red spade • h.s.

one.

11:36 PM.

I'm late.

Curses fly under my breath as the cold water runs over my crimson hands.  I scrub at the streaks of blood on my body and face, turning the skin raw and irritated.

"I knew I should've used gloves," I mutter quietly to myself. Red splotches start to appear at the bottom of the sink as the blood drips onto the marble. The color of my flesh returning as the blood starts to wash off.

I give my watch another look.

11:39 PM.

With hasty motions, I quickly dry my hands off on a paper towel, urging myself to move faster. There's still red locked under my fingernails and around my cuticles, but I could care less.

What I did care about was the look I was going to get from my boss when I arrived fifteen minutes late.

The dark halls of the house are silent, with only the sound of my feet clicking down the hallways. My long shadow follows me, sweeping across marble floors as I make my way to the living room. My hand slides across the railing of the circular stairs adorned with gold embellishments. Seemed like an unnecessary touch if you asked me. Just another way that the rich flaunt their wealth.

Not that it mattered anyway. The man was dead. And knowing his wife, she'll start planning new ways to decorate the minute after his funeral. Find some way to make it more disgustingly extravagant than it already is.

I grab my purse from the couch and slip on each of my heels. Searching through my purse, I try to look for my keys, but they're nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

They're not in my pockets either as I pat my jeans. My movements are frantic as I turn over all the throw pillows and cushions on the couch. Under the newspapers and magazines on the coffee table.

"This what you're looking for?"

My head turns towards the voice.

Cain's tall figure stands, leaning against the garage door, where he most likely dragged the dead body to the trunk of his car. Sure enough, my keys dangle from his hand and he gives me a smug smile.

He looks tired, the tattoos covering his neck and wrists gleaming with sweat. His eyes are clouded and his hair is messy from dragging his hand through it so many times earlier.

"Why do you have my keys?" I scowl as I rush over to take them from his hands. The metal clinks in my hand as I grab it.

He shrugs, "They fell out of your pocket while you were... you know." He makes a lazy motion of stabbing the air.

Despite myself, I smile. "Right," I turn towards the entrance, "Well I gotta go, I'm late to a meeting with Lucio."

"A meeting?" he frowns, pushing himself off the door, "What did you do wrong this time?"

I flash him a sarcastic grin, "Shut up, asshole." I pause, "He didn't tell me anything about it this time."

His eyebrows raise. In concern or amusement, I can't tell. "Must be something really bad then."

I ignore him, "Take care of the clean-up for me, will you?" My feet rush me to the front doors.

He looks at me, frown growing increasingly deeper.
"You know that clean-up is my least favorite," his eyes narrow at me.

"Me too," I grin up at him, "Which is why you're gonna do it."

A defeated sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head, "Whatever, just get going before I change my mind."