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)
“My heart’s beating really fast.” Leroy tries to lean forward, but his coordination is clearly off. “And I’m having trouble focusing on . . . on . . .”
“On what?”
“I can’t remember what I was going to say.” Leroy blinks slowly, like thinking requires enormous effort. “What’s happening to me?”
“Well,” I say cheerfully, “the good news is you’re about to find out what all those people you tortured felt like. The bad news is you’re about to die.”
Leroy tries to surge forward in his chair, but his muscles aren’t cooperating. “How long do I have?”
“Not long now.”
Leroy turns back to me, his pupils now huge and unfocused. “Please. I’m begging you. Just . . . just use a knife. Something quick. This isn’t . . . this isn’t right.”
“Neither was killing my father, but that didn’t stop you.”
Leroy’s breathing becomes labored, each inhale sounding like work. His head lolls slightly to one side, and when he tries to speak again, only garbled sounds come out. Then his eyes roll back, and foam starts bubbling from his mouth.
White foam mixed with something that looks suspiciously like blood. It runs down his chin in pink rivulets, and the smell—metallic and wrong and definitely not something I was prepared for.
My stomach lurches violently.
“Oh god,” I gasp, pressing my hand to my mouth. “Is that supposed to happen?”
“Poison affects different people different ways,” Blue says calmly, like we’re discussing the weather. “Some foam at the mouth, some just stop breathing. Leroy seems to be the foaming type.”
More pink foam bubbles up, and Leroy’s body starts convulsing against his restraints. Not violent seizures, but these awful, jerky movements that make the chair creak loudly.
My stomach rebels completely. I double over, dry heaving, but somehow manage to keep my breakfast where it belongs. Barely.
“You doing okay?” Blue asks, and I can hear the amusement.
“Peachy,” I manage between waves of nausea. “Just . . . didn’t expect the foam situation.”
Leroy gives one final, shuddering breath, and then goes completely still. The only sounds are the jazz music still playing from the phonograph, my ragged breathing, and my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
I straighten slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Leroy slumps in his chair, definitely dead, pink foam still staining his expensive suit.
“Is it over?” I ask.
Hans checks for life, then nods. “Very dead, Miss.”
I stare at the body, waiting for guilt or horror or some emotional reaction beyond nausea. But all I feel is . . . satisfied. One down. However many Crow left to go.
“I did it,” I say, more to myself than to anyone else. “I actually killed someone on purpose.”
“You did,” Blue agrees, moving to stand beside me. “How does it feel?”
“Messy. But good.” I look up at him. “Really good.”
Tightness in my chest wants to break open. Not from guilt or horror, but from relief. For the first time since Dad died, I feel like I actually did something for him instead of just surviving what happened to me. I’m not the helpless daughter who watched her father get stabbed. I’m not the victim who needed rescuing. I’m the woman who killed one of his murderers with her own hands.
I did this. I forced that pill down the Crow’s throat and watched him die, and I didn’t run or faint or throw up until it was over.
Would Dad be proud? I honestly don’t know, but he’s not here anymore and all I can do is seek justice for him.
Blue reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek. “Ready for the next one?”
I think about Dad, about his last moments, about all the pain the Crow caused. “Bring them on.”
Blue chuckles softly, his fingers still tracing my cheek. “Maybe one is enough for one night. The other two can remain on ice.” His smile is fond but practical. “No need to rush this or have an assembly line of carnage.”
Blue’s smile is proud but menacing as he pulls me closer, one hand sliding to the back of my neck. When he kisses me, it’s soft but possessive—making out in front of a corpse should probably bother me more than it does.
Suddenly Leroy’s body jerks violently in the chair, making me jump and break away from Blue’s mouth with a small shriek.
“I thought he was dead!” I gasp, pressing my hand to my chest.
“He is,” Blue says calmly, not even glancing at the body. “Just muscle spasms. Happens sometimes after death.”
“Well that’s horrifying,” I mutter. “Does that happen often?”
“Often enough,” Blue says. “Most people run screaming when they see it.”
“Good thing I’m not most people.” I step back toward him.
“No,” he says, pulling me close again. “You’re definitely not.”
Hans starts untying Leroy’s body from the chair. “Boss, should I dispose of this now?”