Page 54 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

Jed isn’t looking at Gary Miller with the chainsaw loud in his hands. He’s staring at me. Waiting. Whatever he sees when I’m able to look at him brings the smallest of smiles to his lips, and in turn, it settles something in me that I hadn’t realized was about to fall apart.

“You don’t need to watch this,” he tells me, though I have no idea how I hear him over the loud engine. “Go outside, Saylor. You aren’t any less for not being able to watch this. No matter what Virgil says.”

My eyes flick to Virgil’s face, where he still leans against the wall. He’s impressed, one brow raised, and his head tilts towards the door, giving me the same permission that Jed had.

I won’t think less of you. That’s what his expression says. Lastly my gaze falls on Wren, who’s giving me the same patient, understanding smile from his dark eyes and curved lips.

I can’t do this.

Yet.

Not completely, at least. My steps take me back to the door, and I stumble over my feet when Jed turns, all smooth and graceful movements. He’s not my boyfriend as he stalks over to Gary Miller holding a chainsaw like he was born with it in his hands.

He’s a predator. He’s a hunter, moving with deadly precision, and when the chainsaw comes up, my hand hits the door a second too late.

I can’t turn away as he thrusts the blade forward. It’s not quick and smooth, but Wren moves instantly as the blade begins to cut through Gary Miller’s chest while he screams and begs for mercy.

I should’ve moved sooner. I should’ve opened the door sooner, and looked away, because right now, with my eyes full of gore and blood that splatters on Jed’s front, I can’t⁠—

Virgil fills my vision, his face calm and edged in concern. “Time to go, Saylor,” he murmurs. “You’ve proven everything you needed to and more.” He blocks my entire view of the screaming, dying man, and shoves the door all the way open until I can stumble out into the daylight beyond.

Then, before I can take another look inside or say a word, he closes it again, leaving me in the sunlight with the sound of Gary Miller’s screams.

I stand there, transfixed and unable to move, listening to his screams. Even though I can’t see it, I can imagine every bit of⁠—

Blinking, I realize that there’s something else in my ears. Apart from the screaming and my own internal turmoil. Something from this side of the barn, that sounds closer than Gary’s screams.

When it sounds again, I turn around, confused, and my eyes scan the area around me as my brain tries to figure out what in the world is going on. Is that⁠—

A cat meows softly, rubbing against my ankles. The small, gray-furred ball of fluff does one circuit around my legs happily, like it can’t hear the screaming from beyond the door. That, or it doesn’t care.

“Hi,” I whisper, kneeling down and reaching one trembling hand out for the little cat to sniff. “Hello, little friend.”

The cat, showing no sign of fear, pads up to sniff my fingers before rubbing its body against my hand with a loud, contented purr.

I can’t help it. A smile breaks out over my lips, and I carefully move away from the door, followed by the sounds of the cat’s purring. It isn’t a kitten, judging by its features. But the cat is smaller than most other adult felines I’ve seen.

“Are you far from home?” When I sit down fully on the grass, the cat takes that opportunity to jump onto my knee, rubbing its skinny body against my chest. I’m careful as I touch it, my fingers running along bumpy ribs and hips that are too angular with hunger. The little cat doesn’t look like it’s eaten in ages. And definitely not well. “Or do you not have a home?” The cat is incredibly friendly for not having a home, and when it nuzzles my face, my lips curl into a smile.

“I don’t know if Jed will let me take you home,” I admit, blinking when I realize the screams have come to a stop, even if the sound of the chainsaw hasn’t.

But of course. Jed is good at cleanup, and I know it requires his special skills to get the job done. Namely, his mastery of chopping people into little bits.

“You’re so chill about this,” I tell the little cat, scratching it under the chin. One of its eyes is a little weepy, and I’m sure it hasn’t had the vet care it needs in awhile, if ever. “Do you hear people getting murdered and chopped up often?”

At my question, the cat purrs louder and chews on the end of my finger. Seconds later, the barn door opens, and Wren comes out whistling, carrying a pile of tarps to his truck. “You good?” he asks, pausing in the grass to look over at me. “You looked a little uh, uncomfortable back there.”

“I found a cat,” I reply, gesturing to my new friend. “Cats make everything better.”

“Indeed,” Wren agrees, looking the little creature over but not coming closer. “Must be a stray. No one lives out here anymore.” He walks the rest of the way to his truck, and I wince at the thump the tarps make on the bed of it. Once that’s done, he strides over, moving more and more slowly the closer he gets to me.

But the little cat isn’t afraid of him, either. It walks right up to the serial killer, standing up on its back legs so it can rub its face against his jeans. Wren’s smile widens, and he scratches it under the chin. “What a friendly little thing. Are you going to keep it?”

He asks like it’s just the most obvious thing in the world for me to take it home.

“Does Jed like cats?” I ask gingerly. “Do you think he’d be okay bringing it home?”

“Ask him,” Wren recommends. “He’s not a hard ass. And it is a really cute cat.” With that he disappears back into the barn, whistling his strangely cheerful tune.