Page 41 of The Butcher's Wife
He got it out just for Serafina.
“I’d never seen you so high.” His voice drops low. “Or so horny.”
Liar. He’s lying. “What?”
“Is your new husband mad you’re not a virgin?”
No.
No fucking way Serafina had sex with this fucking wispy-mustachedloser.
He rakes his bug-eyed gaze over me with an unearned familiarity, and even though it makes my skin crawl, I don’t back down.
“Don’t lie,” I say.
He laughs. “One of us is a liar here, and it’s not me. Iknow you haven’t told your husband about us, or else I’d be a dead man. You still got a soft spot for me, Serafina?”
I find my voice after a moment. “No. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Always fucking lying.”
Serafina never lied.
“I’m not a liar.”
Russell scoffs. “You lied to your sister, didn’t you? Made her get married instead of you, because you were so fucking scared they’d find out you didn’t have a cherry?—”
“Stop.”
“—and you’ve made up this whole scenario to Carlo just so I’d come over. And now you want to be a little tease about all this? I wonder what sort of lie you’d tell your husband if he drug tested you. Bet he’d be pretty disappointed to find out his sweet wife’s sucked dick more than once for a little bit of weed.”
Russell leans in, bathing me in the sour scent of beer and weed. “Can that old man even get it up, or are you already missing what I can give you?”
Something like anger licks through my veins. How dare he? Russell picks up on my quick breathing and misinterprets it.
He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”
Just when my hand twitches with the urge to slap him—hurt him,somehow—he takes a step back.
“I have to go make sure your brother’s not being a fuck up. Sit your pretty ass in that car and think about who knows the real you.” He leans in and touches my hair. His breath reeks. “We both know it’s not that husband of yours. Ask yourself who loves the real you.”
He inhales and tilts back to give me a long, searchinglook before brushing past and disappearing into the strip club.
I turn in the other direction. For a silent moment, I stand out in the cold, staring at the dark, empty storefront windows across the street, willing my breath to slow, for my hands to stop trembling.
Was he telling the truth?
Did my pure, sweet sister let mesacrificemyselfto my bastard ex-husband so she could get her rocks off with this loser?
Angry tears spring to my eyes. I exhale through gritted teeth.
How dare she?
I shake my head. No. Russell was lying.
I’m going to tell someone, Dad maybe, about all this, and then he’s going to break Russell’s legs for what he said. First, I need Carlo to take me home.
Quick footsteps striding across the asphalt warn me of Russell’s return. I don’t turn, forcing myself to calm the rage vibrating through my veins.
