Continuation of day 19

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It shouldn’t have been so easy to kill a man.

One minute, they were arguing in her kitchen.

“You don’t own me, woman, it’s none of your business.”

Except it was, it was, he was hers, only hers, and Destiny wasn’t one to share.

Next moment, she was screaming at him, and he was backhanding her into the wall. There were knives hung neatly on a plaque on the wall.

And yet a moment after, she was standing, knife in hand, over his gurgling, bleeding body. Three stab wounds. Three streams of blood oozing into a single puddle on the floor.

He was still alive, but only technically, and there was something repulsive about the way his eyes were open wide, boring into her in shock.

Another drop of blood from the knife hit the floor, and Destiny hastily threw the knife into the sink.

It was fine, she was fine. She just needed to focus and think.

There were some empty potato sacks in the storeroom, and an axe in the courtyard. Her neighbors should all be at work at that time of day, and she had no tenants still. The nearest canal was maybe a twenty-minute walk away, and if she snuck out during the night…

There was a chuckle from the door, an Destiny froze.

No – no, anything but this. She wasn’t going to prison, not for this, not for that useless piece of shit or his sad wench –

“I don’t suppose you need help with this?” The man in her doorway looked pleasant enough, maybe even too pleasant for the kind of place Destiny owns. He took off his hat and ducked down to enter into the kitchen, his smile making Destiny take a step back.

“Quite a mess you’ve made,” he observed casually, as if they were talking about a naughty chicken. “But I have to applaud your strength.”

“What do you want?” Destiny asked tersely, backing to the sink where she knew her weapon to be. She didn’t take it though. For some reason, she didn’t think it was a fight she could win.

“I happen to be in need of lodgings, and I noticed you have rooms for rent. I also require… a certain amount of discretion regarding my stay.”

He came closer, looming over her. He’d stepped straight through the puddle of blood, uncaring that he was tracking it all over the kitchen on his expensive-looking shoes.

“I happen to be good with messes,” he breathed euphorically into her ear. “Are you?”

His voice dragged ice across her spine.

“How many rooms do you need?” All her strength goes to making sure her voice didn’t shake.

“Two, if you can spare them,” he said, calm and pleasant again.

“They’re yours, then. What my tenants do, is none of my business.”

He grinned. “I knew I came to the right place,” he intones and drops his bag onto one of her chairs. “Now, then.”

He opens the bag to reveal an array of bottles and vials. His smile turns feral again.

“I’m going to need to borrow your bathtub.”