Page 95 of Bad Enough

TB barked out another expletive, then reached down and picked up the white box wrapped with a giant red ribbon. With a last look out the door, he brought the box inside and set it on the dining room table. Probably not the smartest move, but whatever was in this box wasn’t meant to kill. It was meant to scare.

He pulled a knife from his front pocket, slit the ribbon, and flipped open the lid.

What lay in the box even gave him pause.

There was no blood, no tissue, no gore of any kind. Just six braids, each with a different colored silk ribbon at the tail, that had been neatly cut from women’s heads. Five red. One blonde.

His heart grabbed at thinking how a seventh braid with a little orange ribbon at the end of the tail could so easily be in this box with the others.

35

JUNE 18TH-19TH

Sylvan

The minute he ordered her to the bathroom, her eyes flew open, and she saw a whole new TB in front of her. The one who earned him his nickname. A total bastard. Cold. Cruel. Emotionless. A killer.

She flew up the stairs, into her room, into her bathroom, shut the door, and locked it. Heart pounding, she stepped into the bathtub, pulled the curtain around her, and made herself into the smallest possible shape she could.

Minutes later, he knocked at the door.

“Flame, it’s safe to come out.”

She heard him, his voice faint, as if coming down a long hallway, but she couldn’t make her body move.

“Flame, open up, it’s safe now.”

She was so cold. There was more noise, but she was physically locked in place, knees hugged tight to her chest, face planted into the tops of her thighs.

Air rushed past her skin, and she was moving through space without the benefit of her body being in control.

Then she was still, settled into a smaller space, not as tight as she had been in the bathroom but firmly enclosed in warmth. There was a gentle wave of noise in the background, and though it was soothing, it was unintelligible. She felt pressure against the top of her head and something stroking through her hair.

It was some time before she opened her eyes. When she did, she was in her room, but in the extra-wide Victorian armchair in the corner. However, she wasn’t sitting directly in the chair. She was in TB’s lap, and he was talking to her softly. Nonsense, really. Even though she heard him, she was still too discombobulated to process it. She closed her eyes again and burrowed in closer to his chest, one palm over his heart.

When she swam up to reality the next time, she was in the same place. It must not have been too much later, but she was still embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, trying to get out of his lap.

He refused to let her go. “Stay.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head, and his arms pulled her tighter to him. “It’s fine.”

“Who was it?” she asked quietly, afraid to hear his answer.

He paused. “No one.”

Now she knew she didn’t want to know the answer, but she asked anyway. “Then why did the doorbell ring?”

“Someone left a package.”

“What was inside it?” Her voice was barely audible.

He hugged her closer still and pressed his lips to the top of her head again, but this time, he left his lips next to her hair as he spoke. “You don’t want to know, princess.”

Then the tears started. She couldn’t stop. If he didn’t want to tell her, it was bad. It was really bad. TB had never sugarcoated anything with her. He might not give a lot of details, but he’d never out-and-out refused to tell her anything.

He held her all through the sobs, including the body-wracking ones.

Eventually, she cried herself out. She didn’t know how long they sat there, but it was a long time.

“You should get some sleep. You’re exhausted. Here or upstairs?”

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