fell onto his back and I landed on top of him. I started punching his face. His nose broke under my fists, spraying blood across my chest and face. I kept hitting him. He got his arms up and landed a punch on the side of my head that made me fall to the side. As he sat up, I kicked out with my left leg. The sharp heel of my stiletto boot went straight into his right eye. His whole body jerked, and I swear I felt his eyeball pop. The feeling made my stomach turn. He fell back. I jumped up, pulled the knife from his arm, and dragged the blade across his throat. Blood poured out of him, covering me in a wave of warm, sticky red.
I turned and saw Jenna had Bear in a headlock between her powerful thighs. He was thrashing, but I watched as his face turned from red to a dark purple. Then he went still. I tossed her my knife and she caught it. She unlocked her legs and cut his throat open, just to be certain he would not wake up. We took our pictures.
The kitchen was a wreck. Blood was everywhere, all over the floor and all over me. Jenna looked like she had been in a fight—her hair was wild, her clothes were torn—but she was clean. I pulled out my phone and texted Sara. I told her we were leaving because some of the guys were getting too aggressive and making us uncomfortable. That way, when everyone woke up to a house full of dead bodies, they would not suspect us.
“Let’s take one more picture of us and send all the photos to Butcher and the guys,” Jenna said.
“Okay, but we should wait a few days to send them. They need to finish their own jobs. I know the second they get these pictures, our phones will not stop ringing.”
“You are right. Do you think they will be angry?”
“Butcher will not be. We did what he asked. No one is going to think a club did this. Motorcycle clubs use guns; they just blast away. No, I am sure people are going to be very confused when the news gets out.”
“Yeah, you are right. Let’s find the security room and get rid of the camera footage. Then we need to deal with the guys at the gate,” Jenna said.
I had already found the security room in a shed out back. No one had been watching the screens. I just shook my head. I deleted all the footage from that night and wiped down everything I had touched. Then I went back into the clubhouse and wiped away any sign that Jenna and I had ever been there. I took the two liquor bottles we had brought and cleaned every surface we might have touched. We took our selfies; I even posed next to Razer and Crack’s bodies. Jenna said I was crazy. I just laughed and told her I knew. We turned off the music and the lights and left the clubhouse. I ran down to the front gate while Jenna got her car. The two men guarding the gate were passed out on the ground. I had an idea to make sure no one would ever suspect us. After I cut their throats, I used their blood to write a message.
On one body, I wrote in Italian: ‘Don’t mess with Italia.’ On the other, I drew the family crest of the Caruso mob family. Now, anyone who found this mess would think it was a mob hit. I smiled. The Caruso family was about to get a very rude wake-up call. I got into Jenna’s vehicle, and we drove away, calm and easy, like we were just out for a Sunday drive.