Page 135 of The First Cut
My brain goes offline for a second while it tries to process the words that just came out of his mouth. When it finally clicks, I let him go so fast that I almost break my finger.
“You have another man’s dick in your pocket? A dead dick. You have a dead dick in your pocket?”
Now, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d ever say.
“I wanted to bring you a gift,” he tells me gently. Honest to god, I know he’s serious. I feel my heart take off at a wild gallop because, apparently, dead dicks are more than I was mentally prepared for this morning.
I freeze when I realize what it means. “He’s dead?”
“Yeah, doll. He’s dead.”
“He can never hurt Millie or come for Evan?” I whisper.
He shakes his head and grabs my hand, lifting it to his face and kissing my palm. “Never.”
I blow out a shaky breath and feel more tears slip free. This time, they come with such an acute sense of relief that I struggle to suck in a breath for a moment. “You saved me. No. You set me free. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for that.”
“Live happy, doll. That’s all I want.”
He leans down and kisses my tears away, whispering soft words until I finally get them under control.
“I gotta ask. Why his dick?”
He laughs loudly, shaking both me and the bed. His laughter is infectious, and before I know it, I’m laughing along with him.
“I wanted to get you something nobody has ever gotten you before.”
“Well, just saying, nobody has ever bought me—a Lamborghini before either, if you need ideas.
“Noted.” He grins as his laughter tapers off. “Truthfully, I thought it was fitting. He hurt you. Hurt you in a way no man should ever hurt a woman. So I unmanned him.”
It’s horrific, but I can’t help but appreciate the karma of it all. “But still. You walked into a hospital with a dead man’s dick in your pocket.”
“I didn’t want to leave it with my bike.”
“Yeah, coz that would be weird.”
“Well, what are you gonna do with it?”
“Wait, you’re seriously going to give it to me?”
“Well, yeah.”
I blow out a deep breath and remind myself that Hannibal's not normal. That’s part of his beauty, so I need to shut up and roll with it. I’m sure he’ll end up doing a bunch of weird shit over the years, and I can either let it roll off my back or freak out.
Fuck it. “Any ideas what I should do with it?”
“Dog chew?”
“Gross, like hell are you giving that thing to our dogs. Next.”
“You could pickle it. Preserve it in a jar and keep it for something.”
“I mean, sure, or I could just put the jar in a time capsule and see what people make of it fifty years from now.”
He nods, liking that idea. Of course, he does.
“How about we keep it simple and just…” I bite my lip, wondering if Hannibal has a point. Maybe I can borrow a little of his crazy. Why shouldn’t Driller suffer a bit more? I kind of like the idea of him looking up from hell and seeing me finally getting one over on him.
