Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“What about Elliott?” I ask.
“Elliott will be protected. But these bastards killed Peter, and Peter saved my brother’s life.” Ash’s grip tightens on his glass. “Some debts can only be paid in blood.”
The pact between us feels sealed without another word. Ash melts back into the crowd as silently as he appeared, leaving me to turn my attention back to the woman still circling my gift.
When she finally looks up and catches my eye across the room, there’s something in her look that makes my cock hard. Not fear. Not disgust. Something deeper, darker, utterly captivating.
Recognition.
She sees what I’ve done for her, and she understands exactly what it means.
I excuse myself from the conversation and make my way through the crowd, accepting compliments on the evening’s ambiance while keeping my focus locked on Saylor. She hasn’t moved from her spot, hasn’t looked away from my gift. When I finally reach her side, she doesn’t startle or step back. She just continues studying Sly’s lifeless face.
“Nice flower arrangement,” she says, like we’re discussing weekend hobby projects instead of the results of my latest orchestrated murder. “The blue really brings out his eyes.”
“I had a feeling you’d appreciate the attention to detail.” I move closer, catching her fragrance over the moss and death. “Color coordination is important in any good centerpiece.”
“A Crow decorated with flowers.” She tilts her head, considering. “There’s definitely some irony there. Very Martha Stewart meets Edgar Allan Poe.”
“I do try to keep things thematically appropriate.”
When she turns to face me, her eyes hold something that makes my chest tighten. No horror, no demands for explanations. Just genuine interest, like I’ve finally done something worth her attention.
“So is this your usual party trick?” she asks. “Corpse as conversation starter?”
“Only for special occasions.” I let my hand drift close to hers on the table’s edge. “Only when I really want to make an impression.”
“And what exactly are you trying to impress upon me?”
I lean in, voice dropping low enough that the nearest eavesdropper would have to strain. “That anyone stupid enough to threaten you gets promoted to table decoration. Consider it my version of a strongly worded letter.”
The way her breath halts tells me she understands the implication. This isn’t just about protection—it’s about possession. About making it clear to everyone in this room that Saylor Mitchell belongs under my care, and anyone who threatens that arrangement will become my next decorating project.
“How many more are there?” she asks, her gaze drifting back to the corpse. “Crows, I mean.”
“Eleven confirmed had a part in your father’s death.”
“Eleven.” She traces the edge of a flower petal with one finger, her touch gentle against the dead man’s chest. “That’s a lot of future gifts.”
Ravaging satisfaction settles into my bones at her phrasing. She’s not asking me to stop. She’s calculating how many victims I’ll be bringing her.
“As many as it takes,” I promise. “Every last one of them will pay for what they did to your father.”
Saylor is quiet for a long moment, still studying Sly’s peaceful expression. When she speaks again, her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear it over the ambient music and conversation.
“I thought you were murder sober.”
“I am,” I say carefully. “Hans did the actual killing. I just . . . detained Sly. Made sure he couldn’t escape.”
Her head snaps up, eyes flashing with something between surprise and anger. “Hans killed him?”
“I couldn’t risk falling off the wagon. Not when you need me steady.” The admission tastes like failure on my tongue. “But I made sure Sly understood exactly why he was dying.”
Her jaw tightens, and I can see her mind working through the implications.
“I’m jealous,” she says finally, her voice carrying an edge that sends heat racing through my veins. “It should have been me. I don’t want Hans doing all the killing for my revenge.”
The raw honesty in her confession . . . She’s not horrified by the violence—she’s frustrated she wasn’t the one wielding it.
“The next one,” I promise, stepping closer until I can see the gold flecks in her dark eyes, “will come to you alive. Completely at your mercy. Whatever you want to do to them, however long you want to take—that kill will be yours.”
Her breath catches, pupils dilating as she processes what I’m offering her.
“When?” she asks, and there’s something hungry in her voice that makes my blood sing.
“Soon.”
The way she looks at me then—like I’ve just offered her the keys to salvation itself—makes something primal and possessive roar to life in my chest. I’ve never been so fucking turned on by anyone in my life.
For a moment we just stare at each other across the space between what’s proper and what we both actually want. The weight of what I’ve just offered her—and what she’s accepted—hangs between us until the sound of laughter from nearby guests reminds me we’re not alone. We’re standing beside a corpse making promises about death while fifty people eat dinner around us.