Mary Jane Aguayo sang along with the Spanish music as she swayed in the upstairs bathroom of her small home. In a red lace lingerie set, she puckered her crimson glossed lips with an hour left to prepare for her papi—sugar daddy. The light on the curling iron beeped. She pulled down a section of her thick, black hair and began to twirl it around the rod, so it would be perfect for him.

A faint ringing sound reached the bathroom door. Mary Jane pursed her lips. She had an hour to go, and Papi was never on time. The doorbell rang again. Mary Jane unclamped her hair, leaving the one perfect spiral underneath.

“If I’m not presentable, then you came too early,” she mumbled to herself. Her ample hips caught the rhythm of the quick mariachi music while she ambled down the wooden stairway. At the front door, Mary Jane plastered a fake smile across her face, then a genuine curl ticked up the edges of her thick lips as she thought about his money. He had a big mouth that he used for all the wrong reasons—like complaining—but his pockets were bigger. She opened the door.

“Papi…” Mary Jane pressed back on the heels of her stilettos, so as not to fall into the stranger. The man before her had taken up the entire space of the doorframe. Though she was confused by his sudden close proximity, she eyed his muscular build.

“Uh…” She attempted to speak English, knowing that the stranger wasn’t Mexican. An unsettling feeling churned low in her abdomen. Mary Jane glanced around. With the rose bushes that pushed all the way up to the stairs, her neighbors would have to be right in front of her house to notice what was going on. In addition, she had no neighbors across from her, except for an empty field.

“Mary Jane?” The unexpected visitor uttered her name as if he’d known her for a lifetime and loved her even longer. His tone set her at ease. Too bad he didn’t look rich enough in jeans, a white undershirt, and scuffed steel-toe shoes. If one could drink in looks, then she’d be drunk already.

“Me no speak, eh…English.” With a friendly smile, she tried to shut the door on the stranger. His steel-toe boot wedged between the space.

Mary Jane’s deep browns burned with rage. She spouted off in a mix of English and Spanish, “You loco—”

Searing pain as hot as lava pierced her chest. It took an eternity to realize she’d been stabbed. The pointed object jabbed into her chest, her abdomen, and shoulder blade in quick succession. Her knees crumbled. The stranger tried to hold her by the shoulders and let her fall gracefully to the floor.

Tears burned her eyes as the pain subsided and total shock took over. And then her scalp stung sharply as she was dragged.

Blood smeared across the wooden floor, leaving a trail of pain, sadness, and confusion as her murderer pulled her along the living room floor and behind the couch.

Jake watched Mary Jane intently. The rage boiling within his veins felt awkward. This was not enjoyable, not a single bit. Setting aside his feelings, Jake took in her peaceful face. Her breath was shallow; the screwdriver hadn’t finished her off.

More time would help. He needed more time with her. Every single time she died…he stopped his rushing thoughts with a quick shake of his head. As if the mere act eased the mental torment.

His obsession was with killing Mary Jane.

He always told himself to be patient, take his time before murdering her. Patience was a necessity he’d all but forget the moment his eyes would land on hers.

“We never have enough time, do we?” Jake sighed.

Her pretty little mouth opened. He reached over and swiped a hand across her lips. He preferred the natural color not the painted red stuff.

Mary Jane began to pant. The shock, so vivid in her eyes, caused him to smile.

“See how I save you, MJ,” he told her. “This isn’t the life for you. They won’t bother you anymore.”

“I spent a lotta money on you. Dolled you up! Let you take pretty pictures. This is the thanks I get?” Beasley’s fleshy fingers coiled through Mary Jane’s hair. They were at the mansion in his master suite. There were professional photography cameras and lights all around. They’d just finished the photo segment that he planned on having flyers for and posting on billboards around the state.

Jake stood at the door. His teeth gritted as Beasley pushed Mary Jane back on his bed. Her arms flew, hitting him wherever she could. Somehow, he turned her around. Her face slammed into the mattress.

Hands balled into fists, Jake shouted, “Beasley! You, just spent a fortune on the girl.”

Beasley let go. She gagged and swallowed air. And then grabbed the silk sheets from the bed and wrapped them around her body. Jake waited for her to look his way, meet his gaze. The sweet look in her eye was what he survived off of; he thrived off saving her. crouched onto the ground, not the strong woman his mind had conjured up.

Mary Jane should’ve been stronger. Albeit, he’d always save her if necessary, but she was badass. They were assassins. This was their mission. Like a fucking movie, they had to work Beasley, and then he’d ultimately save her from Beasley—

But there are greater threats another voice whispered in his mind.

Jake disregarded that thought. Beasley gave her one last look before storming out of the room.

“Come with me, MJ. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m Jake.” He held out his hand. This moment filled him with elation. Saving her. It hurt his heart that she always forgot about it, but he’d saved her a million times.

Her gaze met his. Not with those sweet, confident eyes, but with a dark rage. She gritted her teeth. “I will—”

“Kill me,” he finished her sentence. “Shit, I deserve to die a hundred deaths.” He placed a finger to his temple. “But bad people don’t go down easily, sweetheart. And you, darling, are the luckiest broad to step foot into The Petting Zoo. From today on, you have me.”

Jake blinked as the memory began to fade away. He was sitting beside her, on the floor, leaning against the back of the couch. This was all the comfort he was able to provide, his closeness.

Blood began to pool at her abdomen.

There it was, the slight tremor. She still lived.

“I’ll always save you from them, Mary Jane.” He stood.

Jake rubbed his hand onto a crocheted blanket draped over the back of the couch. Red tarnished the vibrant blues, oranges, and purples of the soft material. He turned away from her, slowly fading away and looked at the photos on the side table. One, in particular, caught his eyes as Mary Jane lay dying on the floor. It was the reason he’d dragged her body over, to get a closer look. He picked it up. An eight by eleven of the beautiful Latina, her lips puckered in a kiss that had to be for the photographer. His thumb smeared Mary Jane’s blood over her face in the frame, obstructing her view. He placed the photo down and picked up the phone.

He dialed nine-one-one.

The dispatch replied promptly. “What’s your emergency?”

“The name is Jake. And I’m killing Mary Jane…again.”

“Sir–”

Jake pressed END.

A small vibration came from the pocket of Jake’s pants. He grumbled, not really wanting to answer the phone, but unbeknownst to him, his brain was prewired to cooperate.

UNKNOWN: Did you kill her?

JAKE: Working on it. Can I?

JAKE: Or do you want something else?

This should’ve been a peaceful time for him. This ritual of allowing Mary Jane to rest in peace for all time, but the new boss had started the micromanagement bullshit when Peter went to jail.

UNKNOWN: Get it done.

Jake’s eyelid twitched. He shoved the phone back into his jeans pocket. He picked up the ceramic clay sun from the end table and weighed its heaviness in his hand. With both hands, he raised it high. Swiftly, he brought it down on Mary Jane’s face with a loud crunch. He did it again and again. The slushing sound of her brain and skull being crushed helped his heart rate slow.

The breathing stopped.

The innocent could finally rest in peace.

For now.