Page 189 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Panic splashes across his features—ugly and instant.

“Uh—”

“Because, I have to say . . .” She shakes her head, flipping through papers he doesn’t recognize. “You’re looking at quite a lot here.”

“What are you talking about, Poppy?” Sleazeball pipes up. “This is a bullshit charge.”

“Oh, you think you’re looking at license fraud and a few fines?”

Now she lays it out, and I fucking love it.

“Try conspiracy to commit human trafficking. Facilitating child sexual abuse through fraudulent licensing. Racketeering. Money laundering.”

The clerk’s face turns red—ready to pop. He’s going to break and lose his shit. I’ve seen it before.

That prick attorney better leash his client before I do.

She keeps going like she’s reading a grocery list.

“Accessory after the fact to kidnapping minors. Negligent endangerment of a minor.”

He’s practically vibrating he’s trembling so hard. Fists clinched, knuckles white.

She pretends to think. “Oh—and obstruction of justice.”

That one snaps him.

Whatever brain cell he had ruptures.

“I didn’t know!” The chair screeches back. He lunges for Poppy. “I didn’t know at first!”

I’m moving before conscious thought.

I slam him facedown onto the table hard enough to rattle the legs.

One hand in his greasy hair. The other wrenching his arm behind his back. I don’t care if I snap the bone.

The attorney stumbles over his chair, slams into the wall, then the floor.

“Wrong fucking move,” I growl behind the clerk’s ear, pulling harder.

The wet wheeze of his breath fogs the table as he struggles.

Poppy—

Doesn’t. Even. Flinch.

She sits there, calm as a fucking storm, eyes bright and dangerous, watching it all unfold like she orchestrated it.

“Sit the fuck down, asshole.” I shove the clerk back into his seat, keeping one hand heavy on his shoulder as he trembles, sweat pouring down his face.

Poppy leans forward, still smiling, voice dropping to a near whisper.

“You’re going to tell us everything, Mr. Peters,” she says, like she’s telling him about a weather report. “Names. Dates. Accounts. Because if you don’t, I’m going to personally make sure you're charged right alongside the people who did the worst of it.”

He whimpers.

Actual, grown-man whimpering.

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