Page 25 of Drowning Her

“Okay. Yes. But why doyoudo it?” I asked. “You seem to be passionate about it.”

He folded his hands together, then ran a palm through his hair. “Death is the only thing we can count on.”

“So you guarantee that for people.”

“It gives me a sense of closure.”

Maybe he meant it gave him control. Like if he could kill someone, if he could control their end, then he would have more power over everyone else.

“How long have you been doing it?” I asked.

“All my life.”

My chest dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Killed my first when I was ten.”

Had he ever had a childhood, then? “I see why you don’t talk about yourself.”

And for that, he laughed, the first real chuckle I had heard come from his mouth.

His tone shifted. “You’re not disgusted.” There was a hint of curiosity in his words, like he wanted confirmation.

“Disgusted? No,” I said, a smile raising my lips. “Disturbed? Sure!” He narrowed his eyes. “But you remember what I used to do formyjob, right?” His eyes dipped, and I took that as a ‘yes.’ “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen something like this.”

His eyes held me, but it didn’t seem like he was scrutinizing me. It was like he was searching for the answers he thought he knew, but for once, he was coming up empty-handed. It was an interesting look on him.

“Why don’t you give me a proper tour of the rest of the place?” I asked.

Chapter 9

Wilder

The baseof my neck burned. It had seemed easy at first. Breaking Maisie down. Figuring out who she was. But I could never unravel her completely.

She wanted to see the property. That was easy enough. But did she understand what that meant?

“The more I show you, the more important it will be that younevercross my family,” I said. Maisie scanned the corpse kneeling behind us.

“What did he do?” she asked.

“Theft.”

Her cheeks flushed. I had kept it short, using one word to determine her place in this. And I was right: she had stolen too. I had always known that. But my father had promised her money, which was one of the reasons I let it slide; she was taking an advance.

The other reason? I didn’t give a shit about money. She wasn’t a livestock order yet.

“Oh,” she said.

I gestured at the different pens, thestanchions, the drains, the basin, at the bloodstains that had turned the shade of copper with passing time.

“So, this is all for humans?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. Part of mewantedto tell her. To test her. To see where exactly her boundaries lay. But I held back. I didn’t want to scare her yet.

“Why are those racks in here?” She pointed to the stanchions. “Those are for milking cows, right? But you don’t work with dairy cows.”

The stanchions were made of metal and wood, with slats wide enough for cow and human heads to poke through. A head gate buckled the livestock orders into place to keep them still. In a way, it was a modern pillory, ripped from the humiliating dungeon and thrown into a rancher’s barn. Put a trough in front of it for the cows. And the humans? A bucket for catching blood and other fluids that dripped out.

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