Body Tox (The Bodies duet #1)

Chapter 3

I couldn’t help but laugh when the ‘unavailable’ strip read across my phone screen. Too bad for the Princess that I’d already hacked my way into her phone.

Whistling, I scrolled through a multitude of vapid messages to her little friends, pathetic boy toys, and finally, her dear old Daddy.

Besides, there wasn’t much to see. She was clearly a wild child who didn’t sit still. I gathered that much by the fact that she drowned the damn mermaid in the restaurant. I had to admit that the encounter was nothing I’d expected. I thought I was going to be guarding some fucking teenage twat who just wanted to shop all fucking day.

Instead, I found a dangerous-edged woman who was dressed like a fucking killer. I had to beat my dick with a menu when she first popped in. Her white hair looked like snow, and the contrast to her icy eyes wasn’t a damn fair combination. Save some fucking beauty for someone who didn’t have a hit on them, why don’t you.

As I flipped through her bank accounts, the amount of zeros this bitch had made me sick. It made sense why her target tag was so high, and after seeing this, I would be asking for much more than I had been offered.

Pocketing the replica of the mark’s phone, I stared at her black and white photo on my screen. One smooth red line slashed over her eyes, erasing them. This was how all the marks were tagged: a photo, a mark of red over their eyes, and a price.

Blood for blood.

A call came through, and I veered off the sidewalk in an area to listen. A distorted voice began speaking. The modulated words made it impossible to distinguish sex, age, and accent.

“Congratulations Asher Ballard. My contacts confirm that you have been approved for the position of the target’s bodyguard. Continue the mission and show proof of kill. Do not fail me.”

The warped tones faded, and I stared at her picture again. Those icy eyes were ethereal—a mystery hidden in the depths alone.

Echo Thea Svenson, what an interesting mark you’ve turned out to be.

I got to my destination and hollered at Tony in the back.

“I need some sausage, my man.”

Tony chuckled and said the same dumbass innuendo he did every time I bought meat from this fool.

“Didn’t know you swung that way, Boy.”

Hardy har har. Great dad joke, ya old fuck.

“I am mysterious. What can I say?”

Tony laughed his belly roll chortle and prepared the thick links. I thanked the dorky butcher and walked back into the streets, the links of sausage dangling from my grip.

I pulled my hood over my head and turned down the alley to the fancy fucking estates. Spotting the massive gate at the entrance, I sighed. There were no usable side holes to squeeze into, and gates were always a bitch to jump and left gashes on my knees.

I took a deep breath and jumped, hiking over the wrought iron metal with the spiky top. As I figured, It ripped the fabric on my leg and sliced into my thigh. Hissing from the wound, I pulled my mask over my face, the scent of my blood dulled.

Not now. Deep breaths. Just keep fucking walking.

I would likely scare any fucking rich asshole who saw me loitering, but I couldn’t chance it. There were too many mask kinks nowadays.

Fucking social media…

It never hurt to be too careful. Making sure I blended in with the night, I walked along the windy little cobblestone paths, chucking the meat from the bag to the frothing dogs on both sides of the invisible fences. There was a total of six fucking guard dogs in this wing, and I nearly ran out of sausages for the fuckers.

Befriending the brutal bitches came in handy when staking out a property of a target. One of the most vicious of breeds charged me, and I nearly lost my damn hand as it snatched the meat and took off.

Fucking hell, Chihuahuas were the devil’s mutts.

I finally spotted the mark’s house. The gate around it was a concrete fortress. Getting inside wouldn’t be easy. Seating my ass in the bushes beside the huge ass mansion, I waited until a gardener was milling about, snipping weeds like his life depended on it.

I wasn’t above killing the help because valuable information was part of the mission.

Get the information, and get the girl.

Emerging from the darkness, I pushed my half-skull mask from my face. “Good evening.”

His eyes widened, and he looked down at his small shovel, busying himself with the flower pot beside the home. I stayed out of sight of the camera’s view, standing directly underneath it.

“Miss Svenson left her phone. I mean to return it,” I said, flashing the sparkly pink bedazzled replicated cell phone.

The man peeked out from under his hat, still hesitant to speak.

Was he from another country?

I studied the man’s features, guessing he was of Spanish heritage, and when I repeated my purpose to him in fluent Spanish, he finally looked up at me. We were taught many languages, but I couldn’t remember shit except Spanish.

“Si, Miss Svenson is not home…”

I looked around the area and smiled warmly at the man.

“I will just leave it with her father then. Is he home?”

The gardener shook his head.

