Page 24 of Love You To Pieces

It’s his small, curved grin I notice first. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, blond lashes fanning over the rich blue, and a stupid grin that’s more of a smirk. He doesn’t hesitate either. Deacon meets my advance by stepping toward me, one arm shoving mine outward with a quick push to my wrist. I gasp, trying to turn the knife and bend my arm to at least cut him, but he’s too fucking fast.

While it feels like a weird thing to admit in my mind, this does not seem like his first rodeo with someone trying to stab him.

My back hits the wall of the shed and a gasp leaves my lips, the soft sound from my throat more of a surrender than anything I want to give this monster. His hand on my wrist moves until his thumb is pressing hard into a spot that makes me cry out; my fingers spasm and the knife falls to the floor.

“There we go.” When Deacon closes the space between us, the scent of his aftershave, mixed with something that feels rough around the edges, like smoke or rain, hits my nostrils. “Now let’s try something different, shall we, Sadie-Rae?” The way he purrs my name has me shifting uncomfortably with a nervous scowl on my lips.

“Not until you tell me where Pearl is,” I hiss with my heart racing in my chest as I writhe against the pressure of his body blocking mine.

Deacon rolls his eyes and suddenly both of my arms are over my head against the wall, pinned there with one of his long-fingered hands. The tan of his skin is a stark contrast to the paleness of mine, and some part of me wonders how many summers he’s spent in the sun to look so effortlessly sun-kissed.

“I’m not telling you where your dog is,” he whispers, leaning in so his face is close enough to mine that I can feel his breath on my cheek. “Because you don’t really get to ask the questions. Not when you’re here, in my territory, in my slaughterhouse.” His grin turns wolfish and this time I can’t even try to hide my shudder.

Slaughterhouse?

The word makes my blood go cold and I glance down at Ariana’s corpse, my eyes flitting from her to the table, to the chest freezers and the meat hooks along the far wall.

Finally the truth, the real truth, hits me hard in the gut. My stomach twists and coils, tying itself in knots of absolute revulsion at what I’m seeing.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, my eyes going wide as my head whips back so I’m facing him again. “You’re…”

His grin widens, wolfish and cruel. “What am I?” he purrs. “Come on. Tell me what I am, pretty rabbit.”

I bite down on my lower lip, swallowing the word monster when it’s apparent he’ll take it as a compliment. “You are in need of a fucking therapist,” I whisper finally, somewhat satisfied by his flash of irritation in that cold part of me that’s already decided I’m going to die and I should fuck up whatever I can until then. “A real therapist. Like, a highly paid one who has access to meds and a psych ward.”

“Better than a dead girl who—” The door bangs open, admitting the light from outside along with Fox, who pauses in the doorway to survey the scene in front of him.

Whatever I expect to see, it isn’t frustrated bemusement. “Really?” he asks, walking inside with his eyes on us. “You’re going to do this already?”

Deacon tilts his head, not looking flustered or ashamed at being caught. If anything, he looks rather happy about it. “Your little rabbit was hopping around so valiantly,” he sneers. “Why stop her when she’s not getting out of our snare anytime soon?”

Our snare? The way he says it makes it seem like there’s no way off this farm, though that can’t be right. Sure, I saw a fence around the property, but there was also a gate. And in the worst-case scenario, I could climb the fence and break my ass falling down the other side.

Fox’s eyes flick to Ariana and his frown deepens. “You shouldn’t have let her in here.”

“She found it on her own.”

With Deacon distracted, I lunge forward, kicking out to get free. To my absolute surprise, he simply lets me with a low, amused snort. Deacon steps back, dodging my clumsy kick at the same time he releases my arms. My momentum makes me stagger forward, and my arm goes out to catch myself on the only thing in sight.

Ariana’s table, of-fucking-course.

The moment before my hand connects with her hair, another snatches the back of my shirt, stopping my stumble and giving me the chance to regain my balance. “How did you even get out?” Fox asks quizzically, holding me like a cat he’s got scruffed by the neck.

It’s humiliating, though I suppose it’s infinitely better than falling face-first onto Ariana’s corpse. He holds me up like that, his dark eyes surveying my face, before his hand loosens, though he doesn’t let go.

“She climbed out the window, Crawled across our roof, shimmied across the overhang, then fell on her ass on the back patio,” Deacon recounts quickly, drawing my stunned attention and Fox’s disbelief.

“You saw all that?” I ask, as Fox releases a noise of disbelief.

“You did what?!” Fox asks, looking at me.

I open my mouth to argue, to defend myself. But instead, I scowl and ask, “Where’s my fucking dog?”

“She means Pearl,” Deacon supplies, arms now folded. “Apparently she’s trauma-bonded to her. Wants that shitty chainsaw back too.”

Fox grimaces. “That cheap, nasty thing? Darling, that went in the dumpster. It hadn’t been cleaned in ages and, no offense, but you fucked up the chain real bad when you killed that asshole in the auto shop.”

Rest in peace, Sally.