Page 3 of Love & Other Killers
Lark does a decent job of hiding her doubts, though I know her well enough to still find them in her uncertain smile. “Well, I guess just make sure to pack them all tonight. We’ll have to wake up early and get a move on.” She turns her attention to me, a little thread of worry appearing in the crease between her brows. “Do you have enough time to make your web?”
I tap the edge of my glass with a bloodred nail. Normally, I’d have more time to prepare, mapping out the layers of fishing line with precision and care to create the foundationfor my grisly three-dimensional art installation. But I’m going to be under a crunch if the brothers are working together. And judging by the way they whisper and gesture and scheme behind us, they’re already on Munster’s trail as well.
“We can help you,” Lark says. “You know how much I love crafting.”
Rose snorts. Barbara chatters.
“I would appreciate a hand. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’m going to get it all prepped in time.”
“We’ve got you.” Rose is about to say something further, but her mouth snaps shut and her smile disappears. Her eyes are caught on something behind me, and I turn as Lachlan saunters over.
He draws to a halt next to us, dropping an arm over Lark’s shoulders. “What are you birds talking about?”
“Are you laying the Irish accent on thick to try to charm me into giving up all my secrets?” she says as she threads her fingers between his, toying with the silver rings on his tattooed knuckles.
“Worked before, wouldn’t ye agree, Duchess?”
“For my mom and sister and Auntie Ethel, maybe. But I’m impervious.”
“Really?” Lachlan rumbles a deep, cocky laugh, his eyes catching on her lips and sticking there. A responding blush flares to life in Lark’s cheeks. “I certainly didn’t get that impression the night that we—”
“Shut it, Budget Batman. Not one more word.”
“Look, I’m just here to say that maybe we should work together.”
“That defeats the purpose of a game,” Rose interjects.
A lopsided smile tugs at one side of Lachlan’s lips. “We can give you some clues, and you can share some in return.”
“Thanks, but we’re good.” Lark lifts Lachlan’s heavy arm from her shoulders, patting his biceps before turning him back toward his brothers, who are watching with keen interest. “Why don’t you go off and let Rowan serenade you with ‘The Rocky Road to Dublin.’”
With that simple mention, Rowan’s smile ignites, and he grabs the bottle of moonshine before Lachlan can snatch it. He wobbles as he steps up onto the log frame couch with its faded striped fabric. And then, on the heels of a long swig from the bottle, he starts singing “The Rocky Road to Dublin” in all his off-key glory, Lark joining in just to annoy Lachlan even further. Fionn and Rose are quick to follow, even though Rose doesn’t seem to know any of the lyrics, so she just makes up her own. Even Barbara seems to join in, squeaking and squirming until Rose sets her down and she makes a beeline for the kitchen. That chaotic little trash panda fits right in somehow. And I just stand off to the side and watch it all, not realizing I’m smiling until Rowan catches my eye and winks.
My family. I never thought I’d have one. Not until the day that Rowan found me trapped in a cage. Even then, it took a few years to believe I was worthy of it. After all the things I’ve done, all the lives I’ve taken, it just didn’t make sense that a person like me could deserve love like this. If the right and wrong decisions I’ve made were balanced on a scale, would it tip in my favor? How do you weigh the lives I might have saved and the souls I’ve avenged against the ones I’ve ended? Against the suffering I’ve delivered?
I don’t know if I deserve my beautiful, if slightly green, husband, or his brothers, who feel like brothers to me, too, or the two badass and murdery women who are more than best friends—they’re soulmates. Even that damned raccoon, who Fionn has just noticed is on the kitchen counter, tearing into his bag of trail mix to spill seeds and dried fruit all over thefloor. Should I laugh so freely when he rushes over to pick her up as she mounts a violent protest with her dexterous little hands? Maybe not. But I’m going to soak up every minute of this joy that might not feel deserved yet still feels earned.
The group is singing a second round of the same song when I get my backpack from our bedroom and start unpacking my supplies. There are latex gloves and plastic drop cloths and spools of fishing line, glue and thread and dyed patches of fabric. I lay them out on the kitchen table and start looking up maps of the local terrain and the names of the Sproul Specter’s recent victims on my phone. A playlist takes over from Rowan’s terrible singing, and he heads to the kitchen to help Fionn clean up Barbara’s mess and start cooking dinner. Gradually, the others come over to help. They lay out drop cloths. They help measure fishing line. They tie knots in the filament and glue it to the plastic sheets. We take a break for a dinner of steak and mashed potatoes and salad, and then we continue on, laying the webs out just the way I want them until everything is ready to be rolled up for tomorrow’s hunt.
Somewhere over that hill, my prey is living his last night on earth. And whether it’s by my hand or my family’s, the world will soon discover that the real monsters lurking among us are far worse than their imaginations.
I’m staring down at the intricate web that surrounds me, the greatest piece of art I’ve ever made, because my family made it with me. It’s just waiting for the final touches, the pieces of Munster that I’ll string into the network of threads. Rowan stops next to me, snaking his arm around my waist. I run my fingers over the tattoo that covers his scar, the first art I’d made with color since my darkest days at Ashborne Collegiate Institute. When I lean my head against his chest, I think back to that moment when I finally felt ready to usecolor again. And though my heart stuttered with the first strokes of those jeweled hues, it wasn’t from fear. It was the first beat of coming back to life.
“It’s beautiful, love,” Rowan says as he rests his chin on my shoulder and looks down at the network of shimmering filaments and strips of fabric in vibrant shades spread before us. “And you deserve it.”
I smile. “What, to win?”
“No.” He tightens his grip around my waist. Presses a kiss to my neck. “You deserveeverything.”
Chapter 3
Kintsugi
Iroll my eyes. Fold my arms across my chest. Try to channel the sharp edge of the blade at my hip through my cutting glare. “What are you doing here?”
Rowan and I square up to face off against each other. Lachlan stands behind his left shoulder, his hard stare shielded by his black-rimmed glasses, and Fionn to his right. Fionn might look a little unsure of the situation, but that only makes him more dangerous. He grew up surrounded by the darkness of his brothers, sure—but he’s new to it within himself. It makes him unpredictable, and I shoot a sharp look in his direction to tell him as much. He doesn’t balk at my glare, which only stokes the irritation that simmers in my belly.
But I’m not about to let the Kane brothers intimidate me on the playing field. Not when I’ve come with my Sticker Bitch Crew.
