Page 54 of Tricked By Jack
I nod. “But you can compare the perfect balance of char and tenderness?”
“Probably not,” she shrugs. “But at least it explains why I find it good.”
The statement hangs between us, heavy with implication. I take a bite of my own food to avoid responding immediately, letting the flavors bloom on my tongue. She’s right about the perfect blend. Damn her.
“How long are you really going to keep me for?” Eve suddenly asks, her gray eyes locked onto my green ones.
Shrugging, I take another bite, not intending to answer her. But when she scoffs and rolls her eyes, I do. “Why? It’s not like you have a job you need to get back to.”
“What did you just say?” she hisses.
I arch an eyebrow, amused despite myself. “Are you hard of hearing, wife?”
She takes another bite, chews thoughtfully. “So… it was you.” It’s not a question. “You’re the one who made me lose my office space.”
“Is that so?” I retort.
“Mhmm, yes, I believe so,” she chirps. “And I’m guessing you brought it up in a seemingly innocent question to gauge whether I already knew or not.”
Laughing, I nod slowly, impressed with her deduction.
“You might not know this,husband,but you have all the finesse of a sledgehammer.”
“The fuck does finesse have to do with anything?” I chuckle.
She eats the last of her food, looking away from me and toward the group of people passing us by.
“It’s often the best way to reach a desired outcome.” Her tone implies it should be obvious.
“And what outcome do you think I desire, Dr. Death?”
Her gaze is steady, unflinching as she looks back at me. “Control. Vengeance. Absolution for your failure to save Ruby.” She pauses, watching my reaction. “But mostly distraction from your own pain.”
I lean closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’re analyzing the wrong person. Your psychological tricks won’t work on me.”
“They already are,” she counters, her voice equally soft. “You’re engaging with me. Conversing. Finding me intellectually stimulating despite yourself.”
She’s right, which irritates me more than I care to admit. There’s something compelling about her mind—sharp, observant, unafraid to cut deep. In another life, under different circumstances, I might have…
I shut down that line of thinking immediately. Eve Mortis is not a woman to be admired. She’s the instrument of my sister’s destruction, and now, the vessel for my revenge.
“Come on,” I command, straightening. “We have places to be.”
I dispose of the skewers in a nearby trash receptacle shaped like a grinning skull. Eve wipes her hands on a napkin, the mundane gesture at odds with our surroundings.
For a moment, the scene feels almost normal—a couple sharing a meal at a carnival—until I grip her elbow and pull her back into the flow of the crowd.
We pass vendors selling caramelized apples that smell of burnt sugar and cinnamon, their glossy surfaces reflecting the flickering lights overhead. Eve’s gaze lingers on them, but I pull her onward.
Past a contortionist whose body twists into impossible shapes on a small circular stage. The performer’s spine bends backward until his head emerges between his own thighs, face painted in a permanent scream.
“They use vagus nerve stimulation to achieve that level of flexibility,” Eve murmurs, her scientific mind still cataloging, analyzing. “The pain threshold would be extraordinary.”
“Is that professional interest I hear, doctor?” I ask, my thumb tracing small circles on the inside of her elbow where I know her pulse beats close to the surface.
“Professional observation,” she corrects, but I feel the slight uptick in her heart rate beneath my fingers.
The path narrows as we approach a section cordoned off with velvet ropes. There’s a warning sign flashing.Sacrifices only. Explicit content ahead, viewer discretion advised!
