Page 113 of Scatter the Bones

Is he nuts? “Ewww, no. I’m not a fan.”

“She writes feminist essays or something too. I think Hope knew who she was from that. Liked her…until she actually met her.” He chuckles.

“That’s it!” I scamper off the chair and hurry over to my bookshelf. “She wrote a piece aboutFeminism and Female Serial Killers. As someone who identifies as both, naturally I was intrigued.”

Jigsaw breaks into harsh laughter, and I grin at him.

“Anyway,” I continue, “it examined whether female serial killers kill as a response to violence and oppression they’veexperiencedorif it’s a challenge to patriarchal structures in society.”

“That was a lot of big words all in a row,” he says with an amused smile. “What was her conclusion?”

I pull a tattered magazine from a stack on one of the bottom shelves and flip to the page I marked with a red tab.

“Well, honestly, I thought it was mostly navel-gazing nonsense wrapped in a lot of academic buzzwords,” I say, glancing at the notes I’d scribbled in the margins. “She tried so hard to sound neutral and intelligent, that she forgot to actually make a point.”

He bursts into laughter. “Jesus, that describes her perfectly.”

I glare at him, still annoyed he seems to know this woman so well.

“Anyway,” I say, voice crisp, “I only kept it because—” I shoot him a wicked smirk. “The subject matter is obviously close to my heart.”

He flashes an amused grin. “Obviously.”

He holds out his hand, and I pass him the magazine, already open to the article.

“She had a few decent points,” I admit. “That violence can be empowering and how women kill for different reasons and use different methods than men.”

He glances at the article, flipping through the pages but only stopping to squint at my notes. “Well, if you’d like to have her autograph it for you, she’ll probably be at the clubhouse this weekend. Downstate.” He snorts. “Rock would skin us alive if we brought her to Upstate’s clubhouse.”

“No, I don’t want her autograph.” I snap the magazine out of his hand and tuck it back on the shelf.

When I turn, he’s watching me with that unreadable look of his. The one that sees more than I want him to.

“I meant what I said.” He holds my gaze. “I’m not a fan. It’s just work.”

“Some work,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest. “Would you like me working with naked dudes all the time?”

His lips twist into a playful grin. “You kinda do.”

“They’re dead. It’s not the same!”

He reaches for me, and I let him pull me into the chair with him again. My body against his, the warmth of his arms, the steady beat of his heart—it settles some of my unease. But not all of it.

“So, were you just never going to tell me about this?”

He sighs and runs his fingers over my hair. “To be honest, I hadn’t worked on the site in a while. But something came up, and Hustler needed me to fix it. I knew you’d find out eventually. I wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject, though.”

I lift my head and find nothing but sincerity in his eyes. My nose wrinkles. “Yeah, I guess it’s an awkward subject to approach. I already knew your club owns a strip club. Tacking on ‘Oh, and we produce porn too,’ might’ve been a bit much.”

He nods and blows out a breath. “She dances too sometimes. But like this high-brow artsy stuff.”

“Awww.” I pull a mock sad face. “She doesn’t rip off her clothes and grind her bits on customer’s faces?”

“No.” He shakes with laughter.

“How rude of her.” Now, I kind of feel bad that I made fun of the woman’s article. And I don’twantto feel bad for a woman my boyfriend’s seen naked multiple times apparently.

“Can we not talk about this anymore,” I say, resting my head on his chest again.

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