Page 72 of Scythe & Sparrow
He makes his way toward the body, slowing his steps as he passes by. He raises his hand, a photo pinched between his fingers. In the picture, Matt and I stare into each other’s eyes. Me with a lethal glare. Matt with shock and fear painted across his face. At the bottom of the image is the knife in my hand, lodged deep into Cranwell’s belly. “A souvenir,” Leander says, and slides it into the interior pocket of his jacket as he gives me a wink.
I watch as Leander saunters toward Cranwell. He stops within reach and tilts his head as though he’s contemplating a work of art. And suddenly, I feel like the beast I’ve been desperate to unleash has just found itself in a whole new cage.
“Very precise,” Leander says, motioning toward Cranwell. “Surgical, even. Made a bit of a mess though.” He leans closer to the body, inspecting the blood-soaked shirt and the torn flesh. He prods the wound with a gloved finger and Matt’s bowels andintestines tumble out of the slit, pink ropes that glisten in the dim light and drop to Leander’s feet, his shoes covered with waterproof booties. “Intestines make me hungry every time I see them, even despite the smell. Reminds me of sausages. Does this place have hot dogs?”
When I don’t immediately answer, Leander turns just enough to look at me over his shoulder.
“Yes. But the food stalls are all closed.”
“Shame. I’d really like a hot dog.” Our gazes remain pinned to each other for a long moment, and then Leander turns his attention back to the body on the wall. When he removes the burlap sack from Matt’s head, he barks a delighted laugh before leaning in close to examine the dead man’s face. “Wow. Impressive. That must have been a hard blow,” he says as he flicks the bulging eye. He pokes a finger into the other orbit where the glass eye once was. “I’m going to assume there was a prosthetic as well, yes? Where is it?”
My skin turns to fire. When Leander turns and raises his brows in a question, there’s nothing I can give for an answer.
“Don’t recall where you hit him so hard his eyes popped out?” Leander says. I shake my head, and the corners of his lips curl. “Pity. No matter. I can have a scent dog brought in. We’ll find it.”
He whistles and two unfamiliar men enter the room wearing hooded coveralls and carrying toolboxes and bags of supplies. “So, what did he do to deserve this fantastical and very fitting end, anyway?”
I think of Rose. Her face. Herfear. I think of the incandescent rage that consumed every cell in my body. The relief andexcitement when the blade pierced Cranwell’s abdomen. The feeling of his flesh splitting open and the terror in his scream. “He started it.”
Leander huffs, clearly pleased with my answer. “And you finished it.” He pats Cranwell’s pockets down until he finds his mobile phone. “I’ll make sure this is all taken care of.”
“I appreciate your help,” I say, and he gives me a single nod in reply. “How much do I owe you?”
Leander pins me with an unblinking, unnerving stare that latches on and doesn’t let go. His expression is blank, emotionless. And then, a burst of laughter. It’s a sudden transformation that brightens his cheeks and crinkles the corners of his eyes. It would look normal if it wasn’t for the predatory way he watches me.
“I don’t want your money,” he says. My heart falls to the floor, ready to be removed with the rest of the blood and gore spilled across the planks beneath my feet. And Leander Mayes sees it. Helovesit. “I just want a little bit of your time. Your … expertise.”
I glance over at one of the men as he fills a spray bottle with a solution in a silver container. He meets my eyes only briefly before his attention flicks to Leander and then shifts to the floor. “What do you mean?” I ask when I refocus on Leander, whose smile remains undimmed.
“What I mean is, I need yourskills.” Leander pulls a plastic bag from the interior pocket of his jacket and slips the phone into it. He walks toward where the two men have started working and picks up a spray bottle. He mists the liquid over the floor, and patches start to glow with an eerie blue luminescence. There are smears and streaks. Boot prints in blood. One set of prints is mine. Onemust be Cranwell’s. But there’s a much smaller set that glows with the damning light of luminol.
Rose.
Leander chuckles. “Looks like you had a little partner in crime.” My hands fold into fists, a motion that catches Leander’s attention immediately. He grins. Even despite the body hanging from the wall, and the knowledge that I’ve just brutally killed a man, Leander Mayes is not afraid of me. He turns his back to me and sets the spray bottle down next to the supplies. “Did you ever tell your brothers what you did?”
I don’t want to answer, but when Leander faces me, it’s impossible not to say something. “Do you mean tipping off your cousins about the money my father owed them?”
His smile stretches. “That too. But I was more referring to how you stabbed your father in the back and severed his spinal cord. Lachlan might have taken credit for that kill by strangling Callum Kane, but even he didn’t know that you’re the one who brought the bastard down, does he?” He studies me with that predatory glee still lingering in his eyes. “Quite a nifty little trick, isn’t it? If you aimjust right,” Leander says with a sudden jabbing motion toward Cranwell’s body, his fist closed around a phantom weapon, “there’s hardly any blood at all. He must have felt nothing from the waist down. Just a quicksnapand down he went so your brother could finish the job. Even I didn’t realize at first. Not until I cleaned up that mess and stripped Callum of his clothes.”
For as many times as Lachlan has called Leander the devil, I’ve not really understood why. But now I do. In just a few short minutes, he’s got me trapped in a corner by my secrets and deeds and desires, unable to escape.
“What is it that you want, Leander?”
“I’m so happy you asked.” He wanders back to the cooling body and leans toward it, inspecting Cranwell’s slack expression. “I have a contract coming up. It’s kind of a big deal, if I do say so myself. I’ve hired the best of the best. Cream of the crop, if you will. But even then,” he says, his gaze drifting back to me over his shoulder, “I expect some casualties. Bodies that need repair on the battlefield, you know? And I need my people to be in tip-top shape for the duration of the contract.”
I say nothing.
Leander turns back to Cranwell, but not before I catch a glimpse of his grin. “Some of my team might need a bit of … rejuvenation … when the work is done. Anonymity is paramount in certain circles, if you catch my drift.”
I hold my palms up in a placating gesture, even though we both know they’re smeared with crimson stains. “I’m not a cosmetic surgeon.”
“You’re a smart, motivated man,” Leander says. “I’m confident you’ll learn.”
My gaze slices toward the two men cleaning up after my mess. They don’t look up. They don’t cast judgment my way. They just do their jobs, spraying and wiping and spraying again as though this is all perfectly normal. And as much as I’m still reluctant to admit it, I can’t deny there’s something comforting about this clandestine world where any transgression can be cleaned away. For a price.
“So you want me to play doctor. For how long?”
Leander shrugs. “Ideally? Forever.”
