Page 5 of Butcher & Blackbird
“Youtotallyknow who I am.”
“Oh myGod.”
“You do. You know what I like to hunt on my home turf. How long have you been a fan?”
“Dear Christ,stop.”
I chuckle as Sloane drops her forehead onto the backs of her bent wrists, a rib still clutched between her sticky fingers. “Which one was your favorite?” I ask. “The guy I flayed and strung up on the bow of that ship at Griffin’s Warf? Or what about the guy I suspended from the crane? That one seemed popular.”
“I can already tell you are theworst.” Sloane keeps her hands up in a futile effort to cover the flaming blush igniting her cheeks. Her hazel eyes dance despite the glare she tries to shoot my way. “Send me back to Briscoe’s cell.”
“Your wish is my command.”
I look toward the serving station and raise my hand at the waitress who takes all of one second to spot me before she starts heading our way with a growing smile.
“Rowan…?”
“What? You said you wanted to go back to Briscoe’s, so back we shall go.”
“I was joking, you psycho—”
“Don’t worry, Blackbird. I’ll deliver you right back to your smelly little cage. I’m sure it’s still standing despite the fire. Do you think any maggots survived? You can peck them from the ashes if so.”
“Rowan—” Sloane’s hand darts out and encircles my wrist, leaving sticky fingerprints on my skin. A jolt of electricity crackles through my flesh at her touch. I can barely contain my amusement at the rising panic in her eyes.
“Something wrong, Blackbird?”
The waitress stops beside our table with a bright grin. “Can I get you something?”
I keep my eyes on Sloane, raising my brows as her wild gaze flicks between me and the exits. “Two more beers, please,” I say. Sloane’s glare turns flat as it alights on me, her eyes narrowed to thin slits.
“Coming right up.”
“Like I said,” Sloane grumbles as she unfurls her fingers from my pulse. “Theworst.”
I give her a lopsided grin. Sloane’s gaze catches on my smile, and her glare softens even though I can tell she doesn’t want it to. “You’ll love me one day,” I purr, keeping hold of her eyes when they reach mine. My tongue passes in a slow lick over the sauce she left on my skin. Sloane’s eyes glitter in the warm afternoon light filtering through the diner’s windows, that dimple next to her lip a shadow of the amusement she can’t quite contain.
“Don’t think so, Butcher.”
We’ll see, my grin says.
Sloane’s dark brows flick as though she’s issuing a challenge, then she shifts her attention to her food. “You still haven’t really answered my question about Briscoe.”
“Yes I did. Hacking limbs. Enjoying agony.”
“But why him?”
I shrug. “Same reason you picked him, I assume. He was a piece of shit.”
“How do you know that’s why I picked him?” Sloane asks.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I reply as I lean my forearms against the aluminum trim on the Formica table. Sloane raises her chin, her expression indignant.
“Maybe he had nice eyeballs.”
A laugh bubbles from my chest as I pick up another rib. I let the silence linger, taking a bite before I reply. “That’s not why you pry their eyeballs out of their skulls.”
Sloane’s head cocks to the side, her eyes shining as she assesses me. “No?”
