Taboo Unchained(25)

“Put the gloves on, Miss Holiday.” I toss a pair of the yellow gloves at her chest and move back to the couch, peeling the afghan away and exposing the full, bloody glory of Mark's corpse. He has multiple stab wounds – most of which originate around the area of his crotch. There are a few well-placed ones on the left side of his chest, and a clean gash to the throat. From my observations, I get a picture of wild frenzy followed by cool calculated risk. Scary. Audra Holiday really is a beast.

“You can just call me Audra. And you're Lucas, right? Nice to fucking meet you.” Audra steps up beside me, snapping the gloves over her delicate hands. She takes a deep breath and starts with step one of her foray into the darkness – deferring to me. “So, what's the plan?”

I hand her the garbage bags.

“Unfortunately, neither you nor I have a large vehicle. Much as I'd like to conceal Mark in a less conspicuous wrapping, we don't have much choice. Cover him in the bags and tape them up with this.” I move over to the built-in wood cabinets next to the fireplace and pull out a roll of duct tape. This is where I keep all of my work supplies, and duct tape is a very essential part of my life. I go through three or four rolls a month, at least. Faux kidnappings, pretend muggings, rape role play. All good places for this sinfully black tape. Believe it or not, kids, duct tape was not invented so you could make trashy little wallets and hideous handbags out of it.

I toss the roll to Audra, noticing the slight sheen of sweat on her face, the ashen quality of her skin.

“Lesson one, Audra,” I begin, stressing her name, enjoying the way it sizzles off the tip of my tongue like an ember. “Real monsters clean up their own messes. If you're ballsy enough to do the deed, you're adult enough to take responsibility for it.”

Without waiting for a reply, I turn off the porch light and step outside, closing the door behind me. As expected, it's dead silent out here. The joggers and early bird gardeners won't be up for at least another hour. If we can get Mark in the car and get on our way before then, we'll be ahead of the game. Right now, though, I have a very specific mission in mind.

Robbie.

My throat gets tight, but I don't react the way I want to. I don't punch the wall of the house or start tearing the ivy from the lattice work. I don't smash the porch light or take a rock from the garden and break the window of my car. All of the above sounds good when I think of my neighbor and her bright, blue eyes. Round, speckled with spots of darker color, like a robin's egg. Her brunette hair is like chocolate, and her lips like strawberries. A feast. That's what Robbie Carrell is. A fucking feast. One that I can never partake in.

I move across the yard and hop the small fence between our properties, edging along the side of the house until I get to the backyard. I tell myself I'm only checking on Robbie because she's a real threat, an unknown. Like Audra Holiday, Robbie Carrell is one of only a handful of people who've managed to surprise me. Her confession is still ringing in my ears, echoing around my skull and making me question myself.

I don't like it. Not one bit.

I don't want to move, but if Robbie becomes an issue, I will. Hopefully this is just a little crush, one of the fleeting whims that comes with being a teenager. Somehow, though, I don't think that it is.

I find a ladder, carefully positioned beneath a window, one that still has the lights on. If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was an invitation. More than likely it's there because Robbie's father's been on the roof lately, making repairs. It would be so easy to climb up the rungs, look in her window and find out for sure what she's up to. Instead, I grab a rock from the pebbled pathway and toss it at the glass. A wave of nostalgia washes over me, like I'm drenched in black and white and old romanticism, like if we were in another place or another time, Robbie and I could be lovers.

I try not to scoff as I duck behind a rather robust hazelnut bush, pausing with one knee in the dirt. It only takes a split second for Robbie to come to the window. She's illuminated by the golden glow of her bedroom light, limned in a ring of brightness that makes her shimmer like an angel. If Robbie is indeed an angel, then I am at least a demon, if not the Devil himself.

My heart picks up the pace, teasing me with an erratic thumping I haven't felt in years. Goddamn it, Robbie. She's dressed much more casually than I've ever seen her, in a white shift with a low neckline, dripping with lace. Elegant, understated. Sinfully sexy. If I'd seen Robbie dressed like this before, I wouldn't have underestimated her age. Still. I pinch my wrist with my nails, drawing blood. Just because she's legal doesn't mean it's acceptable for me to lust after her. I want to see that childlike innocence in Robbie. It gives me hope for the world. Even her confession was painfully innocent. Luke, I like you.