𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲
𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗂𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾

𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱| 𝟢𝟨.𝟤𝟨.𝟤𝟢
𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱| 𝗇/𝖺
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁| 𝟣𝟢𝟦𝟥
𝘁𝘄| 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋,
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗅 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾
𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀| 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗌
𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝗅𝗈𝖾́ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄

𝗺𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗶, 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮
𝖺 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋
𝟣:𝟦𝟩 𝖺𝗆

𝗛𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝗠𝗘𝗧 𝗖𝗛𝗟𝗢𝗘́ 𝗢𝗡𝗖𝗘 before, at Nathan's place in Bath. It was years ago, before he even really knew what any of it was.

Hell, the rest of them didn't either.

Nathan was as nonchalant as ever, smoking in his usual spot overlooking the garden. Haden had heard his voice before, and seen glimpses of him in video chats with Richie. But he was a bit underwhelming in person: soft curls and neatly trimmed stubble. And persistent smile lines carved into his tan—not very characteristic of a killer, but maybe that was the point.

"Are you from Brooklyn?"

Haden didn't realize he was speaking to him at first. "Uh—yeah, I am," he said causally.

Nathan nodded slowly and exhaled, cigarette smoke perforating the air. "Richie picked a good one, then." He noted Haden's critical expression, which caused him to laugh. "Your accent's a bit of a give away," he explained. "I am too—from New York, anyway...I just—" Nathan sighed, almost inaudibly "—haven't been home in a while."

Richie snorted from where he was lounging to Haden's right, busy pouring himself another drink. "Why anyone would ever want to spend more time than necessary in that dismissal city is beyond me. It's so fucking grey, and it always—" he made a face "—smells."

"And so does that bloody awful cologne you wear, but you don't hear me complaining," came a new voice.

This earned another snort from Richie. "Damn, you really don't let me breathe, you do Clo?"

Haden turned sharply to find a pretty blonde in a slip dress standing behind Richie, leaning over the chair so that her mouth was inches from his ear.

The girl couldn't help herself. "Maybe you'd be able to if it weren't for—"

"The cologne?" Richie interjected, his smug expression diminished as Chloé took the drink from his hand, clamoring over the couch to sit next to him. They were comfortably close—perhaps a little more than a friendly distance. Haden could see Nathan out of the corner of his eye, who was looking as if he were trying to decide what to make of the two of them.

"Play nice, Clo," Nathan finally said, flicking the ashes of his cigarette. He sounded amused. "You'll scare our guest off with that sharp tongue of yours."

The girl—apparently named Clo—studied Haden critically, which made his stomach turn. She was pretty, no doubt, but her eyes didn't match the rest of her. They were cold and calculating—Nathan might not have had the bearings of a killer, but Chloé was an entirely different story.

Yeah, she was going to be a problem.

It was surprisingly cool for a night in Miami, but especially so down near the water. Haden was crouched under the boardwalk, Chloé a few feet away, half-shrouded in darkness. She shuffled awkwardly on gloved hands and knees, bending over a crumpled heap in the sand.

Haden grimaced as Chloé rolled the body onto the plastic sheet, as calmly and patiently as someone doing yard work. He wasn't one to shy away from a little blood, but Chloé's composure was unsettling.

"Mm—didn't peg you as the squeamish type," Chloé had stopped her work to gauge his reaction. "It's like I've got Cam with me or something."

Haden tried to form a retort, but came up empty, slumping down in the sand instead. She grinned at him like it was funny, spreading her hands. The blood on her gloves was bluish in the harsh moonlight.

"I'm not," he said. "Don't know where you got that from. I was doing just fine on my own."

Chloé laughed, tucking the loose plastic neatly under the body. "Right. Iz said you didn't use a silencer during the Venezuela job. Three shots; blood all over the place—you're all over the place. No wonder Rich asked me to come back."

Haden's lips parted, the words not forming right away. "...You sure that's the only reason?"

"What're talking about?" she demanded. "Did he say something to you?"

The man hesitated. The way Chloé looked at him was reminiscent of a snake contemplating eating a baby bird. He chose his next words very carefully. "He didn't say anything, but he was probably sick and tired of the three of us." Haden grinned mischievously."That, and he—how do you say it in England—fancies you."

"Rich?" Chloé let out a shallow, nervous laugh. Haden was pretty sure that if it were daylight, he'd have seen her blush. "You're bloody insane. It's not like that."

"Yeah? Then what is it like? You're seriously not gonna tell me you and Richie never...you know."

Chloé glared at him. "Perv. Can you at least try and make yourself useful? I can't find any rocks. I think we're too far down the beach..." Her voice trailed off as she began to search around in the sand near her feet.

"...So," he joked. "This was your plan all along? Get me alone at night on the beach and bash my skull in with a rock? Not bad, but the bag looks a little small for me, Clo."

"They're for the body, idiot—to weigh down the bag. Otherwise it won't sink properly." She nudged the wrapped body with her foot. "I have a hard time believing dad taught you anything."

Haden raised an eyebrow, grudgingly helping her to dig around. "Sorry—my dad used to teach me shit like changing tires how to throw a football—not carving people up. So, forgive me," he tossed her a rock.

"Oh—don't tell me you're growing a conscious," Chloé caught it, placing it carefully in the depths of the body bag.

Haden spread his hands apologetically. "I'm dumping a body with Chloé Laurent—I'd say it's a little too late for that."

♡︎