Where’s Molly

Present
2022

“Don’t let the job title deter you, man. She may be a pig farmer, but she’s fucking hot as hell,” Eli says from the other end of the phone. “I’ll admit, she’s showed up in a few of my fantasies when I—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll drive off the fucking road,” I growl, curling my lip in disgust.

As if I give a fuck about who the dickhead jacks off to. I’ll sooner cut off his dick before I listen to him talk about what he does to it.

“I’m just sayin’, man. Sexy as fuck.”

“Noted,” I respond tonelessly.

Don’t really give a fuck what she looks like, either. The only thing I’m concerned with is dropping off the two dead assholes in my trunk.

Eli’s the one who normally takes care of the drops, until he went and got himself shot in the side. Now, he’s on bed rest for six weeks, and I was hired to fill in until he recovers.

I’m no stranger to making criminals disappear, though my methods tend to be very different. And less… messy.

“I’ll let Legion know when the job’s done. Rest up and leave your goddamn dick alone. I don’t want to be hauling around dead bodies longer than I need to,” I grumble, then click off the phone. The line goes dead, finally giving me some peace and fucking quiet.

His response wasn’t important, anyway.

The moon guides me down the barren dirt road, my headlights switched off. While this pig farmer supposedly doesn’t have a neighbor for miles, I still like to take extra precautions.

My job relies on my ability to cover my bases, and I certainly won’t sacrifice that now when there are two corpses rotting in my car.

After a few more minutes, I arrive at a lone ranch house nestled beside a massive barn, sitting on over a hundred acres of land. At the entrance of the driveway is an old sign that reads Paladin Farm.

The corner of my lip quirks as I recall what ‘paladin’ means. How noble.

There’s a light shining through a single window from her house and a soft glow emitting from the barn. Otherwise, it’s pitch-black out here, allowing an unobstructed view of the Milky Way and its star systems.

I stop by the barn just as a shadowed figure emerges from its depths. She stands at the entrance, hands on her hips as she watches me approach.

Legion warned her that I was coming in Eli’s place, yet based on the stiff set of her shoulders and her tapping foot, she’s on edge.

Rightfully so.

The minute I step out of my car, I’m greeted with the chilly March breeze and her smooth, angelic voice.

“You’re here for the delivery?”

My heart pauses, and a distinct part of my brain is blaring an alarm. I’ve heard thousands of women’s voices over the years, but that voice—I swear it’s familiar.

“Last time I checked,” I return dryly, narrowing my eyes to see her better, and failing.

She hums, clearly unimpressed with my answer.

“Two bodies in the trunk,” I inform.

“Bring ’em in,” she clips, before pivoting and disappearing into the barn.

Digging in my pocket, I pull out a pack of nicotine gum and pop one in my mouth. Then, I open the trunk, curling my lip at the abhorrent smell that wafts from within.

They’re already beginning to bloat.

I carry the first body in the barn, the aroma from the pigs no better. It’s much bigger on the inside with smooth concrete flooring. Three pens are to my right, with five large, fat pigs dispersed between them. On the other side is the woman, her back to me as she dresses head to toe in a bright yellow hazmat suit.

Without looking back, she points to an expansive metal table with hair clippers, a large metal contraption with a few buttons, pliers, and a Sawzall laying atop it. “Lay them right there.”

I do as she says while she begins slipping on oversized rubber gloves that reach up to her elbows.

“I‘m going to grab the other one,” I say, regarding her closely.

She’s reserved, and though she doesn’t watch me with her eyes, I can sense that she knows exactly where I am, aware of every movement I make.

A bead of sweat forms on my brow as I carry in the second man, dropping him on the table next to the other.

Thick, opaque plastic covers the wall in front of her setup, descending to the floor, then across it, reaching the pens.

Seems she also likes to cover her bases.

Protective glasses rim her eyes as she grabs the hair clippers. She won’t look directly at me, and a few strands of dark brown curly hair frame her face and hide her features, preventing me from getting a good look at her.

“I got it from here,” she says woodenly.

I don’t answer, too intent on staring at her to see if my hunch is right.

She sighs, and finally turns to look at me, stealing my breath. Even beneath the large protective glasses, I recognize her immediately. There’s no mistaking that fucking scar.

She has big emerald green eyes, a gap below her irises that’s always given her a naturally seductive stare. And right below the right one is a permanent white, slightly raised bite mark. A full mouth of teeth scarred into her olive skin. How she got it—I still don’t know. But it’s evident it’s not a pretty story.

She’s older but doesn’t look much different, only more mature. However, the light brown freckles that are smattered across her cheeks and the button nose soften her features. Nine years ago, I told myself I’d count them, but I never got the chance to finish.

I intend to remedy that.

Her eyes widen, recognition flashing within them. She stumbles back, dropping the hair clippers on the table before bumping into it, evoking a god-awful sound from the metal legs grinding against the floor. Even now, she still resembles a frightened cat.

“Cage? What are you doing here?” she snaps, then urgently peers around me as if I were hiding a whole other person up my ass.

“Making a drop,” I answer slowly, my brow pinching with confusion. “You’re supposed to be living in Alaska. I put you in Alaska.” My tone is accusatory, but I’m pissed.

The lengths I go through to make people disappear are fucking tedious as hell. It feels like a slap in the face to have a person I killed standing right in front of me—not in Alaska.

That’s not why you’re angry.

The intrusive voice in my head can go fuck itself.

She glances around nervously. “I didn’t like it there.”

The muscle in my jaw tics. “What are you doing here, Molly?”

She rears back, as if I backhanded her across the cheek.

“That’s not my name anymore.”

“This isn’t supposed to be your state of residence either, yet here we are.”

She narrows her eyes, fire unleashing within the depths of her irises. “Why do you care? I hired you for a job. You did the job. What I do is no longer your concern.”

She’s right.

If any other client I made disappear were to materialize in front of me, I’d tell them it’ll cost triple to make them disappear a second time. But whatever happens to them in the meantime isn’t my fucking problem.

Except, Molly isn’t like the other clients I’ve had.

Mainly because I fucked her thoroughly before I gave her a brand-new identity. Then, she disappeared on me—just like she was supposed to.

And it fucking enraged me.

Now, she stares at me like a tiny rabbit caught in a trap, squealing to be freed.

She escaped me once, and I let her.

I won’t allow it a second time.