Page 21 of The Hand that Frays

My anger with Neo and this entire situation is giving me the shakes, and I follow him out as he watches the Hatts get into a blacked-out SUV and head home.

I glimpse Mr. Hatt as he looks out of the window. Something dark in his eyes catches my attention, and I turn my head as my surroundings pause.

I have the distinct feeling there’s something familiar living in the man.

The car speeds away, and the spell is broken. I turn to Neo, grappling with how to tell him I don’t think Anne is our target, but he’s already deep into doing something on his phone.

“I know you’re mad at me, stupid girl. You’ll have to get over that, however. We have work to do—as you just saw.”

I open my mouth to say I’m not angry with him, but I know he’ll taste my lie as soon as it’s out of my mouth, so I close it.

For the first time, I’m pissed at Neo. It’s not rational. I knew we were coming here for this, and I knew he’d need to follow through to sate the urge to kill.

But there’s some deep, visceral part of me thatsubconsciously wanted this to be our honeymoon and only our honeymoon.

Which is irrational, being who we are.

The Butcher and his wife honeymooning in London to kill a high-profile target seems on par for us, but I can’t explain this nagging feeling in my gut that wants to rage over the fact I don’t have all of Neo’s attention.

And I fucking hate it.

The Hatts livein a massive home in Mayfair, which gives the outward vibe that only the wealthy live here. Carl Hatt is an investment banker; by the looks of it, he’s very good at his job.

The delicious smell of the fish and chips we'd gotten as a takeaway from a restaurant on the way here wafts up as I open the bag.

I open the side of the vinegar, squirting some on the fish, and I use my plastic fork to dig into my food.

Neo has been silent since we left the museum. He’s engrossed in this case already.

“You need to eat,” I tell him, looking up as a light flickers in the upstairs window.

Their bedroom, most likely.

“I knew how to eat before I married you, stupid wife. I’m certain I can still handle it myself,” he grumbles as he scrolls on his phone.

“Mmm, I’m sure you can, husband,” I prod. “I only worry about you, is all.”

He snarls, tossing his phone on the dash as he slams his hands into the steering wheel.

I don’t bristle, but my pussy does, wetting my panties at his show of anger.

This is the side of me that’s always been his and been the Butcher’s.

I slide my food onto the dash, shifting to my right side, where he’s leaning back against the headrest.

Being on this side of the car as the passenger is awkward and disorienting.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, grabbing his chin and turning his face towards me.

His eyes flare as I crawl over his lap. “Tell me.” I lick over the seam of his lips.

“I don’t know that she’s guilty. I know you don’t care about things like that, but there’s too much circumstantial evidence pointing to her non-guilt.”

He’s got the biggest heart for a man of his caliber. I don’t know how I haven’t noticed it before.

“The children were poisoned?”

He nods. “That’s the only sure thing about this case. The children’s bloodwork was riddled with household cleaners and medicines in high doses. Whatever you can think of, it was on their tox screen.”

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