Page 55 of Dolls & Daggers
“I have a standing date with my mother on Saturdays. She drives in from Rochester and stays the night. C.W. are her initials—Charlotte Woodsbury. She got remarried a few years ago.”
I don’t tell Wren that my mother and I don’t speak. That she tried paying off my abuser. That she never believed me. So he should be none the wiser about my little white lie.
Wren pauses mid-chew, eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t meet my gaze. “Hmm.”
Silence stretches between us for the next few minutes. He’s lost in thought while I focus on the factthat I need to get my shit together for this weekend. Wren and I have been spending so much time together that I haven’t put in the effort it takes to ensure things go off without a hitch.
It’s more than luring a bad man to a random place and eviscerating him. I have to learn his likes and dislikes, memorize his habits, know details like his drink of choice so it’s easier to drug him. I have to select the right wig, the right nightie, ensure I have enough supplies to scrub my DNA from everything.
It takes time. Planning.
And lately, I’ve been far more interested in getting very acquainted with my songbird’s gorgeous cock than ridding the world of immoral men and their nasty, tiny, shriveled peckers.
“Why didn’t you publish my article, Dove?” Wren’s question cuts through my thoughts, his voice low, tired.
I feel bad.
I really do.
But it’smything. I abandon my fork, pushing my plate back. Fang lifts his head from his bed by the sofa, tail wagging in hopes of a bite. As he stretches his tiny body, I hold up a hand. “No, baby boy. It’s too spicy for you.”
Wren’s eyes never leave mine. “Honestly, Songbird,you’re not going to like what I have to say, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it. The Doll is my thing. I pickedMetro Mediaup from the ashes and I’ve been writing about her ever since. I’m sorry, I know it’s territorial, but how would you feel if I showed up at your last job and started writing about your shtick?”
A muscle ticks in his freshly shaved jawline. “I’m writing good pieces?—”
“You write beautifully, Wren. No one’s saying you don’t. But I’m not going to roll over and let you take my job just because I let you roll me around in the sheets now.” I try hard to mask my irritation, but it bubbles just beneath my skin as I try to get him to see reason. “You write about other things. I don’t. If you want to write about a serial killer, write about the Shadow Siren.”
“I don’t want to fucking write about the Siren, Dove. I want to write about the Doll.” His anger vanishes in an instant, replaced by a smug, boyish grin. “I have an in.”
I nearly laugh at his conviction.
“She approached me.”
Remembering to act surprised, I cock my head, eyes narrowing. “Why would she approachyou?”
He throws his hands out, still grinning. “What can I say? I guess a little birdie told her I was obsessed.” He flings my own words back at me.
I knowwhat he’s doing. He’s testing me, trying to catch me in a lie, playing on my jealousy, thinking I might slip.
So I step it up. If it’s a show he wants, I’ll give him one.
“So you let a serial killer near you?” I sneer, dripping with false jealousy as I lean forward. “Are you so obsessed with her that you just… oh, I don’t know, forgot she kills men? Tell me, Wren, did she let you get close? Did you confess your love and devotion to her? Are you a two-timer, Songbird?”
“What? No!” Wren looks genuinely confused.
“So what?” I scoff. “You think just because she visited you, I should roll over and let you take my job?” I know I’m being selfish. Petty. But I’m not budging on this. Wren needs to stay in his lane and stop trying to crash into mine.
“You told me you’d put in a good word with Joe!” he snaps. Guilt tugs at me. “Why even say that if you had no intention of following through?”
I brighten, bouncing back to a chipper tone with a careless shrug. “I don’t know. You looked so hopeful, and I didn’t want to crush your dreams over pancakes.”
Wren stands abruptly, grabbing his suit jacket from the stool and sliding it on. “I don’t know what I’mdoing there if you won’t even try to work with me. You’re being callous and treating me like shit.”
“No one’s treating you like shit, Wren!” I laugh, incredulous. “You’re being sensitive.”
“And you’re being insensitive.”
“Holy fuck, Songbird. I thoughtIwas the woman in this relationship.” It’s a mean thing to say. I know it is. But I need him to go. I need space.
