Page 75 of Deadly Passion

I pace in front of the creepy altar. Freddie and Callen insisted I stay behind, but they’re taking forever. How many nice things did people have to say about Beatrice at the funeral?

Bang!

They’re back.

I wait at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at the growing shred of light while the guys move the slab. Callen swears loudly, followed by a dragging noise, heavy breathing, and a knock, which I assume is Trout hitting the wall. From the kerfuffle, you’d think the two of them are moving a thousand-tonne sack of spuds—not a good-for-nothing piece of shit like Trout.

“Don’t hit him too hard,” I yell. “I want him conscious!”

Callen’s head appears, peering down at me from the entrance. “It’s too late for that, sweetheart.”

I scowl and step aside as they begin their descent, biting my tongue to stop myself from pointing out that I’m anything but a sweetheart. Watching them is almost comical. They’re like characters in a sketch show moving Trout in his bound position. Trout’s short, but he’s much heavier than he was five years ago. I spot the tattoo on his neck to confirm it’s him.

They drop him at my feet. He stirs but isn’t fully conscious yet.

“You need to take him through there.” I point at the tunnel. “To the altar.”

Freddie wipes away the sweat dripping down his forehead. “Can’t you kill him here?”

“Aren’t you strong enough to carry him?” I tease.

“I don’t know about Freddie, but I’m built for endurance,” Callen says.

I snort. Despite avoiding talking about how we had some of the best sex of my life, we’re on better terms. Who knew that it would take an incredible threesome to break the tension?

Freddie grits his jaw and grabs Trout’s ankles, refusing to be overshadowed by Callen. Although they’re holding him above the floor, Trout’s sagging pot belly will hit every bump in the stone. As they pass me, I grab Trout’s head by his last tuft of hair and jerk it upward to look at him. Red, scaly patches of skin surround his mouth and nose.

“Chloroform?” I tut, dropping his head. “Really?”

“I had no choice. Torean’s meds must have expired,” Callen says. “He’ll come around soon.”

I follow from behind. In the adjoining room, I’ve already cleared space and picked my weapons of choice. I’ll start by removing his toes, then his fingers, one digit at a time. After that,I’ll freestyle it. Bram’s creative with a paintbrush, but I express my artistic side in other messier ways.

“Happy now?” Freddie snaps as they drop him in my preferred spot.

“For now,” I reply with a sweet smile. “Are you both sticking around for the show?”

Freddie nods, retreating to the shadows, while Callen rubs his hands together gleefully. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

I circle Trout. His head moves, and his eyes snap open. Chloroform doesn’t knock someone out for long. He looks at his new surroundings in confusion and blinks wildly, hoping he will wake up elsewhere when he opens his eyes.

“It’s good to see you again, Christopher,” I say.

“Wh-where am I?” he stammers.

He wriggles, but his bound ankles and wrists keep him locked in place. Callen steps forward and kicks him in the side, making him groan like a deflating balloon.

I shoot him daggers. Freddie steps in to pull Callen back in line and hisses, “This is her kill.”

I kneel next to Trout’s shaking frame.

“Do you recognise me?” I ask.

“What do you want?” Trout whimpers. “Let me go. Please. I have money!”

My lip curls in disgust. “I don’t want your money.”

“I’ll do anything!” he pleads. “Sebastian Montgomery saw you! He’ll make sure I’m found.”

---