Page 75 of The Butterfly Killer

“Cheeseballs, huh?”

Burns rolled his eyes with a groan. “It was the first thing I could think of. Not like you were doing so much better. You’d let anyone talk to your husband like that?”

Mercer’s brows pulled together. The sharpness of his eyes dimmed somewhat. “I?—”

The words that followed would haunt Burns for the rest of the night because he never got to hear them. Applause erupted in the large room where most of the guests gathered. The largeness of the room carried the sound, drowning the start of the rest of Mercer’s words.

Burns tried to ask Mercer to repeat himself, but Mercer shook his head and nodded toward the entrance.

Burns turned, confused by the look of defeat on Mercer’s face. If he wasn’t already dying to know who Molly was, he was surely now. He needed to know why she was the one person in the world who could make Mercer look vulnerable.

His need to know was dampened when he saw the man of the hour waving and shaking hands of guests as he walked in.

Dante Cortez.

21

Days after the attempted kiss,the snow melted enough that it was safe for Marcus to go outside. Leaning most of his weight on a makeshift crutch made from old chair legs nailed together, he stared out from the porch he’d pissed from. The memory brought embarrassment burning to his cheeks. It was flushed away by the bitter cold that hadn’t left. The wind was less sharp but still there.

It was funny how he was now unfamiliar with the outside now. He stared at the dead foliage like he was looking at something alien. He remembered it yet he didn’t feel like he knew what it was like to be around it.

A feeling of discomfort settled in his limbs. He wasn’tscared.He was just…hesitant to take the first step off the porch and away from the place that had been his home—no—hisprisonfor the last couple of weeks.

The remnants of snow was in patches. Mud and dead grass tuffs were scarcely scattered. The trees were twigs and in the distance the mountains were shadows of what this land used to look like—a cold glistening white Sahara.

The door creaked on its rusty hinges. Heavy booted footsteps came from behind him.

“I can help you down the stairs.”

The offering was a sort of treaty. Marcus had been obedient but quiet since the day they’d made their deal.

Marcus turned his head only enough to spot Roman from the corner of his eyes. He held there, fingers rubbing into the wood of the Frankenstein crutch.

He waited until Roman was beside him, but still far enough that it gave the illusion of space. Boundaries didn’t exist when Marcus was here, yet, Roman was kind enough—or maybe cruel—to pretend there were some. Human decency was hard to achieve when one was keeping another captive.

Marcus gave a gentle nod. His mouth and lips were dry already from the wind. He licked them. He longed for the mint chapstick he usually carried.

Roman waited on the middle step. Marcus hobbled his way over. His unhurt leg was doing the brunt of the work and that ankle was becoming sore. He didn’t just have one leg to worry about. He now had two that were making his life even more difficult.

There had been resistance to take help from Roman in the beginning. He hadn’t wanted help from the person who’d caused the pain in the first place. It was also a sense of wounded masculinity. That flaw hadn’t started here in this cabin. It had followed him from the police department.

Marcus didn’t hesitate to take Roman’s offered hand as he was helped down the slick steps. Once frozen, they were wet now, but more or less safe to get down if he wasn’t relying on a hunk of sticks to keep him upright.

“There you go,” Roman softly said when both of Marcus’s feet were on the ground.

He said thank you in his head. It might have been conveyed in his eyes, but they were turned toward the mountains in the distance. He wasn’t thinking about running off into them or anything. Escape hadn’t been on his mind for awhile. He’d been thinking about the heavy debt he owed Roman and how exactly he was going to pay it back. A deal with a demon was never easy to predict and this was the same.

Roman stepped in front of him, cutting off his view of the mountains. Marcus was forced to look at him though his attention was still on the mountains.

The corners of Roman’s mouth turned down into a deep frown. His lips tightly pressed together. “The snow will be back in a couple days.”

The warning was there. If Marcus tried to run, he’d get trapped in the snow and die.

Roman started toward a stump where Marcus had watched him chop wood a week ago. Marcus’s eyes followed him, tilting his body so he could keep his gaze on him.

“Then when will you leave?”

He’d almost given up on fishing for information. Almost.

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