Page 36 of The First Cut
My heart kicks into overdrive at the unexpected closeness. What the hell is going on?
“You wouldn’t have been nagging me or rocking the boat. Jesus, I’m fucking this up already. Tell you what—while we’re out, we’ll pick up a few things for you too.”
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling warmth spread through my chest. I remind myself that he’s just trying to keep me happy so I don’t cause trouble. But it’s hard not to react to his kindness, especially when I’ve been starved of affection for so long.
“Get dressed, Lola, and we’ll head out.”
He pulls away, and I feel the absence of him more than I should—which is ridiculous and enough to snap me out of the weird feelings. Is Stockholm syndrome a real thing? Or is this just some kind of fucked-up reaction because my captor’s shown me more care than the man who had been living with me for the last five years? Not that I ever considered Driller my man. Men don’t force women to obey—monsters do. There’s a reason you can’t make someone love you, but you can sure as hell make them fucking hate you with everything they’ve got.
Over the years, I’ve fantasized about all the different ways I could kill Driller and get rid of his body. Then I’d play dumb and let everyone assume he ran off with his latest conquest. The problem is, the easiest method would probably be a bath full of lye––and I don’t have gallons of the stuff lying around or even a damn bathtub.
“Lola.”
“Sorry.” I cringe, waiting for him to get pissed. I’ve always had trouble focusing. My father used to say my mind drifts away with the fairies. I don’t know about fairies, but I have trouble concentrating for long periods of time. That’s why I had to work twice as hard as my classmates to keep up.
“What were you thinking about?”
I bite my lip, unsure what to say. Something tells me he’ll know if I lie, and I don’t want to tarnish this thing between us before it starts, so I go with the truth.
“I was thinking about how I used to fantasize about killing Driller and how I would get rid of his body,” I say before grabbing my jeans and sliding them up my legs. I haven’t putthem on since I arrived. They are a little tight, but I’m not going pantsless. I groan as I shimmy and shake myself into them, positive I’ve grown wider in the last week.
“And what way would you kill him if you could?”
I lie back on the bed so I can button my jeans, and blow my hair out of my face. “Killing him isn’t the hard part. I don’t really care how he dies as long as he’s dead. Though saying that, I figured overdosing him with something would be the least messy way to do it. Then, when he was weak, I’d lead him to the bathroom, where I would throw him in a bath of lye and wait for him to become a vat of human soup. I know it needs some work.” I raid his drawers for a sweatshirt and slip it on before I notice he’s gone quiet.
I look over at him and see his eyes are filled with something dark and dangerous. Oh god, is he going to kill me now for threatening a Raven Souls brother? He licks his lip, his eyes zeroing in on my mouth, which makes me realize he’s not pissed-off. He’s turned on. Holy fuck. Talking about killing Driller is arousing him. I don’t know how to react to murder talk as foreplay, so I say nothing. Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed and attempt the socks I stole so my feet don’t get cold.
Eventually, he takes pity on me and kneels on the floor in front of my feet. “Lye is an effective way to get rid of a body for sure, but buying large doses of it will likely get you flagged.”
“I figured as much, but as I don’t have a bathtub, it was only a pipe dream,” I murmur as he slips the socks on my feet, followed by my Converse.
How on earth I’m finding him putting my socks on sexy, I don’t know. He’s hardly throwing me down on the bed and ravishing me, yet watching his fingers deftly tie my laces has my vagina purring like a cat in heat. Maybe murder and socks will be the new Netflix and chill?
“How would you do it?” I whisper.
“Hmm…depends. I’ve never been a fan of the man, brother or not, but seeing his handiwork on your face makes me want to cut out his spleen and eat it.”
My eyes widen so much I wonder if my eyeballs might pop out of my head. I have a niggling memory in the back of my head of someone once saying that the only difference between Hannibal and a serial killer on death row is that Hannibal hasn’t been caught. I swallow, fear twisting up with everything else. Yet I still don’t feel the urge to cower from him. Call me stupid or naive, but I don’t think he wants to hurt me. At least not in the way Driller does.
“How would you get rid of his body? Or at least the bits you don’t eat?” I joke but he grins as if I said something really interesting. Oh boy, I’m not sure this is a good idea after all. He’s looking at me like he wants to remove part of my skull and peek inside.
“I was thinking of buying a pig farm.”
I blink, trying to figure out what I missed.
“For the body. Pigs are good for cleaning up scraps.” He shrugs.
I can either freak out here or just roll with it. Until he actually tries to feed me to a pig, I’m just going to go with the flow.
“There’s a lot of land at the clubhouse that is not being used. There’s plenty of space for pigs.”
“That’s what I heard, too.” He winks at me before offering his hand to help me up.
Cautiously, I slip my hand into his much larger one and let him help me get to my feet. Surprising me, he keeps hold of it. I look at him covertly out of the side of my eye, trying to figure him out. He’s made it no secret what he thinks of me, and yet, he’s not been cruel. He’s a mass of contradictions that I can’t understand. One minute, he hates me. The next, he’s intrigued by me. He takes me on as his old lady when, honestly, I’ll bemore of a hindrance than an asset. But he doesn’t seem to care about that. I worry that this is all part of some elaborate setup, one where I end up humiliated at best and, at worst, handed back to Driller or one of the enemies he owes money to. Either would be a death sentence.
I can’t shake the feeling that there's more to this, and yet the roots of hope are slowly trying to push their way through the fragile wall I have built around my defenses. I don’t want to like him, or anyone, but there's something undeniably intriguing about the man. Maybe I’m just as crazy as he is.
He leads me out of the room and down a long corridor and a flight of stairs, slowing his pace when he notices I have to practically run to keep up with him. I’m surprised we haven’t run into anyone. When the door spills us out into the outdoor seating area, I know he’s sneaking me out the same way he snuck me in. I try not to let it hurt my feelings, even if it does make me feel like a dirty little secret.
