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The tip of my knife traces along his pelvis.
He shakes his head slowly, a weak moan rumbling in his throat at the horror he knows is coming.
“For a professor, you think with this a lot more than you do with your brain.” I dig the tip of my knife in harder. “I think it’s time we rectify that, don’t you? Make sure there’s only one head for you to think with now.”
His chin drops, eyes shutting, when I bring the knife down.
His eyes spring open.
Even beneath the gag, his screams echo in the small room. Blood pools between his legs, flowing onto the floor.
Briar will be so happy when she hears the news of his demise.
I wait until his body is drained, his heart long since stopped beating, before I get to work on chopping the rest of him up into pieces.
Nancy keeps an organized home. Mudroom well-stocked with garbage bags, rubber gloves, and bottles of bleach. Maybe she was planning on doing this herself, and I simply beat her to it.
That’s for the best. Nancy doesn’t need his blood on her hands. Mine have long been stained with blood that will never be scrubbed off. What’s a little more?
It’s well after three in the morning when I carry the bits of the professor out, the bathroom cleaner than when I found it. Nancy will appreciate that.
Once his body is engulfed in flames, I sputter and breathe through my mouth. The only scent worse than burning flesh is a weeks-old, decaying body.
This is why it’s wise not to have neighbors. No one needs to know why the bonfire in your backyard smells so sickly sweet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
BRIAR
I wake before dawn,unsure what stirred me from sleep so early until a hand wraps around my waist.
I scream and jerk out of his grasp.
Saint is wearing a different mask this time—a black ski mask like he’s trying to protect his skin from the cold. A dark stain has dried on his shirt.
Blood.
I clap a hand over my mouth. “What the hell happened?”
“Are you okay?” he asks, insistent. Through the holes in his mask, his dark eyes gleam with concern.
“What are you talking about? I’m fine. You’re the one bleeding.”
“I saw how that motherfucker touched you,” he growls. “I watched you run from him.”
Of course Saint was somewhere in that bar, keeping an eye on us from the shadows. The only shock is that he was able to maintain his composure.
“I wanted so badly to follow you, to wrap my arms around you, but I had to take care of the problem first. Now tell me. Are you okay?”
I had to take care of the problem first.That isn’t Saint’s blood on his shirt.
That’s Dr. Barrett’s blood.
My stomach churns, and I bite my lip so hard, a metallic taste coats my tongue. This can’t be happening again.
“I’m fine.” My words come out shaky. “You need to get out.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.” He grabs my hand with his palm and presses it against his groin. “I want you. And I know you want me too.”
