Page 47 of The Phantom's Vice

She shakes her head slowly, her face paling like it did earlier. “Of what?”

I chuckle, stepping close to her side. I lean down, placing my mouth inches from her ear. “A reminder that I’m an evil motherfucker. An adequate warning for anyone stupid enough to break in.” I shrug, a devious smile on my lips as I straighten. “And also, I just like shaking the bottle sometimes. He makes really funny faces. Watch?—”

I stalk over and palm the jar between my hands, turning to face her before I start shaking it. The head’s mouth flies open like he’s screaming, and a chuckle builds in my chest. That is, until I hear something that kills every ounce of joy inside. Brettscreams.

I stop, cocking my head to the side as I take in her horrified expression. “Is this bothering you?”

“Yes, it’s fucking bothering me!” she screeches, taking a step back to mirror my forward one.

“Oh. My apologies. I really did think you were made of tougher stock.” I place the jar back on thebookshelf, and Brett’s face turns slightly green as she notices the new expression on the head.

“Do you not care what he did?” I ask, turning the jar slightly so it’s facing perfectly straight.

Brett just shakes her head, clutching her hands tightly. “Why should I?”

A distorted laugh echoes throughout the room. “Because, darling Brett,” I say, stalking toward her slowly. “Even you would want to give him a good shake if you knew.”

“Knewwhat?”

I gesture behind me at the jar. “That is my father’s head.” When she doesn’t respond, I cock my head. “That man was partially to blame for bringing me into this world. Surely you hate him now.”If you hate me, that is…

Brett scoffs, turning her head from me. “Why would I? It’s not his fault his spawn turned out to be a monster.”

I frown. “Honestly, I expected more from your deductive skills, darling Brett.”

“Would you stop calling me darling?” She seethes, whipping her head back to give me a fiery glare.

“Why?”

“Because it’sfucking creepy!”

I chuckle, stopping just in front of her. “Now you’re just trying to get me hard.”

“You’re fucking impossible,” she grumbles, shooting another nervous glance at the jar, as if the disattached head will open its eyes at any moment. “Am I to assume that guy did nothing other than ‘bring you into this world’? Because that’s fucked up, even by your standards.”

“Oh no, darling Brett. He did so much worse.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

I inspect my gloved hand. “He killed my mother.”

Brett reels back, as if this is new information to her. “But your mother is Martha Gore. She’s alive and living in the city.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. My mother is very, very much dead. She died the day my father walked out on her. What you saw was a husk of what she used to be. So full of life. Full of love—” My back straightens, and I drop my hand down to my side in military-like stillness. “But we can’t dwell on the past. We must only look up and onward.”

“You miss her,” Brett whispers, more to herself than me. “Your mom. I mean, what she used to be to you.”

I scoff. “I assure you, that useless emotion was trained out of me decades ago.”

She regards me carefully, at the way my left palm twitches slightly with my words. “You’re lying.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Your palm. It twitches whenever you lie,” she murmurs, bringing her eyes up to where mine would rest on my face.

“And who’s to say I’m not leading you on with a fake tell?” I keep my tone nonchalant despite the fact my pulse thrums.

Again, she regards me, at the way my hand goes rigid—fighting off that natural tic. “You’re right. I guess I don’t know,” she whispers even though her face screamsbut I do know. He can’t hide it from me.

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