Page 89 of Butcher & Blackbird
My stomach churns as I take in the details on the screen.
“No…” Tears flood my vision. “No, no,no…”
I clutch at my heart as it shatters for a second time. Blood drains from my limbs. The edges of my vision darken and I press my eyes closed tight. A sound of anguish tumbles past my lips as my knees buckle, my phone dropping from my hand. I know the horror I just saw is real. But there’s no time to fall apart.
What if you’re not fast enough?
I don’t answer that question. I can’t. The only thing I can do now is try.
I swallow the lance of pain and steady myself to take one turn in the middle of the room. My gaze lands on my leather case where I keep my scalpel among my pencils and erasers.
Hands shaking, I pick up my phone and dial the Unknown Caller, a contact whose name I never entered into my phone. He answers on the second ring.
“Spider Lady,” Lachlan says. “What’s the occasion?”
“I need a favor. Urgently,” I reply as I whip my case from the side table and stride toward the door. “You have as long as it takes for me to run twelve blocks.”
“Sounds fun. I like a challenge. What do you need?”
“I’ll tell you what I know,” I say, already descending the stairs by twos. “And you’re going to give me everything you can find on David Miller.”
22
FINESSE
ROWAN
The sharp edge of the mandolin lays against my inner forearm between the ropes that bind me to the chair. My palms face upward in curled fists, my short nails digging into my flesh as I brace against the pain I’ve already endured and that which is yet to come. Ragged breaths saw from my chest and I grit my teeth. I know what’s about to happen. Blood already pours from two other wounds, and he’s determined to get the perfect slice this time.
The blade catches in my skin and peels it from the flesh beneath.
I swallow a scream as David pushes down to resist my futile struggle and glides the mandolin toward my elbow until a thin strip of my skin is cut away. He tosses the bloodied tool onto the prep counter where it skids to a halt next to his gun.
Then he tears the flap of skin free from my arm with a merciless tug as the sound of my distressed cry fills the room.
“You know, I developed a taste for this at Thorsten’s,” David says as he leans close until he takes up all the space in my vision. He grips my hair with one hand and wrenches my head back to smile down at me. His once vacant eyes are not fucking vacant anymore. They areravenous. And they’re pinned on me. “Did you develop a taste too?”
Blood drips across his fingers from the sliced skin pinched between them. I thrash in my chair but can’t escape his hold.
“Just a little nibble,” he says.
I press my lips tight. A choked growl of protest vibrates in my throat as he smears my bloody skin across my lips.
“No?”
His counterfeit pout turns into a reptilian grin.
David’s tongue slides out between his teeth and he lays the skin across it like a veil, holding it out for me to see. He closes his lips around it, lets it wiggle against his triumphant smile.
Then he sucks it into his mouth.
Eyes closed, his jaws work slowly, like he savors every bite as he rolls it between his teeth.
His audible swallow turns my stomach.
“Such a delicacy. So very rare.” He turns away to the table and drags a bottle of Pont Neuf across the stainless steel counter. “You know what else is rare?”
My answer is only ragged breaths.
