“Good idea. I’ll get it real quick.” He takes off in a rush toward the front parking lot where his bike’s located.
I’m drawn back to the shoes. Bending, I pick them up and inspect them closer.Her calves in these were utterly fucking sinful.
They look tiny in my hands and Cinderella’s no small woman. I’d guess her to be around five foot eight or a little taller, but her shoes still look petite. There’s nothing significant about the heels or on them to help me figure out who she could be.
Bringing them to my nose, I inhale, wanting some hint of her scent. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that they smell flowery. I’m guessing she must’ve put lotion on her feet before wearing them tonight.
I take another deep sniff like some psycho stalker, but I couldn’t be fucked about that. She smells good—edible. This is the scent I would most likely incur as I ran my tongue up her calves, biting into the muscle tenderly while reveling in her smooth skin. You know it has to be soft; bitches like that always feel like they’re an entirely different breed than the rest of us.
Spider hurries back; his chains secured to his wallet jingling with each step as he carefully carries the container. He peers over at the shoes I’m clutching for a moment, confused, but keeps his questions about them to himself.
“You want me to grab one of his legs so we can drag him?” His gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. I know he only offered so I wouldn’t have to put down the woman’s heels and I won’t forget it the next time he needs a brother to back him on something. Little shit like that goes a long way with me.
“Appreciate it, brother.” I nod, carefully holding the pumps to my body and grab the right leg of the dead man.
Spider lifts the left ankle, holding the acid with his other hand as we set about dragging him in the dark toward the sounds of the river. He’s fairly easy to move, save for him occasionally getting hung up on small bushes and what not. We both take careful strides; you never know where a snake hole or a dip may be, and I’m not trying to carry Spider’s ass back ‘cause he rolled his ankle not paying attention.
The aroma of rich topsoil grows stronger as we near the river’s edge. The odor eventually becomes murkier—like muddy rainwater as we arrive at the bank.
We each drop the dead weight. Spider cautiously opens the acid, handing the container to me.
“Wait,” he grumbles, pulling his cell phone out. The screen illuminates as he taps on it a few times. Eventually, a bright light shines out of it. “Flashlight app.” He grins, pleased with himself.
“Nice.”
Stepping toward the dude’s head, but not too close, I tip the acid all over his face and the top of his skull where I had chopped a nice sized hole in it with my ax.
“Is it working?”
“I don’t know. You sure do talk a lot when we’re attempting to quietly dispose of a body, though.”
“We’re usually riding or drinking. Can’t do much talking when there’s a loud engine or music blaring.”
“It’s weird.”
“I don’t like the quiet.”
Shrugging, I hand him the acid and the shoes.
I’m not checking if the guy’s face is melted off; it’s an image I can live without. I’ve gotten used to the blood and broken bones over the years, but I’ve never seen anyone melted before. The toxic smell floating in the air is enough to tell me not to look.
Not wanting to get any of that shit on me in case it really does burn your skin off, I turn the shady fuck over on his side and lift him, so his back is facing me. Inhaling a deep breath of burnt skin and damp earth, I powerfully toss his body out in front of me, biting my lip until I hear the splash of him hitting the water.
Spider shines his phone light over the water in front of us, and then along the banks. Either it’s too dark, and we aren’t seeing him, or the body landed in a good spot and is busy floating away.
“I need a beer,” he mumbles after a beat.
“Fuck beer; I want whiskey.” I need a sexy-ass blonde who wears super high black heels also, but I leave that part out.
Taking the shoes from him, we make the short trek back to the bar.
“I have to goback tomorrow,” I declare, glancing over at Bethany.
Her mouth gapes and she shakes her head. “Are you crazy, Prissy? No way! You were just attacked!”
She’s called me Prissy for years. It only comes out when she’s worried about something, though.
“Look, I know I was upset…”