Page 210 of Mayhem and Minnie

“That…” She swallows. “That…”

“I want you to throw this into the furnace with the rest of the body. Put the past behind us,” I murmur.

She slowly turns to stare at the fire burning inside the furnace.

“You mean… The body… The rest of the body is there? Burning?”

I nod, smiling. “The perfect idea, no? Letting the fire metaphorically cleanse all past connections. This is our start, Minnie.”

She shakes her head, her expression petrified.

“What have you done, Marlowe?” she whispers.

My brows pull together in confusion.

“I got rid of my competition,” I answer matter-of-factly.

She continues to shake her head as she takes a step toward the furnace, leaning in to watch the flames lick the remaining bones and turn them into ash.

“You…” she croaks. “You burned him…”

“Not entirely.” I smile. “See, I kept one piece for you so you could burn him yourself,” I add proudly. The whole purpose of this is to do it together.

She turns sharply to me and before I know it, her palm connects with my cheek. The sting of the slap takes me by surprise, as does the sudden pain in my chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands in a ragged voice.

I’m too stunned to react.

She grabs the detached head and holds it between her hands as she stares at it.

“You…” she whispers, but she’s not looking at me.

She’s looking at him.

And she’s looking at him like she’s never looked at me.

With… Love.

My fists clench by my sides.

“How could you?” she rasps out, tears rolling out her cheeks. “How the hell could you?” she yells.

Blue mist surrounds her body and her eyes become a lighter blue shade as she glares at me. Pure hatred emanates from her and before I can say anything, a strong gust of cold wind hits me in the chest, throwing me backward.

“Minnie—”

“Don’t you say another word, Marlowe!” she cuts me off.

She cradles the head to her chest lovingly as she turns to look at the furnace again. The blue mist that surrounds her spirals into the furnace, turning everything to ice.

“You said you didn’t care about him anymore,” I say in a slow, tense voice.

The tension inside me is like a tightly wound coil that’s about to snap and the last thing I want is to add more fuel to the fire—ironically. I hold myself still, though a storm rages inside of me the more I see her interact with that fucking head.

It’s against her chest. His fucking face is next to her chest, a place I never got to touch.

Yet he’s doing it. Even dead he’s fucking doing it.

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