Page 43 of Butcher & Blackbird
“No? The way I remember it, you were pretty muchin the wall, that’s how hard you were listening to me getting myself off.”
“I was listening to that pink tie motherfucker getting himself off to you. So, no.”
“Sure,” she says with a flat glare. She turns toward David, watching him for a long moment before she spins on her heel and levels me with ferocity in her green and gold eyes. “David.”
My gaze travels over to the vacant expression of the man who sits on the prep table, his legs still swinging in circles. “What about him?”
“Give him a job.”
I snort a laugh. “A job.” Another loud laugh whooshes from my chest before reality sinks in.She’s fucking serious. “What the fuck?”
“You heard me. A job.” Sloane’s eyes narrow when I shake my head. She takes a step closer and pins me with a murderous glare. “We can’t leave him like this.”
“Sure we can. He should be glad he didn’t get eaten. He’s in the clear. Dodged a bullet. Or a fork,” I say.
“And now he’s got nothing. You could give him a place to work. A purpose.”
“Have you noticed that we’re in Cali-fucking-fornia? I live inBoston, Sloane. How the hell am I going to get him from here to there without arousing suspicion?”
“I dunno,” she says with a shrug, her expression unconcerned by this dilemma she’s dropped in my lap. “If he hasn’t been reported missing by anyone, you could just…take him.”
“It’s not like Winston. I can’t just put him in a cat carrier and bring him with me.”
Sloane sighs and tries to tamp down an eye roll she’s desperate to unleash. “I didn’t find anything about a missing person matching his description in the area in my research. If Thorsten wanted a long-term servant, he probably took someone whose absence wouldn’t be missed by anyone. You could just claim he’s your brother. It’s not like he’s going to tell them any different.”
“This is an epically bad idea, Blackbird.”
“Then drop him off at the hospital and drive away. If his reappearance hits the news, you could reach out, offer to set him up. Just say you were so moved by his story or some shit.”
“I’m not.” I look over at David, who watches me with no spark of interest or awareness. “No offense, mate.”
He doesn’t respond.
I drag a hand down my face and pin her with a pleading gaze. “Look, Blackbird, it’s sweet what you’re trying to do for him. Really. But this is a huge ask, and he might be better off here. I’m sure he’s got familysomewhere, people who need to know where he is and who will want to take care of him. We don’t even know what he can and can’t do now, thanks to that Thorsten fucker.”
“I bet he could wash dishes.” Undeterred, Sloane turns from me and approaches David. Her hand folds around his wrist and he looks down at her touch. “Come with me, okay?”
With a few gentle tugs, David slides off the table and follows Sloane. I make room for them to stop close to me at the commercial dishwasher. She takes a few plates and hands them to David before she guides him to the rack, her smile encouraging, that fucking dimple filling me with equal parts warmth and dismay.
“Can you help me with the dishes, David? You just put them in the rack and then open it like this.” She demonstrates how to open and close the freestanding machine before guiding him to fill the rack, which he does a little more quickly than I expected. He successfully navigates all the next steps with her encouragement, and when the cycle is finished he takes the clean dishware out and leaves it to cool on the counter. “That was awesome. See, Rowan? He got it no problem.”
I resist the urge to groan when Sloane’s bright smile alights on me. “For godsakes. You look like a kid asking for candy.”
“Please? Super please. Big extra pleases with cherries on top,” she says as she stops in front of me. Her dainty hands curl around my biceps in an uncharacteristically forward touch, her blood-red nails like talons against my skin. “I’ll even give you a victory claim to make up for last year. Whatever you want.”
I swallow and resist the urge to either maul her or run away. My feet stay planted as my eyes narrow with skepticism. “Whatever I want?”
She nods, but her brow furrows as though she’s just starting to realize what she’s gotten herself into.
My slow smile is wicked. “You’re one hundred percent sure about this.”
Her face scrunches. My grin stretches.
David burps.
And just like that, my smile disappears. “Fucksakes. I’m going to regret this, aren’t I.”
Sloane bounces in place.