Smiling wider, unable to hide my intentions, I bowed to the little gardener and walked away as if leaving the premises. But when he wasn’t looking, I sauntered back to the maze that was covered with fucking vintage-rich-people-shit that would be a wet dream to a homeless man. The owner had a rose garden and an oversized, shining fountain. The items looked like they were from a goddamn magazine. It made me sick.

Vines were extending from the garden, roping up to the second and third floors of the house.

I tested my foot on the ivy, and after a practice tug proved to keep me from dying at least, I linked my fingers through the rope-like weed and pulled myself up. Feeling like some prince scaling a building, I laughed my ass off as I climbed. It was out of sight from the cameras that extended the length of the bottom floor.

I finally found a window that I could squeeze my ass through. What was it with rich people and not locking shit? They think they are untouchable.

Guess again, Little Wraith.

I slipped into the bathroom and dropped onto my thigh. It still hurt like a bitch from the gate.

“Not making it easy for me, huh, Little Wraith?” I tsked in the dark hallway, trailing my finger around the wall and keeping my distance from the internal camera’s viewpoints.

These people were certainly paranoid. I was doing a fucking ninja dance just to avoid being spotted.

A bright pink door at the end of the hall practically blinded my ass from the awful neon color, and I had a good feeling by the familiar perfume permeating through the crack that this was her room.

What could the vain princess be hiding in her castle?

I plopped my ass on her poofy mattress, knocking gaudy looking throw pillows off the head of the bed. There were collage pictures on powder pink walls. They looked like students. If I had to guess, this woman was college-age, and these were classmates.

Plucking a photo from the wall, I eyed the date on the picture. Hmmm…it was from last year. So, she was likely a sophomore in college. Maybe some of her shit in here would give me an idea of what she was studying in school. Any insight into her prim little life would help me eliminate it.

I walked around the room, ignoring the dead insects pinned to the wall, an interesting hobby, and the fuzzy bean bag chair in what looked like a sex dungeon reading corner. I picked up a book from one of the shelves and flipped to a random page.

Fucking unrealistic sex scene. Women got their jollies off to fourteen-inch cocks and vampires?

Her vanity held a ton of makeup, jewelry, and that sweet yet spicy perfume I’d smelled on her. Curiosity hit, and I picked up the intricate bottle of clear liquid, bringing it to my nose and spraying it in the air.

It wasn’t like most of the cheap perfume I’d smelled on women daily, but there was a difference in the way it smelled in the air versus on her. Frowning, I set down the bottle and continued my search.

A laptop was on the desk beside the vanity, so I opened it. The fucking passcode was protected, of course. I growled in frustration and typed in some random shit, names of classmates from the photos, and notes in her phone.

Nothing worked, but it was worth a try.

As I opened a door on the far wall, a huge ass closet lay in front of me. There were a shit ton of bright-ass colored clothes and shoes that looked like a goddamn Funfetti monster had thrown up.

I found a sequined black backpack and shuffled through the contents inside. Hand sanitizer, mace—hmmm, interesting—frilly pencils and pens, and folders and books organized inside the bag. I had to admit I was surprised to see that the study material the target was learning about was boring-normal-girl shit—designing, sewing, crafting, and pottery.

A ‘seamstress in training’ dresses like she did? Times sure have changed since I went to college.

Maybe I was just getting fucking old, but the thought of holding a tiny ass needle to loop string together a thousand times just made me shake. I’d perfected torture techniques, could pinpoint any artery or vein in the body, and knew about most places to make it hurt but not kill someone.

But the thought of holding a needle to create rather than destroy seemed so foreign. It took a lot of finesse to manage that task, and I needed to remind myself that my mark was good with her hands.

A click of a door closing echoed throughout the room, and I cursed. I had been too busy nosing through shit that I’d missed the sounds of someone entering the home. Now, clear giggles and moans filled the hallway.

I reached forward and closed the closet door with just a slight crack of the old school blinds opened to view outside.

Finding shadows in the array of colors was hard, but I managed to hide behind a dress bag and push my back against the wall with the perfect view of the bedroom outside through the slats.

I waited for the woman and some mindless fuck boy to smash through the room, so when another female was the one making the giggling moans and ripping at the clothing of my target, I had to cover my mouth to keep my surprise silent.

I tried to get a look at the dark-haired woman rolling around with the target. She didn’t look familiar from any photographs on that collage wall. Maybe this was a fling?

The way the women moved in unison, the familiar dance of passion, made me second guess my initial thought.

That begged the question—who the fuck was the target hiding?

My target became more interesting as I uncovered the masks she hid behind. What would I find next?