Page 66 of Bird on a Blade

“What the hell are you doing?”

I jump at Sawyer’s voice and look up to see him standing in the church entrance—looking like Sawyer this time, my Sawyer, who wrapped up the cuts on my chest so tenderly. He strides in, letting the door slam shut behind him, and crosses his arms over his chest. “I told you I’d take care of that.”

“I needed the distraction.” I stand up as he stalks down the aisle. Looking at him, you wouldn’t think he’d been ditching a mutilated corpse out in the mountain, although he does look like he’s been hiking. His hair’s wind-tossed and tangled with a few flame-colored leaves, and his cheeks are pink from the cold.

He looks…handsome.

He’s also appraising my handiwork with a furrowed brow. “You gotta blot the blood up first,” he tells me. “And work in patches.” When he sees the blood-mottled towel, he groans. “Oh, come on! You used the good towel?”

“That’s your good towel?” It’s actually pretty ratty and threadbare.

“One of ‘em.” He picks it up and slaps it down on the altar, then looks at me. “You don’t need to do this,” he says quietly.

“I need to dosomething. Otherwise, I just start thinking, and?—”

“Stop it.” He points at me. “I told you not to worry. We’llfigure something out, okay? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” He nods down at the bucket of water. “Now give me those gloves and get your cute butt out of here. I’ll finish up.”

“Are you sure?” I frown. “I really don’t mind.”

“Yeah, you do.” He grins at me, eyes glinting. “You ain’t never cleaned up spilled blood before, and I don’t know why you’d start now. Go outside, take a walk. It’ll clear your head.”

I’m not so sure about that, but the truth is Iammaking a mess of the altar, and Sawyer clearly knows what he’s doing when it comes to… all of this.

Sawyer strolls around the altar and smacks me on the ass. I let out a disbelieving laugh and turn on him, but he grabs my wrists. He’s not wearing his bandage anymore.

“What about your hand?” I squeal as he peels one of my gloves away.

He holds it up to me. The cut has been replaced by a smooth, pink scar. “My kind heals fast.”

I’m so dumbfounded that I just stand there like an idiot while Sawyer peels off my other glove.

“Is that why you didn’t want me to wrap your hand?”

Sawyer stops and looks over at me, his eyes softening. “I didn’t need you to,” he says gently. “But I wouldn’t say I didn’t want you to.”

I feel a sudden surge of affection for him, my serial killer who insists on doing the cleaning.

“I’m serious about you going for a walk, though,” he says. “It’ll be getting dark soon, and it really will be good for you to get some fresh air.” Then he kisses me on the top of my head, turns me around by the shoulders, and swats my ass again.

I don’t protest this time, just leave him to do his work. I go out through the back entrance so I can grab my phone. I want to call Charlotte. I’m not sure exactly how Sawyer would feel about that, although I don’t intend on telling her anything. I just want to see her face, know that she’s okay.

Stepping outside feels like stepping into another world. The late afternoon sun floods the clearing with gilded sunlight and the surrounding forest burns in reds and oranges. The air is cold, smelling of metal and distant smoke, and I breathe in deep four times.

I go around to the back of the church, away from my car—away from the scene of Sawyer’s earlier crime—and call up Charlotte on video chat. She answers on the second ring, her hair blowing across her face. It’s platinum blonde.

“You bleached your hair.”

“Yeah.” The camera tilts and for a half second, I see her background: a flash of a swimming pool, a pastel-colored wall. She’s out on her apartment balcony. “I was just about to call you, actually. This shit with Scott really has me freaked.”

Hearing Scott’s name makes my stomach twist up into knots. “Is that why you bleached your hair?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. It’s my favorite defense tactic, after all.” She laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “He really did creep me out the other day.” She squints into the phone camera. “Everything okay with you?”

I nod, my throat dry. Part of me wishes I could tell her everything. Instead, I just say, “Yeah, I’m still with my friend. No sign of Scott.”

“Your friend, huh?” She arches an eyebrow, and I hate myself for blushing because even over the phone’s video, she notices.

“I’m not even thinking about that right now.” I hate myself for lying to her.

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