Page 12 of The Hellkeeper

I say nothing. It is expected of me to be the best at what I do.

He pulls the bag open just enough to peek inside. A grin stretches across his face. “Perfect,” he murmurs, zipping it back up. “You do fine work. My daughter got her justice.”

Linda leans forward, her eyes shimmering with something sickly sweet. “You’re incredible,” she breathes. “My savior.”

I grunt in response, barely sparing her a glance.

Richard chuckles. “Efficient and humble. A rare breed.” He pulls out a big black bag and hands it to me. Payment. I take it without counting. His money is always good.

Linda is still staring at me, waiting for something. A smile, a thank you, anything.

She won’t get it.

My gaze drops to the diamonds dripping from her ears, her throat, her wrists. Everywhere her skin is exposed, she’s draped in wealth.

Expensive. Luxurious.

A man like Richard dresses his daughter in status. Makes sure everyone knows she is his.

My girl doesn’t own diamonds.

Unacceptable.

Chapter Six

Amelia

Fear coils in my stomach, corroding my insides like acid. It slithers up my throat, burning my flesh from the inside out. I’m not losing my mind. I can’t be.

But something—someone—was under my bed last night. I know it. I felt it.

God. The memories are branded behind my eyelids, etched into my mind forever. The gift box. The blood. The tongue. The note.

No one disrespects my angel.

I swallow down bile.

The Hellkeeper. It has to be him. That makes sense, doesn’t it? I was meant to die, but I ran. Maybe this is his way of reminding me. Of toying with me before he finally drags me under.

My knees wobble. I clutch the counter for balance. I can’t think about this now. I can’t. I have orders to take, tables to wipe, dishes to clean. If I stop, if I let myself spiral, I won’t be able to climb back up.

So I work. I take orders and force smiles, staying busy. It helps. A little.

Until a voice makes me jump so hard I nearly drop a plate.

“Jesus, girl, you’re skittish today.” Margaret chuckles, wrinkled eyes crinkling in amusement. “What, a monster sneak up on you?”

“Guess I’m just on edge.”

Margaret hums, unconvinced, and steps forward. I tense. She watches me closely. I focus on stirring the pasta, trying to avoid her gaze. Her hand reaches up and brushes against my neck.

She lifts the necklace between her fingers, letting the diamonds catch the dim kitchen light. It looks ridiculous against my polyester uniform.

“You got this yesterday?”

I should tell her how I woke up with it on this morning. How it’s clasped so tight I can’t even get it off. How it feels like a collar. But the words lodge in my throat, sticking like poison syrup.

If I tell her, she’ll think I’m insane. And who wants an insane girl in their space?

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