Page 69 of Twice as Twisted

“So… What now?” Duke asks. “You’re going to beat her to death, and we dump her body with the other one?”

“I don’t beat her,” I say, affronted by his accusation. “I would never hit a woman. What do you take me for, a monster?”

“Aren’t we all monsters?”

“He has a point,” Mabel says.

“How are you going to kill her?” Duke presses, a frown etched into his brow.

“I’m not,” I say, hanging the kitchen towel neatly on the front of the stove. “You are.”

fifteen

Duke Dolce

“Where are we going?” Jane asks, balking in the sandy gravel parking space in front of our cottage. Baron doesn’t let her leave the house, so you’d think she’d be making a run for it the second she steps out, but she’s not even grateful.

“I’m taking you for a drive,” I say. “Unless you’d rather stay here.”

She twists her lips to one side, hugging herself and turning back and forth slightly, like she’s seriously considering going back into Baron’s basement dungeon.

“Suit yourself,” I say, opening the door of the Lotus. I slide in, but by the time I’ve turned on the car, she’s already opening the passenger door and climbing in. She snaps her safety belt and then looks at me with a shy look that makes a flicker ofdéjà vouspass through me, though I’m not sure why. There’s something disconcertingly familiar about her, but I can never quite place it.

“Where are we?” Jane marvels when I’ve backed down the driveway and turned onto the narrow, one-lane drive that leads through the neighborhood of rentals and summer houses sitting on soft swells in the land that mimic the dunes beyond. I forgot that Baron drugged Jane most of the drive here, so she wouldn’t signal out the window for help.

“We’re in Maine, baby,” I say. “Almost to Canada. Wanna make a run for it?”

I shoot her a grin, but she looks contemplative as she stares out the window. “No,” she says. “I don’t think so.”

“You ever been to the beach?”

“No.”

“Damn,” I say. “Then we gotta go there first. The beach here isn’t much, though. In the Caribbean, the water is smooth as glass and the color of blue velvet.”

“That’s a pretty description.”

“Life is like a box of crayons, baby,” I say, turning onto the even narrower, sandy road to the small beach near our cottage. “You gotta use all the colors.”

I pull alongside the road and park. A few other cars are parked there too, people coming to watch the sunset, even though we’re facing east. I get out of the car and come around to open the door for Jane and help her out. I keep hold of her bony hand as we walk onto the soft sand. The sky is a mild pink, and an older couple is strolling toward us along the water’s edge, holding hands. Another younger couple is walking the other way with a dog, throwing a ball into the waves for it to dive after.

“You’re not going to cause any trouble, are you?” I ask quietly, since Baron would killmeif I failed so spectacularly.

“No,” Jane says, drawing a little closer to me, staring at the water with big eyes, like she’s scared. She hangs her head as the couple passes.

“Good evening,” the woman says, smiling.

I smile back. “Nice night.”

“Sure is,” says the man.

They keep walking, and we get closer to the water. “Wanna dip your feet in?” I ask Jane.

“Do I?”

We sit on the edge of the dry sand and remove our shoes, roll up our pants, and then walk over the wet, hard sand to the edge of the water. The waves are small, but they still rush inquick. The second or third one rolls over our feet, and Jane gasps in shock.

“It’s so cold.”

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