Page 50 of The Hand that Frays

She’s aware.

Awake.

Even though she will still kill for me—with me—I know there’s a shift within her that’ll never leave her afterLondon.

And I love it.

It’s as if she’s witnessed the darkness beyond the cloud of neurosis that we reside in and realized she’s a bit more sane than she gave herself credit for.

“Who are you people?”

I sigh, turning my blade on its side and letting it slip over Carl’s throat. The tip presses in firmly once over his Adam’s apple, and he stiffens.

“It’s always the same shit,” I complain.

“Who are you?” Lyla muses.

“How did you get in here?” I add.

The taunting before the kill has never been my thing. It’s Lyla’s, but it seems she’s bred something in me unwittingly because now it’s become what livens my soul before I paint my skin with blood.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Is it money? I have money!” Carl pleads.

I remove my blade, and something in his eyes grows confident before Lyla stands and trains her gun on him, a sick grin on her face.

His hands slowly raise in defense as I tap my blade on my shoulder, moving toward the windowsill to lean against it.

I pull one booted foot up to press against the wall.

Lyla motions for him to sit in the office chair behind his desk as she moves to the front of the desk.

“Go on. You wanted to see what this is about, so we’ve compiled a bit of a project presentation for you,” she teases, her grin deepening as the dimples in her cheeks sink inward.

Her dark hair is askew tonight, some of it tumbling out of a messy bun on her head, and as a glint of contentmentmoves through her eyes, my cock stiffens behind my dark jeans.

Carl slowly moves and sits in the chair, always watching Lyla and her weapon.

Wise of him, she can be a loose cannon when no one has eyes on her.

“What is this?!” he whispers, and we allow him the space to look over the case we’ve made against him.

Lyla had done so well for me, arranging an array of evidence against the man. She knew I needed it.

While the inkier side of me has killed for thrills without reason before, I need this when it comes to my baser motivations.

I need to know I’ve rid the world of infirmity.

And Carl is the very definition.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Carl starts as he realizes we know what he’s been up to.

Lyla laughs, and my eyes snap to her, forgetting all about my prey as the malaise I placed inside her rises to the surface.

“So, you didn’t poison your children all those years you were supposed to protect and love them?” she asks, and I can’t take my eyes off her nor add a word edgewise.

There’s an indication in her tone that has the hairs raised on my body. She’s not questioning Carl for the Hatt children.

She’s here to spill blood for me.

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