Katja squeezes my hand and waits for me to look at her again before adding. “I’ll tell you everything. You deserve to know, but just know this. There is no other person on the planet I would trust to make this all go away more than I trust Z. Dex swears he is the best cleaner in the country.”
A cleaner.
His mysterious job has a title.
If only I didn’t already have a good idea of what his job duties entail.
Chapter Six
Z
Set fire to his soul.
I will always remember those words my father used to say before he disposed of a body. He didn’t take what he did lightly, and he made damn sure I didn’t as well. I’ve kept those words with me, and I honor their sentiment each and every time I have to walk into darkness in order to get clean.
We are taking their last chance of salvation by cutting their body into tiny pieces. We are stealing their salvation.
Setting fire to their souls.
Though I can nearly do this job blindfolded at this point, I will never forget the hell and consequence that I dance in during this task.
I crack my neck and stretch my spine as I work on putting the last of JV’s body parts into bags. My hands ache from hacking through bone for hours. My thighs burn from being in a crouching position for so long, and my gut churns from having to stare at an asshole rapist for hours on end.
And my mind… distracted.
Thinking of Rowan and hoping she’s able to get some sleep, worrying about her cuts, hoping her head is fine and I didn’t ignore a concussion. Yes, the woman is getting in the way of my work. Seeing her in the shower is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. The visual will never go away, though I’m not sure I want it to.
I’m usually calm, collected. But tonight, I’ve been paranoid, jumpy, uneasy. Shadows are spooking me, and I’m constantly holding my breath in anticipation of shit falling apart at any moment. Taking the trash to the incinerator on the thirteenth floor hasn’t been easy as I worried someone would see me and question why I had to make repeated trips in the elevator with large plastic bags in hand. Tonight is a reminder, however, just how much forethought my father had on insisting an incinerator be constructed on that level for exactly this reason. Long gone are the days of wrapping a body in a piece of tarp and dumping it into the Hudson without anyone questioning.
My father really did have it easier than me back in the day, but it’s almost like he knew that I’d be faced with greater challenges as the future progressed. DNA technology, savvy detectives, and the fact that even housewives watch crime shows and listen to podcasts makes everyone an expert on what I do.
And JV’s case is even more complicated. I’m not just going to have to hide his body from the police. I have to conceal his death—and The Whitney’s involvement with it—from the goddamn mafia. Cops I can handle. Mafia will make me work for it.
I was sloppier than normal when I first entered the scene. Rowan—and caring about her physical as well as mental well-being—made me act in a less professional manner. This room is far more contaminated than I’d normally allow to happen which is really putting me to task and kicking my ass tonight. I made newbie mistakes, but fortunately my years of training have given me the tools and knowledge on how to rectify them.
There isn’t much left of JV on the floor when I hear Dex open the door and enter.
“Jesus,” I hear him say under his breath. The man’s not immune to the sight of death but seeing nothing but a chunk of torso and a thigh left on the floor isn’t a greeting anyone should have to face.
I wipe my brow with the back of my hand and stand. My knees pop as I do, and my tailbone screams in agony. “This one kicked my ass.”
“You sure the man was JV?” Dex asks as he approaches, his eyes still on the bloody torso.
“His head is already in the incinerator, or I’d show you,” I say as I reach for a water bottle to drink from.
Dex’s eyes snap to mine. “This isn’t a joke.”
“Did I say it was?” I can see Dex is pissed, but I don’t really care. I’ve had one hell of a night, and I’m not in the mood to have him question me.
“This is a fucked-up situation,” he says, but not really to me. He begins pacing back and forth, and I can practically hear the thoughts swirling in his head.
“Rowan is in my room resting,” I say.